Survival Of The Fittest

(DeMarcus Miller continued from Don’t Mind Me, Just Reading Some Manga)


Sometimes, DeMarcus wished his mom gave less of a shit about him. He wished that she would take her self-righteous ass and leave him alone, let him focus on his ELO and his rankings across every game he was working on. New DLC for Apex was dropping that weekend but instead of putting in work on the gaming laptop he'd bought a while back (His mobile command center, as he liked to call it), he was here. At the museum.

"I just thought we'd get a little culture tomorrow." She had said on Friday, the moment he had climbed the stairs to her 3rd floor apartment after his dad had dropped him off. "We're lucky the Paul Revere is so well-stocked."

So they had piled into her fifteen-year old, cramped Honda that may or may not have been throwing oil and the first day of his weekend was shot. They spent the first half of the trip joined at the hip. He was dragged in tow while his mom stepped up to dry-ass paintings from the 1700s or whenever-the-fuck while she furrowed her brow and tried to look like she was discerning hidden meanings in the ancient brush strokes. They made it through three exhibits before DeMarcus had finally said, "I think I'm gonna look around, see if I can find something I'm interested in."

In the throes of her culturegasm, his mom had relented. He moved at a brisk pace away from her, almost knocking over a custodian that was mopping part of the polished marble floor. He didn't look where he was going, even after that, until he ended up in an exhibit that apparently was showing off old cannons and anchors and shit from the early American navy.

He looked this way, then that. He was alone. There were lines of benches that ringed the open room and faced the glass cases. He picked the nearest one and sat down. In front of him was a replica of a gunship, its decks bristling with big bore cannons.

"Fuck me." He muttered, pulling out his smartphone. Hiding in Twitter for a couple hours sounded like his best option.

Sometimes Kyoto wished Sandra would just be blunt and admit that her focus was on Toshi and not him.

[[Kyoto Aizawa continued from The Things We Do For Love]]

He honestly wouldn't have been upset about it. He cared about Toshi as much as her and Warren did. She didn't have to lie or anything-her focus was on the baby of the family rather than the teenager a whole foot taller than her. Literally anyone with half a brain would have understood that Kyoto could take care of himself at this point.

But no. Sandra had to make herself look like the perfect grandmother and wanted both of them to go to the history museum, one for general education, the other to refresh his memory on it. Make herself look thoughtful for both of them.

He loved that woman and all, but honesty was the best policy for a reason.

Warren and Toshi had needed to use the bathroom, and Sandra had to stay at home-immunocompromised for some reason or another, he hadn't paid attention to her and Warren's conversations about her health. Now he was left alone near some ship replicas in glass cases. Well, alone except for some guy choosing his phone over the history around him-not that Kyoto could blame him.

He scratched at his ear a bit, where the ear met with the elastic of the mask. He may've been vaccinated, but Warren wanted safe rather than sorry, so on it stayed.

He sat down at the same bench the other guy sat at-about as far away as possible, though. Didn't need anyone starting a conversation with him at the moment. He would've sat somewhere else, but he didn't need to scare Toshi by disappearing or anything. Even if it was only for a few seconds, he hated seeing that scared look on Toshi's face when the boy couldn't find his big brother. And if sitting at the same bench as this guy meant avoiding dealing with that, then so be it.

Didn't mean he wouldn't distract himself, though. If the guy got to distract himself with Facebook or Twitter or whatever, then no one should question the other teenager checking out an app game or two.

So he wanted to see if there was a Pidgey or something better was around. Sue him.

DeMarcus was about three Tweets deep into an argument with someone about the importance of deferring to biology when gender identity was in question when the big dude sat at the other end of the bench. DeMarcus might have recognized him from school. Probably did, considering he was decked out in a denim vest, jeans and boots, like one of those bikers you saw tearing up the interstate on their way to cook meth or whatever. From what DeMarcus could see of his face, he was also Chinese. DeMarcus didn't even know they made Chinese people that big.

But the most notable thing about the big dude was the mask. That fucking mask, that reminder that half of Americans lost their minds over a virus with a 99% survival rate. They had come through it alright and this guy was wearing a mask like it was the middle of last year.

DeMarcus couldn't help himself.

"Bruh, the pandemic's over. Take that off."

He was surprised at how civil he sounded.

Did Kyoto just have a sign that said 'Bother this person'? Like those kick me signs five year olds thought were hilarious? First that guy at Hot Topic, then this guy. The only bright side was that this guy had enough decency to wear something that wasn't humiliate just to fucking look at. Still didn't make him happy to have to deal with another asshole, though.

He sighed. Some fucking people.

"I have my reasons for it," Kyoto said, glancing at the person-black guy, Halo shirt, baggy jeans and sneakers-before his eyes turned back to his phone. He might've been a classmate of his. He looked a little familiar, but Kyoto didn't have a tendency to pay much attention to his classmates. May've been a tourist for all he knew-or cared.

"Not everyone's vaccinated yet. Not all of 'em can be. So how about you mind your own business on this?"

He had better shit to do than deal with some guy who told him what to do like they even knew each other's names. There was a Ponyta he could be catching, for one, and looking at some of the various exhibits was seeming more and more tempting as each second passed.

Just let the guy have some form of common sense. Kyoto would prefer not to start a fight in the fucking Paul Revere museum.

DeMarcus's new big Chinese friend didn't take kindly to him extolling the virtues of freedom, as to be expected. He held up his palms in a warding gesture, leaning back in his seat.

"Easy, man. I'm just saying if you wanna breathe, you can." He glanced down at his phone. No new notifications, so he had some time to kill in the real world. "I got the dumbass jabs, if you're worried about me."

DeMarcus stretched, feeling a few vertebrae pop in his lower back. "If anything, shouldn't I be worried about you? The shit came over from your country, yeah?"

He could have been kidding or he could have actually been sincere. Sometimes DeMarcus didn't know himself.

Fucking Hell, was this guy serious? He was one of those idiots that thought you couldn't breathe when wearing a face mask? That still was insane to Kyoto-did people just think doctors and nurses suffocated themselves when they did their jobs? Or could they just not stand having something over their face for a few minutes and chose the first excuse they could think of? Kyoto didn't know and didn't care-it didn't change how stupid it made people look.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, barely holding back a groan. 'Lord, give me the strength not to break a glass case against this guy's nose...'

"I'm Japanese, fuckwad," Kyoto hissed, not even bothering to fake staring at his phone-Pokemon and anything else could wait at the moment. He looked ahead, a scowl hidden under his mask. "And I'm not some tourist-I was born here."

Not that that gives Dumbass McGee here any excuse-would've been just as racist if Kyoto was an immigrant.

'Sandra, you owe me one Hell of a Christmas present this year for sending us to the museum today of all days.'

DeMarcus tilted his head at the boy's profession of his actual ethnicity, as if a dog perplexed by an unknown noise. Finally, he said, "Oh. My fault. Japan's cool." He looked at Kyoto for a few more moments before glancing at his phone.

The thread had probably gone dead. Maybe @xXChildofMarxX had already blocked him like a bitch. He shook his head. People just couldn't handle a little verbal heat, especially not left authoritarian trashfires. He turned off the power with his thumb and slid the phone back into his pocket.

His initial leisure activity halted for the moment, he turned his attention to option two. "Alright then, Tokyo Drift, what you doing in my little space?"

Kyoto Aizawa-quite possibly the first teenager in history to attend John Endecott Memorial Academy and also pop a blood vessel while still doing so.

But seriously, could this guy not take a fucking hint? Kyoto would've thought someone creative enough to nickname his something like that would be smart enough to not actually say it out loud-but hey, creativity didn't equate to intelligence. The guy next to him was clear evidence of that.

At this point, the temptation to leave the conversation there and then was strong. Just leave the question unanswered, stand up, and walk to the bathroom, saying he had to go as well. It would've been the easy decision. Hell, some people would've probably said it was the correct decision.

But Kyoto must've been a masochist or something similar, because instead he chose to stay and answer.

"If you mean the museum, it wasn't my choice," he said, still refusing to make eye contact, instead looking at a case with some important paper. "Family wanted to come and I didn't get much of a choice.

"If you mean the bench, I just chose a bench without thinking. Thought the guy sitting on it wouldn't try to strike up a conversation like he even knew my name."

Not that Kyoto planned to rectify that any time soon. He at least had a measure of deniability of knowing this guy if he did go to Kyoto's school. Giving his name would erase that in an instant. He'd rather be Tokyo Drift for an afternoon in the museum over this guy trying to start a conversation with him in the cafeteria-or literally anywhere at the school.

His gaze shifted over to him again. "If you want me to leave, trust me when I say I'd be more than happy to."

"Easy, easy, dawg." DeMarcus said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I just like talking to people. And I'm DeMarcus, by the way, if you wanna go ahead and tell me what I'm supposed to be calling you."

At that, DeMarcus got up and made an exaggerated show of stretching, his fingertips reaching toward the museum's ceiling light. He walked over to the exhibit in front of which he had sat. He didn't know anything about the ship except that it was kinda badass looking, with all its guns and its intimidating construction. There was, of course, a placard discussing its construction but fuck if he was going to read it.

"Nah, you don't gotta leave. It's a free country. Mostly, anyway. Man, you testy. I mean, you did you say your fam made you. I feel that."

He liked talking to people? Well, maybe he should've realized Kyoto didn't feel the same.

He let out a small huff as he turned his attention back to the nearest wall. "Pass. I'd rather keep that nickname, if you don't mind."

'Not that I would ever tell you if you did mind.'

He looked back towards where the bathrooms were. Still no sign of Toshi or Warren. The one time they chose to wash their hands after taking a piss...

Well, this guy couldn't take the hint of 'I fucking want to be left alone.' At this point? Kyoto wasn't getting paid to deal with an asshole at the moment, so it was time to make an exit.

Getting to his feet, he placed his hands on his back, feeling something pop as he stretched. Maybe he should take Warren's advice and go to a chiropractor at some point-but another time. Now he needed to make an escape.

"Speaking of, think I'd better get back to my family. Might be worried about me."

Complete bullshit, but not like...DeMarcus? This guy wouldn't ever know it was a lie.

DeMarcus was losing his "captive audience," but he was used to that. He got a little too real for people too fast. This one wouldn't even tell him his real name, so he'd have to stay Tokyo Drift forever. DeMarcus watched as his conversation partner stood up and said something about his family.

"Don't hurry on my account. I was getting lonely." Despite himself, he felt a grin pull at his lips. "But if you gotta go you gotta go, Tokyo. Family's important." The last was delivered in DeMarcus's best Dominic Toretto growl.

...was this asshole trying to hit on him or something? Was that what that growl was about? Was that what it was all about? Some armor-closeted guy was trying to romance him or some shit?

Kyoto wasn't sure, and at that point he decided he didn't care anymore.

"Uh-huh, pretty much," he said, turning on his heel as walked in the direction he'd last seen his family going. Hopefully he could convince them they just should leave. Would probably be for the best at this point.

He probably should've said bye or something, but he preferred the idea of never speaking with DeMarcus again if possible, so he kept his mouth shut.

[[Kyoto Aizawa continued in The Earth's Bounty]]