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"Overflow" a.k.a. why I won't shut up about writing TricK
I found it imminently amusing that Gokusen's season finale and TricK's season finale had some interesting parallels. And because I have no life and I'm not read to post the other stories I wrote during this dry spell I just threw this together. Which means run away, run awaaaaaaaaaaay.
Spoilers for TricK season one finale, Gokusen 2 finale, and some slight foreshadowing for TricK's series finale, but not really. And apologies to Celeste because I kept her from Bleach fic in order to fulfille my selfish, and slightly maniacal whims. I think it's because I broke her with Kindaichi. Muahahahaha!
“So how much longer do we have?”
Professor Jiro Ueda had done extensive calculations on how long it would take their sand dune of refuge to erode. He had it calculated to how fast the wind’s direction would help the tides return and he was rather proud to remember the statistics related to a monsoon season.
Of course in his distracted efforts he decided to scratch the equations on the shoreline that, if he had calculated the answer, would have told him writing it five centimeters from the shore gave him a half an hour before it was all washed away.
Naoko Yamada had given up on yelling at him for his stupidity and had savored the remaining time where she could to curl up into a bundle and sleep until the seawater got into her snoring cavities.
It didn’t help that she was snoring loudly and making the equivalent of a sand angel tentacle monster the way she was flailing around. But her words still echoed in Ueda’s head, louder than the approaching ocean. It was one of those things that make you take stock of life, smell the roses, remember a summer’s day, realize that you really should have paid a boat to stick around if you’re looking for buried treasure.
“No, I want extra helping of konyakuuuuu...” Yamada muttered. He hypothesized that she was best able to articulate her desire of food even in deep R.E.M. sleep because it was extra time for her to train on her begging skills.
Ueda stared out into the expansive horizon that he knew stretched and curved out of his vision. He had already exhausted any rescue possibilities and now was enjoying the fruits of his labor by sulking and shoving his feet against the edge of the dry sand to build up blockades. If the world were fair he’d have a large pile of money to console him and be reenacting the scene in “From Here to Eternity” with someone sexy, like that really hot girl from “Face” and “Game,” but instead he was stuck with a moralistic cop out of treasure and that flat chested Yamada for his co-conspirator, who was currently rolling herself into the ocean.
He figured it wouldn’t help things if she managed to drown in the shallow waters so soon. It was a self-serving motive, especially since she had that knack for keeping him awake and on edge, so he might have a greater chance of survival by not nodding off himself.
Yamada, for her part, sputtered and got sand in his hair when he dragged her back. The small trickle of drool or sea foam that rested on her cheek had left an interesting impression, which she promptly wiped on his vest in her half-conscious state.
“My ancestors sucked,” was all Yamada managed to get out before she wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed in.
“They apparently got to a point where they could forsake materialistic goods,” Ueda stated. Since he had no idea how to deal with the fact that she was a warm body currently cuddling into him he decided it would be best to act pedantic. “It’s a very zen principle.”
“Right. They suck. What’s the sound of an island sinking if no one’s around to hear it?”
If he didn’t know better Ueda would think that she had gulped enough seawater to start delusions. He set her down beside him, noticing that the remaining beachfront had given them only enough room for sitting back to back. And Yamada was the type to flail in her unconscious state so he propped her up beside him and tried to initiate conversation.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll come back before nightfall,” he reassured her, “I gave them very specific instructions to return for me and my treasure.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, obviously not as out of it as Ueda assumed to notice he convieniently only mentioned himself. “Hey, were you planning on ditching me?”
“Of course not!” he exclaimed, the very picture of innocence. “I just wanted a bigger boat for my massive loads of treasure and an extra spot for you. Ah, so you could be comfy on the trip back!”
Yamada sighed and thumped her head against his shoulder blades. “Stupid Ueda, this is why you should let me make the plans. You’re not smart enough to realize the ship owner would want a piece.”
“Well, if you were in charge we wouldn’t even have hope of rescue you greedy selfish flint stick!”
“I am not that flat chested!”
Ueda blinked. “What? I didn’t say you were—not that you aren’t—but the point is I called you a flint stick, not some, some Tiffany.”
“Oh,” Yamada said, glad she was behind him so he couldn’t see the blush. She didn’t know what the word ‘flint’ meant and had automatically assumed the worst, or at least the most obvious. “Well, you probably said it wrong or something.”
He did, but since she didn’t know it and he didn’t know it that meant Ueda was technically still ahead. “I think the sun has gotten to you. You’re even more annoying and incomprehensible than usual.”
“Shut up,” Yamada said gracelessly. “I wouldn’t enjoy your company, not even if you were the last man on this world. I’d rather be on a beach with that idiot Yabe than you if we weren’t going to drown!”
“Oh, so why does a sinking island make a difference?” Ueda was rolling his eyes, and not very subtly trying to push her into the encroaching shoreline.
“Because you’re bigger, I can use you for a life raft or something.”
“But the water’s cold,” Ueda whined, “You know it always gets smaller when—”
“I didn’t mean that!!!” Yamada screamed.
Twenty kilometers inland from the sinking island, Kumiko Yamaguchi felt an inexplicable sneeze coming on. She managed to cover her hands in time to catch a whopper sneeze that almost doubled her over with its force.
The man walking beside her looked properly disgusted and rummaged through the pockets of his loud Hawaiian shirt to find and equally loud looking napkin and thrust it at her. “Oh jeez, wipe your hands. If people see us walking together they’ll assume I have no taste as well.”
“Thanks Kyoto-sensei,” Yankumi muttered, ignoring the condescension practically reeking from him because then she would have to suppress that urge to punch him. She managed a sidewise glance at his straw hat that completed his blatant tourist outfit.
“Hehehe, you know your hair kind of looks like a bad wig with that hat on,” Yankumi snickered.
The former head-teacher shot her his most indignant face and doffed his hat to swat her with it. “No wonder you’re still single. You need to find someone else just as tactless as you. Big and slovenly, who could put up with you...”
Two hours later on what used to be an island...
Ueda was sneezing like a madman, every other minute belting out a few that were beginning to sound like interesting foreign phrases. And Yamada was valiantly trying to make him stop because she was depending on his higher stature to keep her afloat when the water had already reached the point where she would have to tread water.
“Je’taime!” Ueda sneezed. “Jevousaime!”
Yamada was trying to be considerate by covering his mouth with her hands and cover up his sneezing, except she really wasn’t good about pulling away when he stopped. He had a vague suspicion she wasn’t doing it for entirely altruistic reasons.
“Stop squirming,” she grumbled as he maneuvered her hands from his mouth to his throat. Ueda in turn just decided to grip them and pulled them down to properly wrap around his chest so he could breathe. She was squirming more in protest than he was, but the point is that she was the one who couldn’t stand on ground and he could. And it was still his fault. And, damn, he probably had a bigger chest than her. “Idiot Ueda!”
“You could at least say something to encourage me. Or say ‘bless you’ when I sneeze,” he grumbled in return.
“Why would I say that? That’s a stupid thing to be blessed for, what kind of idiot would do that?”
“It’s a Western custom,” Ueda said petulantly. He was annoyed because her hair was beginning to get under his clothes and it gave him bad flashbacks to bad B-movie horror flicks. “Just say gesundheit.”
And as if on cue, Ueda sneezed.
“Ich lieb dich,” Yamada supplied automatically.
“That sounds nothing like gesundheit.”
“It was the thought that counts,” Yamada retorted, which, admittedly, wasn’t very much.
“When we get out of this I’ll make sure to stay far away from you.”
“If we get out of this I’ll make sure to stay on dry land and away from you.”
Ueda laughed, “Ha, joke’s on you, I’ll be on dry land too and there’s not enough land in Japan to separate us!”
For a while the only sound was the constant waves swaying against the both of them. Yamada wondered if mentioning what was on her mind would be enough to have him shove her off to fend for herself in the vast ocean. But Yamada was never that tactful, so she just blurted it out.
“Hey, Ueda-san, are you coming onto me?”
“...you’re already on me you flat-chested anchor!”
“Who you calling a bimbo newswoman!”
“Not news, dead weight!”
“I can’t wait till I never have to see you again!”
They were so busy arguing they didn’t notice a sightseeing boat that had wandered over to examine the wild commotion going on. Upon discovering it wasn’t a bunch of manatees mating the offered to help the castaways on their large, yellow floatation device. The N.S. Venus (which ended up being pronouced Biinisu by the tourists) was more than happy to have a few castaways on board to alternately take pictures of and poke with fishing poles.
Of course Ueda and Yamada were too tired to make any dirty jokes about their situation or even snipe at each other. Ueda was too sick from the tossing boat and Yamada too tired to even take advantage of free food. A fitting end to their ordeals as the promptly fell asleep on each other in their long journey back to land.
Spoilers for TricK season one finale, Gokusen 2 finale, and some slight foreshadowing for TricK's series finale, but not really. And apologies to Celeste because I kept her from Bleach fic in order to fulfille my selfish, and slightly maniacal whims. I think it's because I broke her with Kindaichi. Muahahahaha!
“So how much longer do we have?”
Professor Jiro Ueda had done extensive calculations on how long it would take their sand dune of refuge to erode. He had it calculated to how fast the wind’s direction would help the tides return and he was rather proud to remember the statistics related to a monsoon season.
Of course in his distracted efforts he decided to scratch the equations on the shoreline that, if he had calculated the answer, would have told him writing it five centimeters from the shore gave him a half an hour before it was all washed away.
Naoko Yamada had given up on yelling at him for his stupidity and had savored the remaining time where she could to curl up into a bundle and sleep until the seawater got into her snoring cavities.
It didn’t help that she was snoring loudly and making the equivalent of a sand angel tentacle monster the way she was flailing around. But her words still echoed in Ueda’s head, louder than the approaching ocean. It was one of those things that make you take stock of life, smell the roses, remember a summer’s day, realize that you really should have paid a boat to stick around if you’re looking for buried treasure.
“No, I want extra helping of konyakuuuuu...” Yamada muttered. He hypothesized that she was best able to articulate her desire of food even in deep R.E.M. sleep because it was extra time for her to train on her begging skills.
Ueda stared out into the expansive horizon that he knew stretched and curved out of his vision. He had already exhausted any rescue possibilities and now was enjoying the fruits of his labor by sulking and shoving his feet against the edge of the dry sand to build up blockades. If the world were fair he’d have a large pile of money to console him and be reenacting the scene in “From Here to Eternity” with someone sexy, like that really hot girl from “Face” and “Game,” but instead he was stuck with a moralistic cop out of treasure and that flat chested Yamada for his co-conspirator, who was currently rolling herself into the ocean.
He figured it wouldn’t help things if she managed to drown in the shallow waters so soon. It was a self-serving motive, especially since she had that knack for keeping him awake and on edge, so he might have a greater chance of survival by not nodding off himself.
Yamada, for her part, sputtered and got sand in his hair when he dragged her back. The small trickle of drool or sea foam that rested on her cheek had left an interesting impression, which she promptly wiped on his vest in her half-conscious state.
“My ancestors sucked,” was all Yamada managed to get out before she wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed in.
“They apparently got to a point where they could forsake materialistic goods,” Ueda stated. Since he had no idea how to deal with the fact that she was a warm body currently cuddling into him he decided it would be best to act pedantic. “It’s a very zen principle.”
“Right. They suck. What’s the sound of an island sinking if no one’s around to hear it?”
If he didn’t know better Ueda would think that she had gulped enough seawater to start delusions. He set her down beside him, noticing that the remaining beachfront had given them only enough room for sitting back to back. And Yamada was the type to flail in her unconscious state so he propped her up beside him and tried to initiate conversation.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll come back before nightfall,” he reassured her, “I gave them very specific instructions to return for me and my treasure.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, obviously not as out of it as Ueda assumed to notice he convieniently only mentioned himself. “Hey, were you planning on ditching me?”
“Of course not!” he exclaimed, the very picture of innocence. “I just wanted a bigger boat for my massive loads of treasure and an extra spot for you. Ah, so you could be comfy on the trip back!”
Yamada sighed and thumped her head against his shoulder blades. “Stupid Ueda, this is why you should let me make the plans. You’re not smart enough to realize the ship owner would want a piece.”
“Well, if you were in charge we wouldn’t even have hope of rescue you greedy selfish flint stick!”
“I am not that flat chested!”
Ueda blinked. “What? I didn’t say you were—not that you aren’t—but the point is I called you a flint stick, not some, some Tiffany.”
“Oh,” Yamada said, glad she was behind him so he couldn’t see the blush. She didn’t know what the word ‘flint’ meant and had automatically assumed the worst, or at least the most obvious. “Well, you probably said it wrong or something.”
He did, but since she didn’t know it and he didn’t know it that meant Ueda was technically still ahead. “I think the sun has gotten to you. You’re even more annoying and incomprehensible than usual.”
“Shut up,” Yamada said gracelessly. “I wouldn’t enjoy your company, not even if you were the last man on this world. I’d rather be on a beach with that idiot Yabe than you if we weren’t going to drown!”
“Oh, so why does a sinking island make a difference?” Ueda was rolling his eyes, and not very subtly trying to push her into the encroaching shoreline.
“Because you’re bigger, I can use you for a life raft or something.”
“But the water’s cold,” Ueda whined, “You know it always gets smaller when—”
“I didn’t mean that!!!” Yamada screamed.
Twenty kilometers inland from the sinking island, Kumiko Yamaguchi felt an inexplicable sneeze coming on. She managed to cover her hands in time to catch a whopper sneeze that almost doubled her over with its force.
The man walking beside her looked properly disgusted and rummaged through the pockets of his loud Hawaiian shirt to find and equally loud looking napkin and thrust it at her. “Oh jeez, wipe your hands. If people see us walking together they’ll assume I have no taste as well.”
“Thanks Kyoto-sensei,” Yankumi muttered, ignoring the condescension practically reeking from him because then she would have to suppress that urge to punch him. She managed a sidewise glance at his straw hat that completed his blatant tourist outfit.
“Hehehe, you know your hair kind of looks like a bad wig with that hat on,” Yankumi snickered.
The former head-teacher shot her his most indignant face and doffed his hat to swat her with it. “No wonder you’re still single. You need to find someone else just as tactless as you. Big and slovenly, who could put up with you...”
Two hours later on what used to be an island...
Ueda was sneezing like a madman, every other minute belting out a few that were beginning to sound like interesting foreign phrases. And Yamada was valiantly trying to make him stop because she was depending on his higher stature to keep her afloat when the water had already reached the point where she would have to tread water.
“Je’taime!” Ueda sneezed. “Jevousaime!”
Yamada was trying to be considerate by covering his mouth with her hands and cover up his sneezing, except she really wasn’t good about pulling away when he stopped. He had a vague suspicion she wasn’t doing it for entirely altruistic reasons.
“Stop squirming,” she grumbled as he maneuvered her hands from his mouth to his throat. Ueda in turn just decided to grip them and pulled them down to properly wrap around his chest so he could breathe. She was squirming more in protest than he was, but the point is that she was the one who couldn’t stand on ground and he could. And it was still his fault. And, damn, he probably had a bigger chest than her. “Idiot Ueda!”
“You could at least say something to encourage me. Or say ‘bless you’ when I sneeze,” he grumbled in return.
“Why would I say that? That’s a stupid thing to be blessed for, what kind of idiot would do that?”
“It’s a Western custom,” Ueda said petulantly. He was annoyed because her hair was beginning to get under his clothes and it gave him bad flashbacks to bad B-movie horror flicks. “Just say gesundheit.”
And as if on cue, Ueda sneezed.
“Ich lieb dich,” Yamada supplied automatically.
“That sounds nothing like gesundheit.”
“It was the thought that counts,” Yamada retorted, which, admittedly, wasn’t very much.
“When we get out of this I’ll make sure to stay far away from you.”
“If we get out of this I’ll make sure to stay on dry land and away from you.”
Ueda laughed, “Ha, joke’s on you, I’ll be on dry land too and there’s not enough land in Japan to separate us!”
For a while the only sound was the constant waves swaying against the both of them. Yamada wondered if mentioning what was on her mind would be enough to have him shove her off to fend for herself in the vast ocean. But Yamada was never that tactful, so she just blurted it out.
“Hey, Ueda-san, are you coming onto me?”
“...you’re already on me you flat-chested anchor!”
“Who you calling a bimbo newswoman!”
“Not news, dead weight!”
“I can’t wait till I never have to see you again!”
They were so busy arguing they didn’t notice a sightseeing boat that had wandered over to examine the wild commotion going on. Upon discovering it wasn’t a bunch of manatees mating the offered to help the castaways on their large, yellow floatation device. The N.S. Venus (which ended up being pronouced Biinisu by the tourists) was more than happy to have a few castaways on board to alternately take pictures of and poke with fishing poles.
Of course Ueda and Yamada were too tired to make any dirty jokes about their situation or even snipe at each other. Ueda was too sick from the tossing boat and Yamada too tired to even take advantage of free food. A fitting end to their ordeals as the promptly fell asleep on each other in their long journey back to land.
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