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| Return to Mangacity; I promise nothing... | |
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| Topic Started: May 30 2008, 09:48 AM (87 Views) | |
| Kowai Neko San | May 30 2008, 09:48 AM Post #1 |
Professional Catboy, Amateur Writer
  ![]](http://209.85.48.14/static/1/pip_r.png)
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... I had a nuclear disaster future image of the members, all back together, fighting... then my mind went crazy and this came out... Think of it as a different universe, a self-parody and written "seriously" but made so that people can laugh at it's absurdity... I saw this book in a store the other day, called "Devil May Cry"... no relation to the game, and the back cover read... "For millennia, the ex-god turned Dark-Hunter Sin has sought to regain his powers and take revenge on Artemis. But now he has bigger fish-or in this case, demons-to fry. The lethal gallu that were buried by his pantheon are stirring, and they are hungry for human flesh. Their goal: To destroy mankind. Sin is the only one who can stop them...if a certain woman doesn''t kill him first. Enemies have always made strange bedfellows, but never more so than when the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Now a man who only knows betrayal must trust the one person most likely to hand him to the demons. Artemis may have stolen his godhood, but this one has stolen his heart. The only question is: Will she keep it...or feed it to those who want him dead?" .... I laughed so much that day... It's pretty much this, for Mangacity... Return to Mangacity Chapter 1 Rabid Usagi Productions was a blooming business, even if people didn’t exactly know what their line of work was. Their advertising campaigns used the word “character” frequently… “Exult your character”… “Strong character, strong goals”…. “Cultivate your character”… They were all nice slogans (or at least appealing to the masses) plastered on billboards that were powerfully decorated with strong colors, accompanied by acrobatically posed models and impossible to ignore, but offered little explanation to what kind of business Rabid Usagi actually was devoted, and if it weren’t for their powerful ad campaign and their extensive use by television networks and Hollywood, the public would not know of the company. Unless people entered the entertainment world they would hardly deal with the Mega Corporation, and then they’d find out that Rabid Usagi was simply a place devoted to creating characters. Hollywood’s creativity had already been exhausted long ago, resorting to steal ideas from comic books, novels, bestsellers that nobody seemed to read but everyone had bought, remakes of old movies (good and bad ones) and Star Wars sequels. As the movies got worse and worse, people stopped paying inflated prices to see them and decided that whatever could be even worthwhile to check out was easily downloadable off the internet through BitTsunami and eventually only the Star Wars movies got any profit whatsoever. However, with time, even the most hardcore geeks stopped going to these movies, and that meant Hollywood had lost their continuing source of income. The industry would have been ruined if it hadn’t been for the appearance of the C.E.O. of Rabid Usagi Productions, Mokie Mokona, who managed to gather all the studio representatives in a same place with a fake sighting of Christopher Walken with a “will work for dance shoes” sign. Hollywood was desperate, but even at the beginning they were reticent of such a strangely named person, however, the business deal they received was “an offer they couldn’t refuse”. She promised to revive the now dead business for free, at least for the moment: once revived she would ask for non-negotiable payments (a scary word, but she promised to stay between the realm of reason) and free entrance to any movie produced by the studios. EVER. Copyright of the characters remained Rabid Usagi’s property, but the studios could use them as long as they never went against the company policies. It was scary at long term, but in the present they had nothing to lose. They accepted, shook hands, and waited. They didn’t have to wait long. Every character that came out of Rabid Usagi was worth its weight in gold and inflated squeezed out dead scripts. Actors flocked to Hollywood again, and even the most deadbeat and cheap actors were illuminated by reading the extensive and intimate character descriptions they were given. They suggested plot twists, ad-libs, changes in the lights, dramatic silences and gimmicks that enhanced the story and turned every dead-end into a perfect ending. The studios suddenly realized that they weren’t just getting characters, they were also getting stories and tips that enhanced movie-making itself, and since the money kept-rolling in, they were rejoiced. When the first payment requests arrived, they didn’t doubt paying. Years later, not only movie companies but comic strip editorial houses, advertising businesses, television studios and video game developers were asking for Rabid Usagi’s work, even if they had no clue how the characters were produced. On demand, they could tour inside the huge Rabid Usagi Productions factory, which seemed ordinary on the outside but once entered transformed into something that looked like the result of a 5 star hotel that suddenly decided to become an office building and for the sake of it, its own production line. The machines were never seen, but the echo of their sounds reached most parts of the buildings and gave an approximate idea of their size: a lovely “BOOOOOOOOOM!” kind of big... A secretary greeted the visitors and directed them to the elevator, and the producers followed the pointing finger and boarded the elevator with employees who spoke in artistic jargon and were so excited and self-absorbed in thought that they never answered questions, or at least pondered on them for a second before suddenly trailing off in ideas, exclaiming loudly “THAT’S IT!” and running away with a puzzling grin. Visitors never really interacted with anyone but the C.E.O., the shaggy hat wearing Mokie Mokona. She’d receive them, listen to their requests, accept or deny and then politely lead them out. Deals were made fast, cleanly and without negotiation. There was almost no need for security, but the moment one of the visitors got curious enough to try and step out of the elevator a floor early or try and look inside a door while on their way to the bathroom, with almost omniscient efficiency some of the scariest looking guards would come out and demand to see their visitor badges. Once inspected, they would tell them that they had mistaken their floor and courteously lead them back to the elevator with a hand grip that dangerously flirted between friendly and “I’m gonna break your fucking arm if you try anything funny” strong. If the visitor said he was looking for the bathroom, they would not only escort them there and back, but also offered (no negotiation) to ensure their safety by keeping and eye on them, which would usually make the surprised trespasser mumble something, look downwards and decide they didn’t really need to use the bathroom and that they would like to go back to the elevator as soon as possible, please. Rabid Usagi’s method of work remained a mystery thanks to its diligent, never diminishing and impossible to bribe security force. Perhaps Mokona was the only that knew the real process behind the company. Every day at closing time, a surprisingly early four in the afternoon, the C.E.O. chatted to the secretary, which in reality was one of her closest friends, while the few employees of the company, which in reality were paid actors or struggling artists with promise and manners that received patronage from Mokona, left outside, usually exchanging thanks or jokes or memories of the day with the C.E.O. and promising to come up with newer and more inventive ways of screwing up and confusing the visitors. Everyone laughed and everyone left early. By five, the only remaining people in the building were the C.E.O. and the guards, who never seemed to need to leave. The C.E.O. then went to the highest floor, her “office”, and relaxed in her penthouse paradise. Walls folded away to reveal a couch, a TV, a computer, small fridge for drinks, compartments for assorted snacks, a study room, bookshelves and a lone bed. The C.E.O. wasn’t a hermit, but if she wanted to, she’d have everything she needed to survive up there for a long time. The only clearly separate room in the floor, which was quite spacious seeing as the place used to be a factory, was the drawing studio. It may not have been the best equipped place, even if the money the company received allowed it, but it was equipped with everything Mokona needed for drawing, all the pens, all the markers, all the pencils she felt “warm” to the touch, and indescribably necessary for her creative desires. She then started painting, rabidly and passionately, cursing and celebrating at the same time, madly and logically, impossibly and accurately. After a process of around five hours for the most complicated characters, it was finally alive. The character had been created. The character stood in front of her. It usually said something along the lines of “Hi!”, “Who am I?” or “Took you long enough…” Rabid Usagi Productions philosophy in character making was that believable characters had to be real characters, but nobody ever would have thought that following that line of thought, characters had to be made real to be believable. Mokona was the C.E.O., the only working employee and the only “real” person left in the building by sundown: all the guards were characters created by Mokona tasked with protecting the secret of her ability. Commissioned characters were interviewed by Mokona and she elaborated on the character sheets she’d already created beforehand. Once she believed all useful information was obtained, she’d tell them about the world, explain to them that they had to stay inside the building for a while during the time she found a place for them and then guided into the many rooms of the building. The “cubicles” were actually a cover for the living quarters of the recently created characters. Hollywood was handed the character sheets, character designs and any other extra gimmicks Mokona could think of at the moment, and then afterwards she’d spend the time looking for the perfect place for her characters to live in. Everyone had a use, everyone had a right for life, everyone had the possibility to make a romantic singleton happy, a fetishist squeal with joy and a little boy find his hero and proper model figure. Everyone had a new identity, but everyone was left alive. The C.E.O. didn’t scrap her characters and sought them new homes even if it left her grumpy and exhausted by the end of the day. Everyone had to find a place to call home. One day, as usual, Mokona started slumping towards the elevator after waving Ju-chan goodbye. She was joined, halfway, as always, by Yulean, one of her oldest characters and the first to have become a guard for the company. She waved him off, as always, making a quip about not needing a bodyguard. Frankly, Yulean had never quite been a bodyguard figure, but the years and the job had changed him a bit. He was still sadistically playful and made damn sure to kill curiosity before it killed the cat, and made damn sure the cat saw him skin curiosity slowly and playfully. However, he seemed to have finally grown fond of Mokona, which meant he cursed less, tolerated her company and cared for her well-being. He even didn’t mind wearing a tie, as long as it was strong enough to choke a man if the situation arrived. Mokona smiled to herself and thought how much Yulean had become like a nanny, except this nanny hid a knife under the pillow and an AK47 under the mattress. She went to the last floor, unfolded the room and headed towards the sofa after getting herself some bottled ice tea. This night she was alone, for Terpsichore, her original character muse and living agenda, was outside doing PR, which pretty much consisted in making sure the studios kept the whole business as quiet as possible, didn’t mess up the characters at all and kept believing the deadlines would be respected. Mokona liked it better when she was away, anyway, for she could then ignore the pending deadlines without someone constantly reminding her to do her work. It had even been Terpsichore idea to create the advertising campaign as a way to divert the copyright zealots from the inner workings of the company. They had been suspecting some kind of writing sweatshop or plagiarism factory, and the advertisements helped cement the fact that Rabid Usagi Productions was a legitimate business and put them off her back, but Mokona had never really liked advertising her work. The strange billboards were actually fast sketches with redundant slogans she’d thrown together at the last moment, and didn’t really make any sense to her. She didn’t need notoriety, she had the thanks of her creations, free movie passes, gift baskets, huge apartment, a job she loved doing and a small mention in the credits of every blockbuster movie made since she started offering her services. She hadn’t done it for money; she had just been bored and figured her special ability could be used for something. She just wanted to revive the entertainment industries, and everything had turned out better for everyone. Advertising was shallow, but it calmed suspicions. Life was complicated because creating characters was so, but it had become very simple to live, she only complicated it further for herself because she was bored. She turned on the TV and was surprised to hear a booming sound. After the surprise was over, she went over to the light console and turned off the switch that controlled the fake sounds she used to make people believe there were booming machines in the building. She smirked, headed back and caught the news. She laughed. Someone had died because of poisonous SPAM. She felt a bit bad because she was laughing at the death of a person, but the report was so ridiculous it couldn’t help to make her giggle. Anyone willingly eating SPAM was pretty much poisoning himself, after all. For a moment there, it brought her back to a certain time of her life… She decided the news was worthy enough to share with her sister, so she quickly started the computer, sought a report on the same story and copied the URL. She then stopped and examined an image of the can that had caused the poisoning. She was stopped cold when she read what was written on it. “Made in Mangacity.” |
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| Mokona | May 30 2008, 10:01 AM Post #2 |
Depressed.
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I hope we're laughing for the same reasons, right? XD I wonder if the fun I'm having with "Twilight" fandom might actually be surpassed by this... °-° The story, you already know, is made of extreme coolness and I might very well spend the rest of my life wondering what happens after this. For me it's heartwarming and flattering and so very nice to read, quite obviously~ (It's still "Mokie Mokona", huh?!) More please? .w. |
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| Kowai Neko San | May 30 2008, 11:42 AM Post #3 |
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Professional Catboy, Amateur Writer
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Now you made me wonder if we are... o=o Hopefully... You got any better names than Mokie Mokona? Plus, your nickname doesn't allow a lot of parallel universe tampering... I could be using your real name too, btw... Hopefully more to come... |
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| Mokona | Jun 4 2008, 09:46 AM Post #4 |
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Depressed.
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OMG YOU WOULDN'T You already know, I think, that I have a tendency to use Hayashi with my nickname... At least it's a name that works in Tokimeki Memorial, since the game seiyuu just can't pronounce "Mokona"! (Hikaru Midorikawa calls me "Moko" ;__; ) (Funny thing? My sister uses "Kobayashi" :D) |
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| Shyne | Jun 8 2008, 03:14 AM Post #5 |
Graduate
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As always your story really know how to stir one's imagination. I like the gloomy atmosphere. It makes me wonder what will happen next. |
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