Description: Shermie's doing a promo for her new album. Quon is a fanboy. When the signing gets interrupted for the umpteenth time because of a fire alarm, Shermie decides to take the Chinese college student elsewhere. In the end Quon finds himself realizing some things he didn't know about the musician and leaves Shermie not only confused but with her phone number on his hand.
The buzz started on the internet. There was an idle mention on CYS' website/blog about the promotion of their new CD and signing taking place at the Southtown Mall. Then the fighting and music message boards lit up. Then it snowballed from there.
Fast forward to today and one can see that so many people are gathered in line in the hopes of bringing home an autographed copy of CYS' album and they haven't even revealed the name of it yet. One would almost think that the denizens of Southtown have forgotten that a war is going on in Taizhou. Perhaps it was something they'd rather forget.
As for why Quon is here waiting in a psychotically long line, he figures that he needs new music since his roomie is already bugging him about playing some of his current stuff too much. The other reason is because while he likes CYS, he is a complete Shermie fanboy. Thankfully it has never gotten to the point where restraining orders need to be served though.
It turns out only Shermie is going to be here. Something about Yashiro and Chris being in Europe! Stupid Europe, Japan is where all the expensive fun stuff is-- at least that's what Shermie thinks. Needless to say, Shermie is the most popular member of the group in many circles for obvious reasons, and the crowd turnout is still amazing.
The line wraps around the store. It's something of a racket for the owners of the music place: you have to buy a CD to see Shermie, and you have to buy it from this store. For most people this isn't a problem because the CD is just now on sale today, but it's still a jacked up price leaning on star power.
The musical starlet is certainly doing her part! Shermie looks strangely casual, which is secretly a calculated move to cater to fans. She's just wearing a t-shirt with CYS on it (the S is in pink) and some jean shorts with sneakers! They caught her at a vulnerable time, where she could be any person they met on the street! Except it's Shermie. There are posters and calendars and other memorabilia for people to purchase on their way out. She gets a percentage.
After about a billion hours of waiting, the line slowly but surely shuffles toward Quon's turn. Shermie taps her marker on the table they set up, a pile on her left for the full ones and one on her right for the spent ones.
When Quon gets up there, the urge to go 'OMIGOD OMIGOD IIIIIIT'S YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! Could you please sign my left pectoral,' is really strong within him he finds the inner fortitude to tell his inner fanboy to shut the hell up. Instead, he says, "Hey, Shermie. I love your music. My name is Quon."
His hands shake for a few moments before willpower reasserts control letting him keep a stable hold on his CD as he hands it off to Shermie. Unfortunately for Quon, the dopey grin on his face doesn't quite receive the message from his brain to be cool. In spite of it's dopiness, the smile still manages to hold a little bit of charm. Not as much as it would have normally though.
When Quon addresses her, Shermie seems to come alive again. She looks up and smiles. It really is true! You can't see her eyes at all, even from this distance. Even so, she seems friendly enough.
"Ah, it is 'Quon'?" she says in her mild accent. "It is very good to be meeting you, Quon. How should I be making this out to you? K-W-A-N or I think maybe Q-U-O-N is how you spell it?"
It does not help that she is flanked by easels displaying some of her most recent posters (for sale, now!) on the beach and on the hood of a car.
"Q-U-O-N. S-s-sorry, I should've said." He pauses trying to get ahold of himself. Especially considering his aspirations. Considering the fact that more and musicians are doing film work now(whether or not they're actually passable is another matter all together) he might find himself in a movie with another one of his favorite musicians and he can't afford to stumble on his lines because he's star struck.
The mental reminder of his own goals is enough to wipe the dopey looking grin off of his face and replace it with a more suitable, respectable smile that seems much more relaxed.
The Chinese teenager turns towards the posters and begins rubbing his chin as he contemplates throwing down some yen to acquire the Shermie on the beach one. The other one he contemplates purchasing is the anime styled portrait of Shermie dancing with headphones on and an iPod on her hip due to the stylized nature of the poster.
But after that, moment of contemplation, he returns his attention to CD and the future autograph he'll be receiving.
Shermie doesn't notice Quon's magnificent triumph over himself. She's too busy making out an artfully scribbled signature on the CD. The 'i' has a heart on it! The message itself reads: 'To Quon-- you're cute! come to our show sometime!! -Shermie'
The is about to hand the CD back to Quon when the fire alarm goes off. It aggressively ruins the atmosphere and the Frenchwoman's smile disappears. It is easy to imagine that she is rolling her eyes right now. "Ah, this happened twice already. Such badness! Quon, take me out to dinner and some drinks? I am needing a break."
So much for the magnificent triumph over himself. The glance down to the CD pretty much gives his triumph a bitch slap. 'She thinks I'm cute! OMG!' What Quon manages to verbalize(Read: Stutter to the point just past the point of comprehensibility) is, "W-w-w-wow umm err... Th-th-thanks!"
The Chinese fanboy's eyebrow raises at the fire alarm and it was just the distraction needed to get himself together and he's about to open his mouth in response to the fact that it happened before but then she asks him to take her out? Remember that previously mentioned triumph over himself? It got slugged in the gut, kicked in the nads and then got shoved over so it could get kicked in the kidneys a few times. "Err... umm.. Sure!"
The people standing behind him in line? Oh they are eating their hearts out, with wooden spoons. As for Quon, pleasantly surprised and gushing with happiness over this turn of events would be an understatement.
Shermie stands, rolling her back as she stretches (that t-shirt is calculatedly thin, the math on sex objects is pretty clear-cut) before sauntering around the table. She clutches Quon's arm and presses close.
"Someplace nice, I think, with a booth that's pretty private. I sat the bar last night and I like to mix things up.
LAST NIGHT
Shermie is sitting on the bar. For some reason her shirt is inside-out. She is getting free drinks. Sitting on the bar is awesome.
RIGHT NOW
The Frenchwoman makes a gesture toward some of the hired security. They are not aggressive, really, but it pays to let someone know she's leaving for awhile. They're still trying to get the alarm to stop.
Quon swallows loudly. It probably could be heard from several aisles away. He carefully reasserts control over himself mainly because those Shermie fans are looking like they're ready to mess some stuff up. And Fanboy Quon probably is nowhere as good in a fight as Aspiring Actor Quon. "I think I could think of a few places."
A WEEK AGO
Quon says to his room mate, "I don't think I'm gonna need a fake id. I'm not planning to go to bars that often."
RIGHT NOW
Quon finds himself thinking, 'I swear. I'm gonna find some way of thanking you!'
Of course, the amazing madam Shermie is just 21 and that's completely marketable. She hovers (un)comfortably close as they ditch the store. "Well, tell me the name of the place!"
"Well, the Pao Pao is close by and they have some private booths as well. I can't exactly vouch for their drinks because I'm kinda new to this city but their food is pretty good." The aspiring actor begins to take over as he treats this moment as a role in a movie. Eventually the nerves don't quite show as much as before.
As he walks out with Shermie on his arm, he turns to glance over his shoulder at the Shermie adoring/Quon hating public with a bit of a smile and then he takes her inside.
The moment they step in there's a homey feel to the restaurant. If you hadn't been here before, or privy to previous events, one wouldn't realize a fight had once destroyed the place.
Quon, turns to Shermie and with a smile and then turns to the staff asks for a private booth. It's at that point a few flash bulbs go off and Quon realizes that the paparazzi must've follow them.
More like dozens of fights have destroyed this place. Seriously, Sakura, they'll stop telling you to fight here when you stop signing up for Saturday Night Fight.
Naturally there's paparazzi. There's always paparazzi. Of course, there's also the security people from the gig she's booked at with the music store, so eventually the cafe filters out to the discreet reporters who can snap shots under the table with their camera phones. The management seems to be okay with it, after all, publicity is publicity.
Shermie slides into the booth, opposite of Quon. She drums her fingernails on the slick tabletop. "I really need a drink," she admits, betraying her partygirl reputation. "What is it that you will be getting?"
The Chinese teen rubs his chin for a few moments as he looks at the drink menu before making his decision. "Well, I'm thinking about getting a plum wine for myself. As for food I haven't decided yet."
He passes the drink menu over to Shermie while he peruses the actual menu itself. He still hadn't decided on what he was getting when the waitress shows up to take their order. Unfortunately, she doesn't do a good job in containing her inner fangirl. On the upside, she's at least relatively quiet about it so she doesn't draw more attention to them than they already had. "Oh my gaaaaaaaawd! I'm waiting on Shermie! Omigodomigodomigodomigodomigod! What will you be having?"
She pretty much forgets that Quon is even there.
Shermie takes this blithely. It's not like she actually cares about fans! That's Yashiro 'Hates Iori' Yashiro. Shermie is just fine basking in all the attention, which is plenty enough at the moment. The casually dressed popstar leans over, brushing her fingertips over the waitress' hand. "Hello! My friend will be doing the ordering for me, but please bring me two glasses of, ah, the 'whiskey and cokes'? Do you have this? Thank you!"
The Frenchwoman turns back toward Quon, reaching across the table and leaning dangerously onto it. "Please, tell me about yourself! I don't want to make out with you without knowing if you're a weirdo first."
And Quon certainly gets an eyefull. If this was an anime, he would probably be getting a full on nosebleed right now especially due to the carefully calculated thinness of the t-shirt. He has to keep reminding himself to treat this like a role or else he might weird out Shermie.
He then goes back to the menu for a few more moments before deciding. "I'll have the Szechuan beef and vegetables and she will have the lobster. And we'll both have a Caesar Salad"
'So much for my savings right now... I better join the Neo League... soon. But it'll be worth it!' His inner commentary ends just as the musician asks him about himself and the waitress goes about her merry way dancing and quietly celebrating her good fortune. "Well... I'm currently a drama student over at Southtown U." He figured he might as well open with that since after all everyone and their mother is a martial artist in Southtown... or at least it seems that way at times. "I hope one day to be an action film star."
Shermie is not one of those well-adjusted girls. She is the kind of person that abuses social norms without regard for the standards she is perpetuating. Who cares, she's rich!
The popstar giggles demurely, putting her fingers over her mouth. "Ah, Quon! How old are you? You are in college, that is interesting! I never went. I played keyboard for too long to fool around with 'education' and things like that!"
Shermie rolls herself sideways, leaning onto the table and resting her head on her arm. It's one way to get comfortable in a booth. "They serve lobster here? Seems so, ah, they say 'homely'? I think that is it."
There are two ways to go about this. Lie about his age or to tell the truth. Considering the fact that he's a year short of the legal drinking age in Japan and the fact that he did order alcoholic beverages, he opts to lie. Besides it's one of those matters which it's easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. "I recently turned twenty."
He shrugs, "I probably could go directly into the biz right now considering my martial arts training but, I figure the main benefit of going is getting my name around. And setting up base in Southtown through the University does that in more than one way."
Quon watches as Shermie tilts getting more of a look of the Frenchwoman getting comfortable and then he suddenly reaches for his napkin and dabs at his forehead.
The waitress is eager. Okay, it's also because the restaurant has been mostly cleared and the people remaining in it are here to take pictures and not order things. She returns with Shermie's two drinks-- the Frenchwoman chirps "Merci beaucoup!" and sits up, tilting her head back to attack viciously the beverage. She sets it down. "Ah, the acting? And-- ah, the martial arts. I did some of that, Yashiro is so into it! I am not. I am told I am good. I don't really care for it, I wait for fights to be over. It is not like it hurts."
Quon for his part, sips his plum wine, seeming to be relatively civilized about it. Because he Though he loses a bit of cultured air when he dabs at his forehead a bit more with his napkin.
"I have seen some of your fights." He leaves it at that since that seems to not be quite a subject that she seems willing to dwell on.
After taking another sip, he decides to turn it around on her. "What do you care for then?" A pause. "And not something we'd read about in a magazine. Something your fans probably don't know about." His lips curl into a somewhat impish grin. Now that he's calmed down a bit and the alcohol has loosened him just a bit more, he doesn't have to lean on his performing a role any more.
Shermie is affectionate toward her drink. It's like it's glued to her hand. She seems happier almost instantly. It's hard to tell if she's ignoring the random camera flashes because of the hair over her eyes or because she doesn't care.
"Oh, you know! All those things. Drink a little, dance a little, buy some neat things, take someone home to spend the night with. Isn't that what everyone wants?"
The popstar sticks her lower lip out, pouting. "It's good for me. If it works, I don't change it."
The Chinese man shakes his head with a smile. "True. Maybe do as many of those things simultaneously as possible." He shrugs and runs his hand through his wild hair before he takes a sip.
After a few moments, the waitress arrives with the salads and an autograph book. "May I please have your autograph? I couldn't go to your signing because of my shift here. Pleasepleaseplease?"
Shermie, still risen in her seat to nurse her drink, is in a prime position to receive the waitress. She puckers her lips briefly at Quon, which might be no-eyes codeword for winking cheekily. She turns fully in the both to face the woman, sounding absolutely giggly when she responds. "Ah, of course, my dear! You have been so nice it is the least I could be doing! Ah, give it here and I will do this for you--" Shermie whirls her excruciatingly curly signature into the book, and hands the pen back along with it. "Come back if you want others things to be signed, yes?"
The waitress at this point is skipping merrily away from the table and at this point, there's not much left for her to be doing since at the moment it's only them... Or rather they're the only ones ordering anything.
Quon finds himself laughing as the waitress moves along and then he begins to dig into his salad with a fork and it is pretty obvious that he's pretty awkward when it comes to using Western utensils. He takes a few glances at the chop sticks but he decides to suffer through the fiasco that is called using a fork.
Thankfully he hasn't imbibed enough to make eating with a fork a dangerous proposition for all parties involved. "What are your favorite stores to go when you're not in Southtown?"
"I have people to do that for me," Shermie replies. She is not even touching her salad. Her first drink is still more interesting! She occasionally picks a bit of lettuce or a crouton out. Her nose wrinkles. "These are not real Caesar salads. Ah, what can one do? They usually prepare them at the table, non? It is the best they can do."
The popstar pushes the bowl away looking satisfied nonetheless. Her empty glass is similarly removed. Luckily she has another. "I have managers, they keep the close eye on fashions for me! Very useful. I try to keep current, for the band. I am, as they say, 'the ringer.' That is right?"
Shermie leans forward. She seems more intense than previously. "Are you going to be fighting soon, in the ring?"
Quon coming from the roots that he does can not imagine people pushing away food like that. To be honest though, he would be even more horrified to do that in America especially with the tales that his best friend, Antoine told him about what people sometimes do to food when a customer aggravates them. The whole don't be mean to a person who handles your food or drink before you do. Probably for the best that the waitress is a huge fan of Shermie.
Luckily, those thoughts aren't exactly readable on his face. Quon shrugs and continues to eat his own salad. Eventually he finishes and thankfully without the fork flying from his fingers.
When she leans in Quon's eyes go right down to cleavage. It's sort of like a crash on the highway, he knows he shouldn't look and would be best served by paying attention to other things but his eyes are just drawn to it anyway. To his credit, he does bring his eyes back up to her bangs fairly quickly. "That's my plan."
"Just look, it's not like you can see my eyes anyway," Shermie says. "It's so pathetic when people disregard me like that-- don't try it on other women, though, I'm a special case."
She briefly breaks down into a gigglefit. It is difficult to tell what she is laughing about, but it's probably not their conversation, considering she waves her hand dismissively. "I just remembered something! Nevermind. Instead, tell me who you want to fight! I want to know who you think you can beat up!"
Quon doesn't look at the cleavage again, yet. No he finds other things to look at, for example the hips. Yeah the hips don't receive enough love. But inwardly he does admit the special case part gives him a reason to laugh. Is it a joke he thought of or the fact that he's looking at a 'special case.' He doesn't say
He grins at her question, "I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I'm all about putting on a show."
"Huh!"
Shermie slides out from the booth. She takes her second drink with her, drinking it while she sidles along. The glass goes down onto the table. "A man without a plan! This is most distressing. You should do like poor, dedicated Yashiro does-- look this stuff up! It is how he makes money, you know. His music contract, not so good. If you don't know who you want to fight-- well, how do you know you won't fight me?"
And Quon raises an eyebrow at Shermie as she slides out of the booth and shrugs as she drinks up the final drink. He takes a few moments before he answers.
"Because I'm new and right now I'm the low man on the totem pole. I don't have the luxury of picking and choosing my fights. I have to take any fight I can get, and like it. Maybe when I get a rep I can start choosing my battles but until then, I don't have choice and there's no point in pretending I do. And since I don't have a choice, I might as well sit back and enjoy the show."
"Stop being so deterministic," Shermie says, leaning into Quon's side of the booth. She slides her forearm around his shoulders. "You sound like Chris sometimes does." She sounds sure of that, and nods her head to make sure of it.
"If you're going to have fun, then have fun, with whatever you do. Yeah? Like... have fun having dinner, right?"
"Simple fact of the matter is that I have to pay my dues, both in show biz and fight biz." He looks down at his watch and realizes he needs to go. He calls the waitress over and with smile says, "I have to go could you put the rest of it in a doggy bag for me. I'll settle up the check. And make sure the lady has one more rum and coke before I go."
He smiles sweetly at Shermie before saying, "You really are a special case, aren't ya?" The thing about it is that there's not an insulting tone to it even if the words themselves could be construed as such.
"Rum and coke??" Shermie says, confused. She rears back, honestly put off from the situation in a way that requires personal introspection to resolve. "I wasn't--"
"Ehhhh," the Frenchwoman replies. "You were cute. Hey--" she reaches down the front of her shirt, taking out a spare marker like she was using at the autographing stand. She forcefully grabs Quon's hand and scribbles across the top of it. "Give me a call when you do that fighting thing, yes? Maybe you'll get used to things like the rest of us celebrities."
Log created on 17:02:36 06/09/2010 by Quon, and last modified on 15:27:23 06/10/2010.