YIPPEE I put the color chart there so that you guys can know what yayoi’s colors mean Enjoy (: ___________________________________________________ Chapter three I awake to the sound of the car stopping. How long have I been sleeping? I don’t want to open my eyes. I have a feeling it’ll be too bright and then I’ll be in darkness forever. But I know I have to. I slowly work my eyes open, starting by squinting, then widening them to a good viewpoint. “We have arrived at a hotel of New York City,” I hear Jame’s voice say. I decide to sit up and rub my head. “That’s good,” I say as I stretch and yawn, trying to wake myself up. Finally, I shake it off and hop out of the car. I was intending to look at the view, but I feel a sudden jolt of pain up my leg. I trip and fall over. So, not exactly the most graceful decent. “Aauuuggh,” I say, my face pressed against the concrete. “What the FUDGE-” “you fell asleep in a strange position,” James says as he climbs out of the car. I look over at him. “WELL YEAH,” I say. “Uuuuuuugh.” I try to push myself into a sitting position. My leg is asleep. I glare at it, trying to get it to work properly. “Would you like me to take your bag in?” James says. I shake my leg around, trying to wake it up. “Yeah,” I say. “Send a bot in.” A bot immediately detaches from the car, which is practically armed with them. Bots are what I call my robot servants. I made them a while ago, when I didn’t really have anything to do and drawing paper was short. Servants might be an exaggeration. ACQUAINTANCES is probably better. They’re basically drone looking things with arm like attachments. I had to make them from scraps in a junkyard, because APPARENTLY, I can't just go to a robot factory and steal some. Sometimes life is just so unfair. The bot heads through the swiveling door, carrying my bag in. Hopefully the desk person will think I’m some sort of rich smartie, who has too much authority to carry my one bag in and check into a room. I smile softly as I wiggle my leg around while sitting. My smile quickly turns into a frown as I realize this stupid leg is keeping me on the floor. This is ridiculous. I push myself up, using my other leg as balance. I begin to stomp my foot on the sidewalk. I can feel James’s weirded out electronic gaze burning into my back. If you were wondering, James looks kind of like a badly made test dummy. I recently added a facial programming to his codes, which basically means that he can now make expressions. It seems my assumptions were incorrect. The desk guy is arguing with the bot I sent in, something about infernal technology. I sigh. This happens way too often. “Hello, desk person!” I shout from across the room. He looks my way, a glare fixed on his face. I wave as genuinely as possible. I point to the bot. “This is my bot. Don’t worry, we have consent.” We really don’t; I’m just trying to keep the situation calm. The guy narrows his eyes at me. “I’m not letting any BOTS inna my hotel,” he says. I think for a minute. “But sir, I am ill,” I say, fake coughing into my shoulder. “These are my helping bots.” I never knew a desk person’s eyes could go so narrow without closing. “You weren’t ‘ill’ until I accused you,” he says. My mind is racing. “It comes and goes,” I say, coughing again. And just for fun, I decide to have a coughing breakdown. James seems to know my strategy and lifts me up with his robot arms. “Let me help you Mistress,” he says. He turns his head to the desk person, who seems to believe me now. “I apologize for the inconvenience. If you could direct us to our room, it would be greatly appreciated.” The guy looks confused. “Should I call an ambulance or something?” He says. I continue coughing. “No need,” says James. “This happens often. Now direct us to her room to get her medication.” Without another word, the desk guy with the weird accent leads us up the stairs and into a room. It’s lucky that James can run forever. Otherwise, I would be having a real cough attack. I mean, I COULD run forever, but only if I WANTED to. See, I can do anything, but half of those things I just don’t want to do. Or its something my creators somehow forgot. We continue up the steps. This is a really long staircase. I can’t keep coughing forever. I slow my cough attack to a minimum.
And yes, if you were wondering, my creators forgot a couple of things. Which really sucks nowadays, because most of those things are really important sometimes. There’s actually a lot. I have a mental list. Finally, we make it to the room. I start to wonder why we didn’t just take an elevator. My sides are heaving from all this fake coughing. The guy leads us into the room. “Should I stay or…?” He says. Gosh, he’s so annoying. I’m still coughing. James seems to read my mind. “No, the medication is highly classified,” he says. I fight the urge to smile. He’s too good at this. “M’kay,” the guy says, unsure. He backs out of the room and closes the door. Once I hear his footsteps disappear, I sit up and clear my throat. “That took WAY too long,” I say, my throat hoarse. “I might get an ACTUAL cough attack now.” James smiles down at me. “For a moment I thought you did,” he says. I cough and clear my throat again. Then I grin up at him. “Oh yes, that’s me,” I say, changing to my acting voice. “Y-The fabulous little actress.” I almost said “your” fabulous little actress. I cant let myself say that. I don’t belong to ANYONE. He chuckles. I take a look at our new home. It’s not that bad. There’s a bed in the corner with a TV in front. There’s a bathroom in the other corner. I look back at the bed. Gosh, it looks so comfortable… NO. I internally slap myself. No sleeping until you unpack. With almost comical timing, the bot with my bag comes through the door. “Thanks, bud,” I say, grabbing my bag off its weird robot arms. I unzip it and unpack. The first thing to come out is the sheet I stole from the hotel in Arizona. Then its clothes, art stuff, brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, all that stuff. Then out comes my souvenir box. It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a souvenir box. It’s where I keep my souvenirs. Like I said, I’ve been everywhere. My fingers are seconds away to unlocking the latch, when I snap back to reality. I set the box aside. Not yet. Once I’m completely unpacked, I sit down on the bed. I used to catch myself instinctively checking my seat because I forgot my tail was hidden. I don’t do that nowadays; my tail has become more flexible and can curl around easier. Speaking of which… I sprint over to the door and check that nobody’s coming up the stairs or down the hallway. Then I shut the door and close the blinds to the windows. I take a deep breath and yank off the scrunchie on my wrist. The process of being undisguised doesn’t hurt; it just feels weird. It’s kind of like an invisible layer of clothing being taken off, but not pants or shirt. Like a onesie, maybe. But as it falls off, the fabric fades away. I shake myself, rattling my tail back and forth. I let a bit of yellow creep onto my scales. I sigh with relief. This is so much better. I flop back onto the bed. I’m exhausted. And in no time at all, I’m asleep.
