Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ The Journal of One, Leon Orcot ❯ April 12, 1999 ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: CrossedScarsX 
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 538 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 538 | Status: Completed
April 17, 1998
It's been a while. There wasn't much happening in the last week that I considered relevant, so I'm only getting to it now. I hitch-hiked over the border from France.
I've been in Germany for about a week. I'm headed to the Berlin Chinatown. I'll probably get there in a few hours. I'm on a bus from the 'middle of nowhere' to Berlin right now. When I get dropped off I'm going to have to find my way through downtown. I've been studying a German-English dictionary, for when I can't find the words I need to express. I haven't been using it (or the other language dictionaries that fill my knapsack, along with various tour guides) as much as I thought I'd need to. Everyone over here speaks two or three languages. It's scary how fluent all these people are in English and German and French and Italian even. So, usually, I can find someone to ask questions.
What I've REALLY focused on lately is Chinese. I'm hoping that, if and when it comes down to it, I can have at least a basic understanding of the language before I venture into more eastern territories. It's hard enough getting information out of people in Chinatowns. I can only imagine how much harder it will be in China. Another complication: Where would I START LOOKING in China. It's one thing to travel to Chinatown in every European country. Those are small, even if a bit far between. But, damn. China is only one of the biggest countries in the world, containing about a billion people many of whom I don't imagine speak all that much English. I'm also betting that they are likely to be far more tight-lipped than the people in all the Chinatowns I've been to.
It's really been annoying. All those Chinese people and their voo-doo secrets and distrust of foreigners. And of COURSE, I have to look like some typically Anglo-American stereotype. It's enough to make me want to dye my hair black, just to blend in a little more. But I'm gonna be honest: I like my hair. And it doesn't hurt that the ladies love it too. It's probably the best conversation starter I have. Typically, I find that the younger generation of Chinese is far more likely to give me information than their elders. They have a sense of curiosity about my hair. And my eyes. They really seem to like blue eyes. Unfortunately, when I ask about strange Chinese men and mysterious pet shops, the most they can contribute is to point me in the direction of yet another superstitious old-timer, and try as I might, I can't seem to get any of them to crack.
It used to be so much easier. Before, I could flash a badge and offer a glimpse of my gun and people would are least leak a little info. Even if it wasn't always the most trustworthy information. Now I knock on the door and old ladies just slam them in my face.
When I first was investigating D, my partner Jill, suggested I pull when I wanted to push. So I did that. I tried buttering up Count D with some sweets. Well. Jill picked up the sweets for me. I didn't know how fancy and hard to obtain those candies were until the Count went all doe-eyed and very nearly began to drool in front of me. But they did the trick: D began to spill—ok, more like leaked...a very slow leak—some of his secrets. But, in the end, everything he told me never truly made sense. No, it made sense, it was just unbelievable. And if something is unbelievable, I tend to not believe it. Sure it all went into my reports, everything did. My reports were thorough. Unfortunately, added the parts where D was insisting that a man committed suicide by looking into his pet lizard's (lover's?) eyes, then the said animal also committed suicide by looking into a mirror didn't really make me appear to be the most rational human being on the planet. I've gotten off-track, but I think my point was that I might need to try harder to butter up those people in Chinatown.
The bus is entering Berlin now. Gotta pack up my stuff. I'll write later.
* * *
MOTHER FUCKER. I'm not in town for more than half an hour, trying to make my way through Chinatown, when I suddenly see a photograph in a window of some shop. It was the same photo that D had in his shop: A picture of his Grandfather and two vampires. (Yes, vampires...long story again. I didn't believe it as first, but in retrospect it's the only conclusion I can draw.) So, I go in, demanding that the shop keeper tell me where he got that photo. He told me that it was an old antique left over from WW2. I couldn't leave it at just that, so I started all out running to Chinatown...only to find out it wasn't Chinatown. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How could I be so stupid?
By the time I did find Chinatown, and as fate would have it, I found the pet shop, D was gone. Again.
Turns out, Count D happened in on the same shop keeper a mere hour or so after I did. I guess he ran right then and there. It only takes minutes for D to pack up his shop. It basically flies away. The whole thing is a boat. That flies. In space. Yeah, I sound nuts. I said before that most of what I write in here will make me look crazy.
Damn it. Just. Fuck. I was so close.
It's been a while. There wasn't much happening in the last week that I considered relevant, so I'm only getting to it now. I hitch-hiked over the border from France.
I've been in Germany for about a week. I'm headed to the Berlin Chinatown. I'll probably get there in a few hours. I'm on a bus from the 'middle of nowhere' to Berlin right now. When I get dropped off I'm going to have to find my way through downtown. I've been studying a German-English dictionary, for when I can't find the words I need to express. I haven't been using it (or the other language dictionaries that fill my knapsack, along with various tour guides) as much as I thought I'd need to. Everyone over here speaks two or three languages. It's scary how fluent all these people are in English and German and French and Italian even. So, usually, I can find someone to ask questions.
What I've REALLY focused on lately is Chinese. I'm hoping that, if and when it comes down to it, I can have at least a basic understanding of the language before I venture into more eastern territories. It's hard enough getting information out of people in Chinatowns. I can only imagine how much harder it will be in China. Another complication: Where would I START LOOKING in China. It's one thing to travel to Chinatown in every European country. Those are small, even if a bit far between. But, damn. China is only one of the biggest countries in the world, containing about a billion people many of whom I don't imagine speak all that much English. I'm also betting that they are likely to be far more tight-lipped than the people in all the Chinatowns I've been to.
It's really been annoying. All those Chinese people and their voo-doo secrets and distrust of foreigners. And of COURSE, I have to look like some typically Anglo-American stereotype. It's enough to make me want to dye my hair black, just to blend in a little more. But I'm gonna be honest: I like my hair. And it doesn't hurt that the ladies love it too. It's probably the best conversation starter I have. Typically, I find that the younger generation of Chinese is far more likely to give me information than their elders. They have a sense of curiosity about my hair. And my eyes. They really seem to like blue eyes. Unfortunately, when I ask about strange Chinese men and mysterious pet shops, the most they can contribute is to point me in the direction of yet another superstitious old-timer, and try as I might, I can't seem to get any of them to crack.
It used to be so much easier. Before, I could flash a badge and offer a glimpse of my gun and people would are least leak a little info. Even if it wasn't always the most trustworthy information. Now I knock on the door and old ladies just slam them in my face.
When I first was investigating D, my partner Jill, suggested I pull when I wanted to push. So I did that. I tried buttering up Count D with some sweets. Well. Jill picked up the sweets for me. I didn't know how fancy and hard to obtain those candies were until the Count went all doe-eyed and very nearly began to drool in front of me. But they did the trick: D began to spill—ok, more like leaked...a very slow leak—some of his secrets. But, in the end, everything he told me never truly made sense. No, it made sense, it was just unbelievable. And if something is unbelievable, I tend to not believe it. Sure it all went into my reports, everything did. My reports were thorough. Unfortunately, added the parts where D was insisting that a man committed suicide by looking into his pet lizard's (lover's?) eyes, then the said animal also committed suicide by looking into a mirror didn't really make me appear to be the most rational human being on the planet. I've gotten off-track, but I think my point was that I might need to try harder to butter up those people in Chinatown.
The bus is entering Berlin now. Gotta pack up my stuff. I'll write later.
* * *
MOTHER FUCKER. I'm not in town for more than half an hour, trying to make my way through Chinatown, when I suddenly see a photograph in a window of some shop. It was the same photo that D had in his shop: A picture of his Grandfather and two vampires. (Yes, vampires...long story again. I didn't believe it as first, but in retrospect it's the only conclusion I can draw.) So, I go in, demanding that the shop keeper tell me where he got that photo. He told me that it was an old antique left over from WW2. I couldn't leave it at just that, so I started all out running to Chinatown...only to find out it wasn't Chinatown. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How could I be so stupid?
By the time I did find Chinatown, and as fate would have it, I found the pet shop, D was gone. Again.
Turns out, Count D happened in on the same shop keeper a mere hour or so after I did. I guess he ran right then and there. It only takes minutes for D to pack up his shop. It basically flies away. The whole thing is a boat. That flies. In space. Yeah, I sound nuts. I said before that most of what I write in here will make me look crazy.
Damn it. Just. Fuck. I was so close.