PDHugh Bach (theriteofspring) wrote in otyugh_nation,
PDHugh Bach

The Fan Club

On a pedestal, these words appear: "Ozymandias, King of Rock. Be there at Destiny Auditorium". Next to these words on the same sheet of paper is a photo of a very constipated face and next to this was a photo of a pair of hands choking a microphone. Underneath the words and face, someone scribbled "Big Brother is Watching". Underneath that, someone scribbled "but little brother is watching Big Brother watch". Under that is "You guys are wankers". "No, you're a wanker". "Big Brother is behind you."

Sulia Socks did not notice any of the words above. She did, though, reach an arm out to pull on the lever on the pedestal on which these words appear. She does not know that the last of the statements on the pedestal was true. It is, although it does not pertain to Sulia Socks' big brother. She didn't really notice the lever on the pedestal either. Soon, she was out, taking her dark denim backpack with the flowers painted on it with her. Two minutes afterwards, a brunette used the same stall, and for every prime number afterwards, give or take a couple of numbers per prime number, that she was to excrete a load of bacteria and naturally processed foods, a very constipated face with a set of hands choking a microphone will flash in her mind.

Sulia Socks entered the bustling atmosphere which was Gettysburg High School, which most people shortened to "Get High". Instantly, she registered on her brainstem, the boy in the corner of the walkway. He was waiting for people to stop being so bustling so he could make way to his locker without accidentally bumping into people, which would lead to awkward exclamations like "excuse me" or "sorry", which he has read somewhere, just didn't feel right when said in certain circumstances, like "well, excuse me for being a rich bastard and excuse you for not being one" or "You're gonna die now, sorry", although he didn't think it worth his time to sort out when those exclamations should be impolite nor polite. He does know that once upon a time, great pressure has been applied to his gut for saying "excuse me", although he used to get a great deal of pressure applied to many areas of his body. Either way, a gut feeling was keeping this boy at bay and waiting patiently at the corner of the walkway. Not all parts of Sulia Socks' brain knew all of this concerning the boy at the time. If one were to ask her what she thought about this boy, she honestly couldn't come up with a response she felt was valid. Roughly ten years later, while reclining on a sofa, someone who was trained to look highly trained would sit still, thus providing a sounding board for Sulias' thoughts. This person who was trained to look highly trained was about to enter "baloney" for a section of madlibs. Sulia would talk about her work which would soon own a Nobel Peace Prize, although she didn't know it at the moment. Out of the blue, she started "Oh, once at Gettysburg High School, I spent about twenty minutes worrying about the fate of this boy down the hall, who most surely has been psychologically damaged beyond repair by bullies since early childhood, the social inhibitions of which, by now, would have made him a freelancing programmer who's probably also an occasional nature-loving hippie." Neither Sulia nor the trained person knew that this freelancing programmer and occasional nature-loving hippie was on the same reclining sofa one hundred and forty one filled out mad libs ago.

Sulias' brainstem started keeping secrets from her at the age of four. Sulia, sitting on a swing, spotted an unhappy face sitting on a rotund body one hundred and forty one meters away. At an early age, the world was full of faces. Faces for Sulia. Catalyzed by a concise and accurate system of facial expressions to which her parents adamantly, although unconsciously, followed, Sulia was a masterful interpreter of the meaning of facial expressions at an early age. This unhappy face with the space between the eyebrows wrinkled which was not a prime number of meters away from her was picked up by her brainstem, which decided to act upon it, although her brainstem deftly and purposefully refused to provide, for the rest of her brain, a logically calibrated justification for her next action. Sulia hopped off the swing, took a bright red bucket of sand from the sand-box and in one hundred forty one seconds, offered it to the owner of the unhappy face. The grey material behind the face took this to be a threat and ran away, or rather, ordered the rapid locomotion of a great deal of folds of fat which slapped against each other. Two feet away was a piece of paper with the words "Howard Galt Jeans". She noticed the face on the same sheet of paper next to those words, which was smiling. Or attempting to. The flat lips, barring teeth, and the ridges of the cheeks, which weren't all that deep gave it away. It wasn't a smile to Sulia. Her brainstem told her it was a threat to everyone and somehow, but certainly linked to the unhappy face.

Ten years later, Sulia did volunteer work at the library, which was already a treasure trove to her. She knew all its nooks and crannies and already did unsolicited bookkeeping, reshelving when a misplaced book caught her eye. As staff, Sulia had access to new tasks. One of these was discarding old books. An old lady with hideous mascara, at least in Donyas' opinion, briefed Sulia about how to check the integrity of the binding, where all the copyrights are likely to be found, and how to use the labeling machine. Armed with the intimidating Dynamito Motorized Labeler, Sulia, with an equally matched integrity of will, was unleashed at the books. "Parry Hotter, that's new. National Geographic, Millenium edition, new. New England Wiccan Journal, copyrighted 1870, hmm...", Sulia thought, flipping through the text. "What if some anthropologist needed to know the diet of Wiccans, perhaps in order to confirm valuable truths of certain alternative lifestyles? What if this book had just the information this poor anthropologist was looking for? I can't just throw this away, it being a collection of facts that people, perhaps over many years of struggles in an isolated environment, ostracized by society, have fought to preserve." Each ancient treasure trove of secrets and hard-earned information pummelled Sulias' integrity of will, in stark contrast to the Dynamito Labeler, which was holding nicely. "I hate labelers.", Sulia thought. *plat*, went a discarded sticker on a brittle collection of poems by a colored person in the eighteenth century. "I... I hate labels", she concluded. Sulias' brainstem, when lying to Sulias' other brain parts, would cover its tracks with an intense distaste for labels. It was getting a bit lazy in masking its intentions. Next, Sulias' brainstem would coax her into stashing all the books she labeled as discarded in a bush not far away from the library, and eventually, mailing books to where she feels they'd be important contributions like the anthropology department at a nearby university and an academy of ethics a few states away.

A year later, shortly after Sulias' brainstem registered the boy in the corner of the hall, she had a seat in Contemporary English, where she sat at the back in case those with differently advantaged eyes wanted a better view of the board. Whipped open "Grainger Euripides Bacchus" in an attempt to get engrossed. This attempt worked as Grainger Euripides Bacchus is a very engrossing work. Well, it worked for ten minutes. In ten minutes, some frills registered in her periphial vision. All her attention was focused on that which was connected and that which was connected to that which was connected to the frills, despite her pupils and retina being aligned at Grainger Euripides Bach. Since she's been doing this with her eyes at the age of four, Sulia is one of the top one hundred fifty people who has ever lived with the most nerves and working rods and cones on the edges of the back of her eye. One hundred forty first on the list, to be precise. The frills was connected to a neck, a rather slender one, connected to a facial expression. Was it solemn? Modest? Moody? Sulia couldn't tell and this annoyed her. The mind within the head connected to the slender neck connected to the frills was thinking "I wonder if this is the facial arrangement which is the most aesthetically pleasing". Also attached to the neck was a flowing cape, which Sulia noticed in between guessing that the facial expression was modest and guessing that it be moody.

Sulia did what any person with an enthusiastic and highly politically charged brainstem would do. She shared Grainger Euripides Bacchus with this pensive-looking soul. The pensive looking soul dropped her eyes towards the work of excellence and felt really warm inside as even the cover of Grainger Euripides Bacchus could inspire even the most remotely intellectual of persons to internally jump for joy in an epiphany of pride of the type shared by those lacking in differently abled mental abilities. This showed up as a slight blush on the one wearing frills, who immediately looked upwards and continued her streak of appearing as though she was born with a proclivity in juggling the many muscles of her face in such a manner as to suggest noble pensiveness. Sulia was confused at these mixed messages on the face of the one with frills. Ones' periphial vision can only do so much anyway. As she was thinking of a way to ask the frilled lady about her ways in a nonintrusive manner, Mr. O' Shaugnessy interrupted the class about some pressing news concerning the recently widening dry patch of grass on his lawn which needed watering, the reparations of which he was willing to provide extra credit. Sulia peeked at the unwavering condition of the face of the one with frills now and then. O'Shaugnessy drifted between talking about home repairs and the civil war, a combination of topics which passes the time quickly. Soon, class was over, and Sulia was about to introduce herself in a very non-intrusive manner, except for the fact that a set of frills and cape was exiting the class at the precise velicity which would maximize the ability of the cape to flow gracefully.

As there were ten minutes of break in between American History, which just ended, till French, Sulia decided to pursue the frills and the cape, or rather, the owner of the cape and frills. Not to mention, she had justify the time spent containing that perfect introductory sentence in her head for so long. Round this last bend, she could hear a lively conversation, and not being the type to rudely intrude, she hid behind the bend, her brainstem gathering and organizing precious tidbits of information which it would use later on to produce constructs which would in turn, alter the thinking patterns of the world, especially in a social context:

"Oh, I found the forms where you can get a ten percent discount to Don Con 2002"

"Do you think my frills look too 1412?"

"I do believe you're a few paces off from the Mansfeld strut. I mean, you do want your cape to flow with folds with the golden ratio?"

"No no no! Your nose is arched too highly. You seem full of contempt."

"Yes, I do believe I have a copy of the Picture of Durian Yellow."

"The problem is you're playing the clarinet correctly."

Just then, Sulia decided to blend in and approached the bend. What a sight to behold! Dark flowing capes, frills, spiked hair, clarinets and aesthetically pleasing countenances galore. What Sulia almost failed to notice was that the conversation died down completely by the time she had a good view of them all. This is because the persons behind the frills had practiced nearly to perfection, the way in which a conversation could wither away into nothingness without anyone noticing. This is achieved through watching a video entitled "conversation stopping techniques" included on a free disc given out during Don Con, short for the "Donya Solo Convention" in which there are a great many examples of conversations halting in a nearly unnoticeable manner, such as right as the bus arrives at a bus stop or as always, right before something every embarrassing is said such as "And that's why my pants were on fire". Sulia said her perfect introductory sentence to no one in particular and realized that the peculiar stream of conversation oddly ceased to exist. Now, the intimidating view of so many capes, frills, spiked hair and clarinets would provoke the average citizen into running away in embarrassment, but Sulias' brainstem long ago started repressing these urges. Roughly ten years later, Sulia would spend ten straight hours running away in sheer embarrassment from nothing in particular and would feel much better afterwards. For now, Sulia was about to raise a friendly hand in a friendly gesture, to which she was surrounded by the sight of a great tumult of flowing robes, perfectly oscillating at 141 beats per minute, creating rivults and curves, to which the ovals made by completing the curves would fit perfectly inside golden rectangles. The capes all settled and soon, was all she could see of what were formerly capes, spiked hair, frills and clarinets, were a collection of settling capes. With their capes outlining their figures which were hunched by the knee, drawing the cape with their right forearms, the members of this peculiar group seemed wonderfully purposeful in shielding theirselves with their cape, but the bell rung just as Sulia was about to ponder upon the reason they would have for shielding themselves with capes.

A great failure this has been for Sulias' brainstem, which was unable to fathom the intricate workings of this clique. Although this was such a great failure, Sulias' brainstem decided to organize its memory in a stream of denial, which was usually an untravelled route in Sulias' neural expressway so it took rather a while to squeeze through. In fact, it would be nearly a week before she would notice the social group defined by its abundance in frills, flowing capes, spiked hair and clarinets since the route of denial was so slow to accept this new influx of information. Once it did, it would have increased the neural pathway of denial in Sulias' brain by a factor of three, and ever since, which is about thrice, whenever something passes through the neural pathway of denial in Sulias' brain, it would bring back memories of dark flowing capes, frills, spiked hair and clarinets.

While Sulia was processing this information, nearly every member of the said cult at Get High used the lavatory on which someone scribbled "Big Brother is behind you". For one of the members of the said cult, this scribbled statement is actually true. Her name is Tanya. She was once a poor pauper girl and was rejected by a prince with too many vowels in his name. Later in life, she'll grow up to be a most wonderful, noble, refined and prestigious princess. The same prince, whose name will not be mentioned because it would vex some readers who will attempt and fail to sound it out in their heads, will fall head over heels for the princess and... This is not Tanyas' story. She will most likely never again be mentioned in an Otyugh Story. On the other hand, her big brother might.
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