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Saiyuu no Ryokou: The Continuing Adventures of Yurico, Issue 8

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  • atheniag
    [For early issues of Saiyuu no Ryokou, search Saiyuu no Ryokou on the Yuricon Group Main Page: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Yuricon] Saiyuu no Ryokou: The
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 1, 2003
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      [For early issues of Saiyuu no Ryokou, search "Saiyuu no Ryokou" on
      the Yuricon Group Main Page: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Yuricon%5d


      Saiyuu no Ryokou: The Continuing Adventures of Yuriko

      The Story So Far: Yuriko's first day of preparation for the tour is
      turning out to be odder than expected. The staff for the production is
      impressively international – and quirky.

      Volume 1, Issue 8

      "Fit the First"


      Yuriko put one hand to her head as she regarded Amba, whose smile
      twisted slightly as she approached in her wheelchair. It was obvious
      that she was waiting for Yuriko's next words – and that this was as
      much a test as Madam Sophia's "you dance now" had been.

      She smiled a little unsurely and ventured, "I suppose I'm supposed to
      either ignore that," she gestured at the wheelchair, "or say something
      really profound, but frankly, I'm kind of at a loss for words."

      Amba's face relaxed slightly, and Yuriko relaxed along with it.
      "Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd do neither. It gets tired,
      hearing pearls of wisdom dropped my way about enduring and moving
      beyond my limitations." She looked down at herself. "I'm just your
      average cripple," she said.

      "Only cuter," Yuriko ventured. Amba looked up sharply, but when she
      saw that Yuriko was not offering pity or cold comfort, she smiled
      openly.

      "Well, yes, there's that," the Indian woman agreed. She seemed to come
      to a decision. "Let's get to it, then." Amba propelled herself up the
      ramp onto the platform, turned the chair around and faced Yuriko.
      "Strip."

      Yuriko shed her jacket with dispatch. "You know," she joked, still a
      little uncomfortable, "this is easier with music." She looked over her
      shoulder to gauge Amba's reaction. The costume maker responded with a
      hearty bump-and-grind riff. Yuriko grinned and turned around, lifting
      her arms once again. Amba gestured for her to spin around slowly and
      the blonde obliged.

      As she completed her turn, Yuri asked, "How'd you get your hair that
      color – it's very cool."

      Amba took one lock in her hand and gazed at it. "After the accident,"
      she looked down at her legs, "my hair grew in white – but just here.
      When my parents turned me out, I figured I had nothing to lose and
      started dyeing it." She shrugged. "It's purple now, but I think I'm
      getting tired of it."

      "Don't change it! It becomes you – gives your eyes violet highlights."
      Yuriko met those dark eyes as she spoke and she could see a little
      color darken Amba's cheeks.

      "Yes, well," Amba continued quickly, looking at her hair once again,
      "that's how."

      There was a moment of silence. "I was thrown out by my parents too,"
      Yuriko said softly. "They didn't want a dyke for a daughter."

      Amba's lips tightened, but she didn't say anything. Yuriko could see
      that her sharpness was just a way of masking herself, but she seemed a
      genuine enough person behind that mask.

      "Anyway," Yuriko continued in a lighter tone, "it all worked out I
      guess, because here I am, getting measured for clothes I'd never have
      had if I was quote-unquote normal." She made the quotes motion with
      her hands, finishing with a flourish.

      "Then let's get down to business." Amba said. "Orders came down that
      you were to be fitted with a bloke's suit and a lady's dress – that
      sound right to you?"

      "About right."

      "Right. What colors are out?"

      Yuriko thought carefully, "Orange, definitely no orange anything. I
      like red, but don't look great in it, unless it's a car, um and I'm
      not terribly fond of yellow-green."

      Amba nodded. "What colors do you usually wear?"

      "Fawns and grays, blues."

      Another nod. Amba pulled a pad out of a pocket on the side of her
      chair. "Men's-style shirts?" she inquired.

      "Yes, please."

      "Buttoned right or left?"

      Yuriko smiled. "You have me there – buttoned from the right."

      Amba returned the smile. "You know why that is?" When the blonde shook
      her head she continued, "It comes from European sword fighting. Since
      you fought with the right hand, you had to be able to unbutton your
      jacket or shirt with the left."

      "I never knew that," Yuri admitted.

      "You learn some really strange things here in costuming." Amba turned
      back to the pad, "Collar?"

      "Height one, no button down, not too tight over the tie."

      "Damn, you're easy," Amba laughed. "Cuffs?"

      "Let me make this as simple as I can," Yuriko said, sitting on the
      edge of the platform. "Cuffs – two button, one button on the tab,
      watch on the left hand. One pocket, left breast, no button. Anything
      else?"

      Amba shook her head. "No – that just about covers it, since you don't
      "dress." She squinted at Yuriko, "You don't, do you?"

      Yuriko shook her head with a laugh. "No, I don't."

      Amba nodded. "Then all we have left is the actual measurements."

      By the time Chiyako returned to the room weighed down with fast food
      bags and cans of tea, she found Amba and Yuriko laughing together at
      some of the singer's peers' more interesting foibles. Chiyako hung
      back, wondering at the change of attitude from earlier that morning,
      when Mayumi's presence had left her co-worker in a dark cloud of
      bitterness. Maybe, she thought, this tour wouldn't be that dreadful
      after all.

      ***

      The door opened and Renzo entered, his apology already begun. "I don't
      know when I became so consistently late," he said, "It's just dreadful
      and I don't what to do about it!" He grinned cheerfully at Yuriko and
      Kishi as he seated himself.

      "That's alright, Ren-san, you're always worth waiting for," Yuriko
      joked.

      "Well, that goes without saying," the director replied with
      self-deprecating sarcasm. "But since you're being so gracious today,
      Yuri-san, I won't waste any more time than necessary." Renzo sighed
      slightly and Yuriko noticed the lines at the corners of his eyes.

      Kishi cleared her throat. "What were her demands?" she asked, cutting
      through Renzo's hesitation.

      The director gave the manager a slightly pained look. "The realistic
      ones? Or all of them?"

      Yuriko shook her head in wonder. "What goes on in that girl's mind?"

      "Not much, from what I can tell," Renzo sighed again. "She's insisting
      that you go on first, of course – she persists in thinking of you as
      her opening act." He shot the blonde a wry look as she laughed. "You
      may think its funny, but she's serious. Anyway," Renzo ran his hand
      through his hair as he often did when he was distressed, "let's get on
      with this. We'll need to design a set for you, and a few songs for the
      two of you to sing together. If it's alright with you, we're planning
      on one set from each of you, then a half set to end with you both. So,
      then, have you thought about what you'd like to sing?"


      They ran through Yuriko's music, selecting and discarding songs until
      they had picked what they thought would be the best possible set for
      Yuri. The three sat back with a sense of satisfaction when they were
      finished.

      Renzo turned his cynical eyes on Yuriko once more as he said, "I hear
      you've met our choreographer – what do you think of her?"

      Yuriko thought of her bizarre encounters that morning and gave a
      chuckle. "She's barking mad."

      Renzo's face split into a huge grin as he nodded. "Isn't she
      delightful?"


      To Be Continued

      Saiyuu no Ryokou, all characters and situations copyright 2003, E.
      Friedman
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