Autographs But Not Really
Roleplaying Log: Autographs But Not Really
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

An inter-continental professional wrestling promotion has come to Midtown Manhattan, and Starfish wanted some autographs! Katsumi isn't looking so hot, however.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: September 18, 2019
IC Location: Madison Square Garden, Midtown Manhattan
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 19 Sep 2019 02:21
Rating & Warnings: PG (Katsumi made a swear)
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* * *

Wheels touched down in America. Everyone got sleep along the way. One person only woke up when the jet landed. She was remarkably lethargic - a fact made only more pronounced due to her typical level of energy and spark. She wasn't entirely 'with it' when the itinerary was laid out. Fortunately, some time on her feet wandering the bustling New York streets has helped. And a text reminded her that she's expected to make an appearance at Madison Square Garden to promote the upcoming show. Jetlag sucks. But Japan was the last to arrive, so they'd be the most pressed to put on their big-people pants and tough it out the first day.

Besides, it's just a meet-and-greet. Nothing strenuous. Hell, the girl loves this part. Lovers and haters alike, it's all candy.

The arena lobby is decked out with paraphernalia advertising the upcoming show, with four 'teams' represented in specific, and billed as the four corners of the world colliding in one grand, inter-continental professional wrestling event; the United States obviously has representation in their home turf, with the U.K. next on the list, followed by Russia, and lastly, Japan. It's arranged in such a way that it creates 'aisles' of merchandise and swag leading up to four different tables. Naturally, those involved with the upcoming show are seated at their respective tables, signing autographs, shaking babies, kissing hands, doing selfies, and so on. It's a great time for any enthusiast, and there's no shortage of them to be had - both foreign and domestic.

Over at Japan's table, the steady flow of fans has helped keep Katsumi engaged and alert. But her typically bright green eyes seem a little darker, or perhaps worn, than usual. Nevertheless, she's the same playfully ascerbic punkette the fans have come to expect.

* * *

Normally Starfish would dread being among this many people. Especially a sustained this many people. The sheer number of them weigh upon her like nothing she can possibly describe adequately to anyone who asks, but the avoidance is because of stimuli. The sight of them all, the observation that most of them will probably be looking at Starfish directly. This is mitigated by two things. First, wear something that looks a heck of a lot like someone she passes. It could be an exact match and no one will probably notice. So the stares don't fall upon her just for that. Next, hair. Plain. If not plain, then accrue attention. Plain is just so… boring. Now it's a defensive mechanism. Next, eliminate the thousands. Starfish stops seeing people. She sees robots. Androids and gynoids. They are remarkably similar to the people that she is mentally masking from herself, but the aesthetic helps her. Robots don't judge if they aren't told to judge. And even then they just pretend to judge but don't really understand it.
What brought Starfish to this of all places, to endure the waves upon waves of people? Wrestling. Someone planted the idea in her head that if she knew more about wrestling, she might have more time held close. Research told her this is where wrestling happens. the right kind of wrestling. Bumps happen. People just trying to get by and Starfish hasn't quite gotten the hang of being out of the way. Irritation flares, but then it just isn't there. She arrives at one of the tables, trying to figure out by flag alone what the occupants represent, coming up short. Starfish stands gazing at the flag a full ten seconds when an actual fan gets impationt and shoves her out of the way, sending her to a sprawling, half-sitting half laying out state. No irritation. No wrath. Starfish just picks herself up, confused by the exuberance.

* * *

Fans run the gammut of nice, normal people looking for a wild and zaney outlet to insane rednecks who believe, in their heart of hearts, that Stone Cold Steve Austin might be the best thing since sliced bread. It's one of the latter who bumped Starfish. It wasn't out of malice, per se, but sheer, vibrating excitement to be close to people who get to throw others around for a living. Whether or not it's a forgivable offense is up to Starfish.

However, it does get the fatigued Katsumi's attention. After all, Starfish landed near her corner of the rectangular table. "Walk much?," she openly chides the enthusiast before focusing on the victim. Some security people are already reaching down to help Starfish up, but Katsumi is also on her feet and moving around the table. A dry smirk plays on her pink-glossed lips, one obsidian eyebrow lowered. "You good?," she asks, swatting a hand inwards to lightly, 'chummily' whap Starfish on the upper arm. Her dialect is remarkably clean and clear for a foreigner, thanks in no small part to over-achieving (and overbearing) parents, only faintly colored with a Japanese accent.

* * *

Helped up. That's not new. The missing portion where she gets carried somewhere, that's a little new for Starfish. She gives a grateful bob of her head to the androids dressed up in uniform, drawing in a breath that perplexes herself when it exhales in a shaky manner. Nothing should be shaky. Starfish tries to work out mentally what's going on with that but the din around her is too distracting, and she knows better than to edit sound out. After last time at least. Her head snaps to view the latest instigator of friendly and not-violent contact, "Uh…" Too much crowd.
"Yes, I am good!" Starfish says at a louder than necessary volume, overcompensating. She offers an apology, both in expression and unheard mumble.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro deals with fans of all stripes, and even the ones who aren't necessarily /her/ fans. So she's used to quite the variety they can come in, and she tends to reach snap decisions with it. So, Starfish? She's quickly relegated to 'shy girl' status. However, she's declared herself to be good, if at socially awkward pitch, and Katsumi gives a stiff, bangs-bouncing nod. "Good!"

And just like that, the Punk Princess is returning to her corner seat at the table. After all, the one she just helped up is in line, right? She'd no doubt have something to sign for her. Or one of the other ladies or gents arranged to the side would. Either way, the boss is watching!

* * *

As though unsure what the proper procedure is in the sitation of being at a table, really only having arrived there to satisfy curiosity regarding what happens at such tables, Starfish glances to see what the other people are doing. The robots with way too much enthusiasm for robots. Weird robots. They have things, they set the things on table and the things are then marked by the persons opposite them on the table. Starfish didn't expect to need a prop.
Once Starfish realizes it is autograph that is being sought by the masses, well that's an easy prop. Autograph book. She's seen this in movies. The autograph book is set down, opened, and the question of who it should be made out to is answered by a printed Q: 'Who should I make it out to?' & A: 'Drake'. That is definitely easier for Starfish than trying to vocalize. The book is otherwise empty.

* * *

Plop. Book. Where did she have that a moment ago? Katsumi figures it must have fallen and she just didn't see it. No big deal, easily forgotten. It's opened, and there's the question already answered right there on the pages.

After a couple blinks of her eyes, she just grins and writes on the page.

"Hope that's not a boyfriend," she notes while she goes through the process of carefully anglacizing her name. "Because if he's sending you to get autographs from me, you might have to keep an eye on'em." Her head lifts to turn a cheeky grin up at Starfish. And then she's quickly writing her name out beside the English characters in Kanji. Because Japan, and gaijin just eat that up.

* * *

Further observation. No money seems to be changing hands. That's good. Starfish doesn't like it when she needs to pay for things. She definitely can pay for anything, but then it means there will be missing money later, and that can only be trouble. She is drawn to watch the kanji and English characters form by the young lady's hand, her ability to even recognize non-english script nonexistent. She has seen some movies with similar, but nothing she really paid enough attention to.
"He doesn't know," Starfish says clearly, realizing that this is probably a thing that would genuinely be liked and a surprise. More such signatures might be desirable. Here in handy autograph book. She bobs her head gratefully, and sets to obtaining more, extremely studious of what is set to page by pen. Suddenly she has good reason to be at tables. It's novel. She collects herself and remembers a thank you, albeit somewhat quiet.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro gives the book two taps with the cap of her pen, then shoots a toothy grin back up at Starfish. She might've had more to say, but it looks like the shy patron is suddenly filled with energy! So Katsumi lets her make the rounds, and naturally, everyone is happy to supply their signatures. Well, most of them are. A few seem less than invested in the fans, or the situation in general, either by merit of being too darn severe in countenance or finding this sort of thing boring. But none raise a fuss or behave rudely.

And eventually, the event will begin winding down. The various federations present will begin collecting their representatives to discuss tomorrow's itinerary, fans will be shuffling out, but not yet ordered by the security personnel. Katsumi scoots back on her chair before standing and immediately wobbles, knees buckling and tipping forward. She manages to catch herself with a palm on the table and wide-eyed stare against its covering. That little display has drawn some stares, especially from those at her table.

* * *

The unfortunate thing about an autograph book that Starfish makes, is that it won't last long. She is more than aware of this, and her study of what is printed is for more permanent-ish storage. The inner lining of her clothes become autograph embroiders, hidden from sight. The only one who knows is herself. Her back to a wall, she reviews the autographs given to her to ensure she didn't miss any before the book becomes nothingness. Underneath her jacket it goes, and then becomes nothing but a memory.
Mission accomplished. Starfish remains as people start to funnel out, not wanting to be caught up in the exodus rush, the funneling. too many, too cramped. Nope. Not doing that. She takes a seat on one of the chairs. The only one who she does not presently see as a robot, thanks to the small addition of contact, leans over the table, and wears an expression Starfish can relate to. Rising to sit on her chair's back with it braced against the wall, she observes from slightly higher up, speculating internally as to what has disturbed uh… should know her name. It's not accessible right now. Starfish admonishes herself just a little while she observes.

* * *

There are a couple murmured words to Katsumi from the girls sitting closest to her, but she raises a hand to halt them. She's likely insisting that she's fine, without so much as looking in their direction. And it's a few long seconds before she straightens her posture again. She takes a visibly deep breath, then looks ahead, recomposed.

That was weird. Jetlag is awful. That's what it is. Has to be.

Katsumi spots the lankey girl gawking at her. Oh, god, that had to look awful. She puts on a tight smile and raises a hand to give a wave, hoping to reflect a certain level of confidence that she doesn't /quite/ have at this time. But then she's turning to quickly, if shakily, move towards an exit to get out of public view. She needs to get a cab or something to the hotel.

* * *

The wave is mimiced, in both height and faintness. Nothing about the display makes Starfish think the situation is quite all right, but as far as she can tell from what she can read of people, …that is something to be investigated. That look, that expression, the accompanying sense of something wrong but unable to identify it, Starfish has herself been on the experiential end countless times. Now watchful for anyone else who has their attention on Katsumi, the odd and quiet girl slides to stand and move. A timer pops up the moment Katsumi gets out of Starfish's sight. It tells her roughly how far she might have gotten and thus how far she should be looking. As she goes, her clothes subtly shift to security guard, and so does her overall appearance. The change is gradual while she knows she is in sight of others. It's much more rapid the moment she knows she cannot be directly seen.
Autographs lost, Starfish realizes. No irritation. Regrettable but the need to hurry is too great.

* * *

Katsumi Oshiro hasn't gotten far. She just needed to get her bearings, and that meant taking a couple minutes to hold the wall up with her back. Safely in the back halls of the arena, she affords herself the chance to rub a palm over her eyes in an effort to clear the.. well, is it fatigue? It's something. Who knows? Doesn't matter. Jetlag's a jerk.

She immediately straightens her posture when a "security person" enters the hallway, and she's maintaining well enough. Nothing to see here!

* * *

Attentive not only for the momentarily unseen one, but anyone watching the momentarily unseen one, if that makes sense. Starfish's mind cooks up a dozen scenarios involving sinister persons. None of them are presently visible.
"You looked stricken in there," It's not Starfish's face in the uniform. "Do you want someone to go with you, make sure you get there okay?"

* * *

"I look what? The f*** does that mean?," asks Katsumi in her typical, off-the-cuff abrasive manner. If she knows the swearing is rude, it doesn't register whatsoever on her face. It's just a day that ends in Y. "I'm fine. Nothing to freak over." Her right hand subconsciously places against the nearby wall for balance. "Just jetlagged. I'm gonna go back to the hotel and sleep it off."

* * *

"Stricken. Something looked very wrong very suddenly," the security guard that is not really replies, then gives Katsumi some space. The options to keep watching for Starfish narrow slightly. But hotel is mentioned, so maybe registered contact information? Could it be that easy? Not even remotely easy, but at least that's one option. The security guard who isn't one returns to the main venue, or so it appears. Starfish remains, just not within direct line of sight.
Her plan, flawed as it is, is not to attempt to find the information based on figuring ou the name of the performer and gaining access. Instead, it is to follow. If she follows as the same person the whole way, that would arouse suspicion. She can be a thousand different people between here and the destination. It's like when she needs to sneak out of somewhere. Only in reverse, kind of…

* * *

There's a fair to solid chance that poor espionage Starfish is due for a very lackluster payoff. Once the "security guard" gives her space, she recollects herself and makes her way through the hall to reach the back exit. Thankfully, it deposits her reasonably close to the street. A taxi is hailed in a manner she expects to work - that is, tossing up a hand and yelling - and it does the trick. She climbs inside, and the vehicle delivers her to a fairly upscale hotel. Her movements into the building are shakey, but manageable, and once inside, it's a glass elevator trip to her floor.

Depending on how far along Starfish will ninja her way after her, she'll find the punkette opens the door to her room and summarily collapses facedown into the bed. Bam. Done. Lights out. Just that quickly, she'll be out for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Entering cab behind, doing the 'follow that other cab' thing Starfish has seen in a few movies. She pays with fake money. She is not happy about paying with the fake money. It looks mostly real until it turns up missing later. Trouble for the cabbie. Minor trouble compared to the multi-headed dragon that bites at her worst-case-scenario mental exercise. So easy to keep an eye on once she has a feel for direction, the hotel room door tells her which room to look into from outside. Just a matter of keeping track, and she can keep track. Starfish ends up perched in a secure spot above street level, watching with binoculars for unexpected intruders. In her mind, someone will show up and do… nefarious things. they have to. That's how that look and the need to sleep suddenly works.
Nothing. An hour passes. Two. Nothing. Starfish drifts off to sleep as her mind works on reasons why it is taking the nefarious people so long to act.

* * *

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