Chapter 4 - Music Makers and World Losers

William Congreve once wrote, “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems."

As a studious teenaged boy it was Taki’s favourite quote. It brought him comfort at his loneliest hours. As a keen studier, and admittedly a “nerd” he found it hard to keep friends, in fact as a loner he was subjected to teasing, often painful beatings, by packs of testosterone driven bullies. He assumed this was how life was meant to be, till he met Mayuhiko Nobi. If Taki Aizawa was the geekiest student at their school, then Mayuhiko Nobi was the most notably the coolest. Sure he’d seen him “around”, but until they were stuck cleaning their classroom together he’d never actually spoken to him.

Mayuhiko detested his name; it wasn’t sharp and made the wrong statement. So everyone called him Ma-kun.

Ma-kun was never involved in any harassment towards Taki, however the fear was prevalent that he’d try something. He practically cowered in the corner of the room, slowly wiping the last window, just praying he’d go away.

“You know, if you keep that up you’re going to wipe a hole through the window.”

Taki blinked, peering over his shoulder. His heart leapt into his mouth from cold fear as the platinum blonde older boy stood right behind him. “Uh…uh…”

He smiled, trying not to laugh as the scared nerd. “Now, not replying is very impolite, Tachi.” Ma-kun lifted a hand to Taki’s face. Taki swerved his head back, expecting to be hit. Instead, his glasses were lifted from his face.

He leaned closer, surveying Taki’s looks. “Apart from those bruises, you’re not a bad looker at all. With some work I bet you’d drive the ladies wild.”

“What…are you talking about?” Quietly asked Taki, unsure of the character of this Ma-kun guy. He was being nice; it must’ve been some sort of sick set up. “Please, leave me alone.”

Ma-kun shrugged, slipping Taki Aizawa’s glasses onto the bridge of the owner’s nose. “And you wonder why you don’t have any friends?” Bored, the boy turned around and started back to the far desks.

“I don’t have friends because of people like you!” Taki spat out, inching back immediately, wishing he’d just gone back to his cleaning.

Ma-kun turned back, lifting his eyebrow, “Is that so?”

He had nothing to lose, either way he knew he was going to get beaten again; If not by Mayuhiko Nobi, then by some other goon like him. “You think you’re so cool, with your fast cars, slut women and trashy parties. Just because you travel in large packs and harass innocent teachers you think you have every right to make the lives of anyone different hell! You people have no soul, no individuality, no integrity, no….ggrrr!” Furious, frustrated, Taki slammed a fist to the window. He was just so tired of it all.

“That poor kid,” Ma-kun thought to himself.

Taki fell to his knees, sobbing like a primary school child. His hands cradled his head as he shed tear after tear. Why couldn’t he fit in? Why did only teachers like him? Why was singled out to be beaten and made fun of? He never did anything to anyone!

Ma-kun lit up a cigarette; he could tell Tachi really needed this release, as pathetic a display as it was. He watched the poor kid suffer every day by the same people he called friends. Good people who do stand by doing nothing are generally the worst, as he reminded himself. Tachi had a backbone, but lacked the confidence to fully acknowledge it. The key to attracting the right attention is confidence, simple as that.

Puffing smoke from grinning lips Ma-kun couldn’t help but whisper, “project.”

Finishing his cigarette, he made his over to Taki, who was now a lifeless doll. Ruffling his dark locks, he helped him to his feet.

“You wanna hang at my place after school?” Ma-kun casually offered, “I have the latest Nittle Grasper album. They’re a pretty cool band, ever listen to them?”

Taki’s eyes wandered up to meet his. He nodded. “Is this some sort of trick?”

Ma-kun heartily laughed, slapping his back, “Tachi-chan, you’re such a paranoid guy! Ha-ha!”

From that day on the two were inseparable friends. Through Ma-kun’s unwavering friendship, and protection, Taki gained the confidence and people skills he so desperately yearned for. Fitting in became his priority. He vowed to never allow another person to bully him again.

“We are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems."

“Huh?” Taki’s thoughts broke, interrupted by the voice of Ojou-chan, their irritating visitor.

“I heard you say it, sir,” she replied, biting hungrily into a sandwich Ken-chan had picked up for her. The girl sure did love to eat. “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems."

“Oh…it’s by William Congreve, it’s nothing.”

“What does it mean?” She asked, taking another bite, watching and waiting. It turned out while she did have some extraordinary smarts, she was mostly a parrot, echoing things her Papa had said, and reciting parts of articles she’d read.

Taki didn’t feel like giving her a literacy lecture so he told her to get her Papa to explain it to her, he seemed like an all-knowing guy. She never shut up about the guy.

Ojou-chan finished her sandwich. She was still hungry. “Mr. Aizawa…”

“You’ve already eaten a 6 packets of chips, drank 4 litres of coke, ate an apple pie, scoffed a bad of marshmallows and just had a sandwich, I think you’ve had ENOUGH. Don’t your parents feed you?!”

Ojou-chan cocked her head, “My Daddy eats lots and I heard my Father ate lots too, so I eat lots like them. Is that bad?”

Taki, Ma-kun and Ken-chan gave each other confused looks. Did this mean she had…three fathers?

Ma-kun despairingly shook his head, how unfortunate for the girl. Her mother must either be some sort of tramp, or have the worst luck with marriages.

“I don’t have a Mama anymore,” she simply told them, “hey, when can you take me to Bad Luck?”

Their attention instantly seeped away from the child. Ryuko huffed, sitting back on a chair angrily. Her eyes met with a bag of popcorn on the opposite seat. “Yummy, caramel covered!”

~@~

“Right, left, right left, right, left!” Sang Himeka, leading the small searching and rescue team.

Michael sighed, “It’s left, right, not right left.”

“Oh, whatever,” she jeered, continuing on with her marching song.

Sakano-san and Michael were glad to see little Sara walking on her own, especially as they weren’t sure their bodies could survive much more of her torment. Still…they were subjected to her crying shifts, begging for her parents. If they weren’t careful, security may think she’s some abducted child!

“I suppose this comes from Fujisaki-kun and Umi-san being too overprotective of Sara-chan,” Sakano-san thought aloud, reaching the ear of Michael Winchester.

Michael looked over to him, “I wonder what Mr. And Mrs Nakano did to create that little monster, Himeka.”

Himeka abruptly haltered, pivoting to look up at the insubordinate member of the team, “Calling your senior officer a name is naughty and punishable! It said on TV!”

“Oh, boo hoo. What’s a little brat like you gonna do anyway?” Laughed Michael. A swift kick came to his right shin, man it was painful! Angered, he descended on the dark auburn haired girl, “You little shoot!”

Himeka shrieked, racing away. Michael gave chase. Sakano-san and Sara desperately followed, begging them to stop.

Himeka ducked and swerved in-between music stars and staff idly standing in the corridors. They were soon pummelled by a young America with blazing, vengeful eyes; a panic-stricken businessman in glasses; and a young girl screaming her lungs out, frantically reaching her tiny arms out to grab the businessman’s jacket.

The five year old made her way amid the chaos of that floor’s lobby, satisfied Michael Winchester wouldn’t dare hurt her with so many witnesses.

She was wrong.

Michael brought his chase to a close, standing in view of Miss Nakano, who defiantly poked a tongue at him. Smirking, he reached into his jacket; Himeka’s deep blue eyes widened. Without a care for spectators, he brandished his Glock 29 Sub-Compact, aiming it at arm’s length at the young girl.

Everyone stopped and stared. Silence fell upon the lobby as they waited to see what the foreign boy would do. Security ran into the room, fresh from their lunchbreak to find the distressing scene.

“Don’t try anything rash, kid!” called one, reaching for his gun.

Himeka gulped, hoping one of them would take out the insane Winchester.

Michael politely smiled to the audience, “It’s Ok, my mother’s Judy Winchester.”

“Judy Winchester?!” The crowd giggled with glee. Moving in, the coy security guards asked the boy for his mother’s autograph; Himeka sighed, grown-ups were so stupid.

Putting his gun away he stood and took questions and addresses from the same people who were cautious of him seconds ago. It paid to be a Hollywood kid - you couldn’t do any wrong!

~@~

Taki flipped through a random music idol magazine he’d picked up earlier that day. The main article was on Music Smile’s concert and the stars that would be performing. ASK had a fair amount of coverage, however it was bittersweet, for he knew this decent coverage would not be, if not for their being signed to Japan’s second most prosperous label.

Did the media, nay, Japan really not care about ASK?

“Why bother?” He would sit and wonder. They weren’t the up and comers they once were, and record sales, while not bad, were also not all that great.

His eyes lay upon the four-page spread Bad Luck received. After several years in the spotlight their popularity had no wavered. No. They attained a goal that every idol aspires to – they were Godlike. Never before Nittle Grasper had a band impacted the hearts and imaginations like those three men. Their pull was unquestionable.

But they never appeared untouchable. They were always noted as down-to-earth, funny and human. Though their schedules were hectic, lives crazy; they were often candid in interviews about how they stayed sane thanks to their families. These weren’t hardcore partygoers, shagging whatever slut groupie came along, trashing hotels and doing dugs – they were honest family men who had a network of family and friends supporting them.

And damn did they make quality music!

“Bah, they’re only popular because Ryuichi Sakuma’s dead!” sneered Taki, tossing the magazine to the ground.

Ojou-chan giddily pounced on the half-open magazine, “Oooh, Bad Luck!”

Taki’s pull was always so shallow, based on a persona created by an insecure geek. He knew it, oh god how he knew that fact. He’d forsaken his studies to pursue popularity. Taki Aizawa lost his soul long ago. His life revolved around that fear of persecution, he would never be bullied again he repeatedly told himself.

Get them before they get you!

Just as he felt on top of the world, safe and secure, that little pink haired punk just had to waltz in out of nowhere! What right did he have to take away what he’d worked so hard to achieve, what his two only real friends had worked so hard to achieve? He wouldn’t lose that world, shallow, but safe, to an idiot who didn’t know what suffering and sacrifice was!

“Mr. Aizawa?”

Taki caught his breath. His shirt clung effortlessly to cold, moist skin. “What…what is it?”

“You make cool music,” Ojou-chan told him, flipping through the magazine, admiring the pretty, glossy pictures. She looked up at him, smiling.

Taki lowered his eyes, “Thanks, kid…”

Ryuko walked away, setting herself down on the edge of the stage to read a comic with Ken-chan.

We may forsake the world, but we are the ones who create it. That’s right, Taki was a loser, but, as he stared at Ken-chan and Ma-kun joking together, he remembered, he was also a mover and a shaker. ASK would finally take their place in the spotlight.

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