15 - Three's A Club (1)

"Another pleasant day in Point Parallax," I say, in a posh, affected accent, as I daintily pour another cup of tea. (It's actually surprisingly difficult to do, with all the protective gear I'm wearing.) "Wouldn't you agree, my dear Alexander?"

"Quite so, my good Mr Odd-kun," says Alex, his voice muffled by his respirator. "Oh, I do believe you've brought out the good stuff! Earl Grey, is it?" He tries to drink through his gas mask, but the tea just runs down the sides.

"Yes, only the best for my fellow chums," I say, trying to adjust my monocle through the hazmat suit I'm wearing. (I physically cannot.) "Oh, how I do pity the uncultured swine and plebian masses who have yet to experience the finer things in life!"

Then the two of us clink our teacups together (shattering them instantly), and pretend to drink out of our now-empty hands, and chortle aristocratically.

"You guys do this shit every fucking time I come in here," says Valerie, off to the side, our resident sock-huffing pervert. "Seriously, I don't smell that bad."

She lifts one arm, and does a test sniff. The flowers we planted by the window instantly wilt.

"If I'm being perfectly honest," pouts Valerie, crossing her arms, "you're not making me feel very welcome in your club."

Alex takes his gas mask off—not because he can stand the smell, but so he can look Valerie in the eyes as he says, "Because you're not! You've just been coming here on your own for several days now! Nobody even invited you!"

I wave Alex off. "There, there. It's not the worst thing, having more people. Remember, if we don't get five members, we'll be shut down at the end of the semester."

(As soon as I say this, I hear Jessica telepathically reassure me, Ara, Odd-kun—I don't care about that. You're not a real club anyway. But I immediately ignore this, and pretend I never hear it. Call it another cheat skill of mine: Selective Retrograde Amnesia. Unlimited Overdrive Edition. MK II.)

Alex protests, "I don't think we need someone like this in our club. O.P.P.A.I. is a respectable organization!"

"(Oh, so now you approve of Otherworlders Protesting Persistently Against Isekai.)"

"(Well, the joke works better if it's one of the more ridiculous acronyms. I'm perfectly willing to change my beliefs in service of a better joke.)"

Valerie thrashes in her chair. "See! This is what I'm talking about! At least include me in your parenthetical asides!"

Alex turns to Valerie, disgustedly, and says, "I'm not sharing shit with a disgusting fujo like you."

Valerie sticks her tongue out. "Actually, fujo is a very offensive term, because it implies that—"

"No, Valerie—I mean that literally. You are rotten. As in, something is physically rotting inside you at this moment. It's the only thing that explains the smell." Then Alex turns to me, and asks, "Are you seriously okay with someone like this!? She steals our socks, Odd-kun! She steals everyone's socks! And does things with them!"

"Well," I say, emptying three whole cans of Lys*l air freshener as I talk. "Nobody's perfect. Although, I am surprised that Valerie can just harass the Point Parallax population for her own twisted pleasure, and Jessica just lets her do it."

Valerie tilts her head. "… Who?"

"You haven't met Jessica!?"

"… No? Who's that?"

"What! Everyone knows her! She's the Chief Torturer—" I shake my head. "… Sorry. I mean, she's the Chief Tortur—" I shake my head. "… Sorry. I mean, she's the Chief Tort—FUCK!" I slap myself hard twice across the face. "Jessica is the CENTRAL. ADMINISTRATOR. Of Point Parallax."

"Just tell her to stop hurting you. Stand up for yourself, man," says Alex. "Isn't that your whole thing? To be more assertive because you were such a doormat in the real world?"

I nod. "You're right. You're totally right. I'm gonna say something to her next time." I try to rehearse what I should say. Sentimental music plays in the background. "… 'Jessica. Please listen to what I have to say. It really causes me excrutiating pain whenever you bash my face in with the fire extinguisher until my features are completely unrecognizable, like in that French movie, the one that plays backwards. I wish you would stop hurting me so much.' … Yeah. That's good. I just need to remember to maintain eye contact, and stand up straight next time."

Anyway, as I'm rehearsing, Valerie is making herself at home again, and going through our club room belongings, smearing her grimy hands all over our anime figures and game cases, while Alex loses his mind.

"So, what does your club even do?" she asks, ignoring Alex. "I mean, I've been here a few times but I still don't get it."

"Alex," I say, nodding toward the TV with the Pl*ySt*tion2. "Give her the QRD on the CRT so we can say QED."

He stares back blankly at me.

"… You know, the Kami Hand stuff. And creative entropy."

Alex sighs. "Do I have to do the M*rpheus thing again, too? That was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Whatever you feel is best."

So, anyway, Alex performs the entire thing for Valerie, including the bold text headers crashing into our club room (this time one of them actually does maim and kill me, but we can skip over that part), and when it's done, she just kind of scratches her filthy, greasy head, and shrugs. "… Okay? Old thing good, new thing bad? Is that all it is?"

Alex and I fall to the floor, simultaneously, and shout, in unison, "NO YOU DON'T GET IT!"

"C-c-creative entropy!" blurts out Alex, like it's a proper, cogent argument.

"And th-the isekai-industrial complex!" I add, just as convincingly.

Valerie puts her hands on her hips. "And what was with that game!? Its controls were terrible. And it's way too hard. … Although, I guess I finally understand the origin behind your catch phrase." (Alex: "It's not my catchphrase … I'm not a P*k*mon …") "… Frankly, I'm glad games these days have outgrown such obsolete game design."

I'm already in the middle of tying a noose, desperate to save myself from hearing any more of her L takes.

Alex, on the other hand, has taken a different approach, donning the J*ker makeup once more—but not the one we usually do. No, it's the one with the sequel everyone prefers to forget existed. (Like, it's not even a musical. It's just—they're singing random, out-of-place … You know what, never mind. Neither the time nor place.) He then lights up a (candy) cigarette, and takes a smokeless drag, and mutters, despondently, "… You wouldn't get it."

"You guys are so dramatic," she says, rolling her eyes.

That's when I ask her outright. "So—are you for or against isekai, Valerie?"

Valerie thinks about this for a bit. "I'm … ambivalent."

Then her eyes start sparkling, as she adds, "… Though, it has made me a lot of money over the years."

Alex and I exchange looks.