~Beyond the Border~ > Daiyousei's Cold Storage
That's your Touhouroscope for today
MewMewHeart:
--- Quote from: Reddyne on November 25, 2013, 06:38:21 PM ---Future: "Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald, this is MewMew from Luna Pharmaceuticals and I have some important information for you. My understanding is that you have been taking our heart medication for some time now, yes? Well, as it turns out, we didn't fill your last refill order properly and your meds have been swapped with meds for ADHD. On the upside, you'll be able to pay very close attention to your heart attack. Have a nice day." *click*
"Hello, Mrs. Johnson, this is MewMew from Luna Pharmaceuticals. Yes, well, we're calling in regards to your mother's antibiotics. Yes, I understand that it's quite important that your mother receive this medication considering that she's recovering from surgery. Sepsis is quite the concern for recovering patients despite all the efforts surgeons go through to avoid such things. Well, as it turns out, we recently discovered the funniest thing about the antibiotics. It seems they don't buddy up so well with the painkiller meds that she's on and may cause her to have a severe case of restless leg syndrome, which can be quite difficult to deal with when recovering from hip replacement surgery. Well, we could always use repeat customers! Ha ha! Okay, you have a good day now. Buh-bye." *click*
"Hello, Senator Franklin, this is MewMew with Luna Pharmaceuticals. How are you today? Good, good. Well, senator, it seems like I have some bad news for you regarding your medication. Yes, I know you want to keep that rash in check, but stick with me here, this could be important. Indeed. I'd be worried too. Well, as it turns out, a team of Harvard-educated doctors are releasing a study that has found that our product actually causes Tourette syndrome as a side effect. Yes, I understand that you have a major speech forthcoming that could have incredibly profound ramifications on the socioeconomic structure of this country. We were just calling to remind you that you signed a waiver since this is a drug that's still in clinical trials and you're on your own. Good luck!" *click*
Your boss finds out about your crank calls and you wake up 4 days later in an abandoned warehouse in Sri Lanka with an empty syringe in your rump.
Death: Overdose at the age of 39.
Last Words: "This one's called the Jimi Hendrix Experience for a reason, dude."
Number: 420
Color: Trippy hippie.
--- End quote ---
AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! XD -can't stop laughing-
Sakurei:
--- Quote from: Reddyne on November 26, 2013, 08:00:45 PM ---Future: Ah, summer. A break from school. A break from the rigors of life. A break from being poor, too. Nothing like earning a spot of spending money on the side! 'Tis the season of part-time jobs and mowing lawns. You happen to be quite good at both. But someone else beats you to the punch every time. Regardless of what the job may be, every job for someone your age group has already been snatched up. All by the same person. His work ethic is commendable, but his greed most certainly isn't. He becomes a frequent sight, always sneering at you with an egotistical, mocking look painted on his ugly melon.
There he is. There he is. There. He. Is. Everywhere you go. Bussing tables. Trimming bushes. Stealing your money and your very future away from you. Always with a smug grin on his face. Always beating you to the punch. Time to punch back. A new day dawns, and you walk down to the biggest supermarket in town, awaiting the moment when it will open and always vigilant of your malefactor. Suddenly, the lights flicker on, the automatic doors slide open, and in you go. Then out. And back in. For the next few hours, you repeat this cycle. Sure enough, your presence alone seemed to be enough to attract... him here. You casually greet him, resisting the urge to punch him into low Earth orbit, and say that you just applied for a job. He responds by saying that's exactly what he's about to get. You let him enter and wait, only to see him emerge half an hour later. Sure enough, he produces a company shirt and a key for opening up early. But you aren't frustrated. Quite the opposite. The trap has been laid and set. You scamper home, only to return in the dead of night with a shovel and more pluck and grit than that supermarket could ever hope to handle.
Morning dawns on the supermarket. But you aren't there. You're far away. On a hill. In the neighboring town. Why? Your "friend" is about to find out. You spy him through a pair of binoculars as he walks towards the door in that goofy company shirt you have to wear. As he nears the entrance, a low rumble stops him in his tracks. However, it quickly subsides, and he dismissively walks to the door. He unlocks it and walks in. Slowly, the door swings shut. And just as it clicks close, a thunderous roar echoes throughout town. Fissures erupt through its parking lot and the entire structure fractures and splits, throwing detritus every which way. The earth opens up and suddenly all of it disappears. The entire supermarket and parking lot are swallowed whole in the 10 story deep sinkhole that you dug last night, calculated perfectly. It takes a full three weeks for the rescue crew to dig the kid out, who is more than set in terms of food. And for three weeks - three short but glorious weeks - you earn your pay and earn it well.
Death: Meh. Life's OK after that. You still get hit by a bus when you're 92 because dementia has really gotten to you by that point.
Last Words: You can only recount this one story to your grandkids over and over. You get hit by the bus and go flying through the air and land on top of a car, setting off the alarm and recount this one story to the alarm over and over. You are rushed to the hospital and recount this one story to the paramedics over and over. You lie on your deathbed surrounded by family still happily recounting this story over and over. At the funeral, the priest recounts the one story over and over. At the eulogy, your children recount this one story over and over. Then everyone goes home. Then the youngest of all the grandkids asks all the others "did Gran ever recount this one particular story with you?"
Number: Minimum wage
Color: Greenbacks
--- End quote ---
I gotta be really bulky if I can dig a hole like that in a night. Lovely. I like how I become one of those old people I always wanted to avoid becoming. Telling about their past, infinitely repeating the same stoy over and over again.
I like money, alright.
Reddyne:
--- Quote from: Raekuul on November 06, 2013, 03:36:33 AM ---1. Yuuka
2. Chen
3. Youmu
4. Patchouli
5. Marisa
6. Yuyuko
7. Seija
8. Seiga
9. Cirno
10. Merlin P.
--- End quote ---
Lots of people with Yuuka at the top! As much as I "understand" Yuuka's appeal, I'll never "get" it.
Future: Life kinda stinks when you're bullied all the time. At your age, it'll be more than just embarrassing, too. It's a depressing look at humanity as a whole. But the tables are about to turn. See, on one night, you walk through a rough part of town only to stumble upon a feral cat. He's relatively young and is clearly out of it's goddamn mind. His beady eyes are fixed open in an exaggerated perma-stare, tufts of fur fly whenever he runs (which is almost always), and he's more jittery than a panicky chihuahua after twenty cups of espresso. Yet despite how dangerous and volatile he is, you take pity on him and offer him some leftovers from lunch. He drags them over to what seems to be a salt lick. Upon scarfing down his only meal of the day, he calms down (sorta) and rubs against your leg. You collect the crack to prevent it from being out on the streets and your new friend (or crack junkie in need of a fix) follows you home. You name him Boo as both a nod to Baldur's Gate and because he is completely unable to handle any sort of auditory stimulus without flying off the handle.
Over a week's time, the two of you bond and you formally adopt him. He now shadows you wherever you go because he loves you so much (and is a coke fiend). Now life in this dangerous part of the city has become drastically easier. Part of it is because companionship gives you hope, but part of it is because you have 15 pounds of concentrated psychosis at your side at all times. You soon encounter the thugs that trouble your neighborhood so much, and it isn't long before you have an altercation with them. The little beast stands shakily (and a bit hallucinatory) along the sidelines as you start to get pummeled, but you realize that this little guy is trouble because of his addictions. Desperate, you drag out the bit of cocaine remaining in your pocket and fling it at your assailants. The damage it does is negligible at best, but Boo's eyes practically bug out of his skull. In a flash and with a most terrific screech, the tuft of fluff flings itself at the thugs. The screams of your attackers soon join the cat's screeching, and before long, they're reduced to a 700 lb. pile of scratch marks. His habit satiated for the time being, Boo returns to your side. As he rubs up against your legs again, it hits you: You effectively have a crack-based pokemon.
Death: Boo confronts you late in his life and tells you that he's been going to rehab and doesn't need you as a negative influence anymore. The two of you have had some good times, but he can't truly be free until he's free from his dealer. You beg him to stay, but he doesn't heed your pleas. He dons a fedora and picks up his two suitcases and slowly and mournfully heads out the door. He doesn't look back as your pleading becomes desperate. A symphony begins to play, adding extra drama to an already tearful scene. An ambitious trombone player tries a bit too hard to hit triple forte at the climax of the sorrowful tune and the end of his instrument suddenly becomes a projectile. The slide rockets from his trombone and catches you in the throat. Boo still gives the eulogy at your funeral. You will be 48.
Last Words: Despite taking a respectable amount of brass traveling at barely subsonic speeds to vital air passageways, you still do a better job of saying "NOOOOOO!" than James Earl Jones did in Revenge of the Sith. At least he was cool in Field of Dreams.
Number: 17 grams
Color: Orange
Fuyuumi:
I'll try it...
1. Sakuya
2. Alice
3. Marisa
4. Youmu
5. Cirno
6. Reimu
7. Remilia
7. Flandre
8. Reisen
9. Tewi
10. Suika
Raekuul:
Between the berserker Boo and being speared on a spit valve...
speared on a spit valve! Now that's a way to die (as long as I'm not the overenthusiastic trombone player at another's funeral!)