Tag: tomboy

#11 – Pop Guns’ Raspberry De’Laight

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments


 GRIEV – Tensions rise behind closed doors at the UN, where rumor has it negotiations between president Istalinov Sirrah and the mediators representing the families of the more than 300 “political prisoners” Sirrah has kept in the nation’s Gulags for almost a decade now have come to an abrupt ending.

It was the dawn of the year 2000 when Sirrah’s “Militant Front for a Unified Kafkastak” movement dethroned the royal family and assumed control of the country. The popular support Sirrah counted with at the time, analysts say, was one of the deciding factors of his victory. However, it’s been a decade of terror for the citizens of the Easter European nation, who went from being oppressed by a despotic monarchy to being oppressed by the military who once were charged with protecting them.

 With civil unrest starting to boil and riots becoming an every day event for the kafkastaki people, the announcement that the overnight world sensation and Billboard chart-breaking Dutch trio “Pop Guns”, who first came into the spotlight with their very controversial cover of Sinatra’s classic “I did it my way” and even more controversial music video which won them their first Grammy, would be having an impromptu concert right in the capital city of Griev has caught everyone in both the entertainment and political world by surprise.

 Spokespersons for the now millionaire group comprised of lead singer/guitarist Raspberry De’Laight, bassist/other lead singer Blueberry Bunn and drummer/backup singer Blackberry Punch have denied the accusations that the concert is a giant marketing plot designed to attract international audiences with what some journalists are already calling “a tasteless display of shock tactics in the face of human tragedy”.

 “The girls have gone completely out of their way and have put themselves and their staff in danger all in the hopes that they can bring a little joy and entertainment to the kafkastakies” said the group’s manager and producer Conrad Teally yesterday morning during a press conference. “The girls have all heard about the situation in Griev and in Kafkastak in general and they very selflessly just wanted to give these good people a small token of good will and solidarity. A few hours of music and levity where they can forget all the ugliness and enjoy themselves”.

 Disingenuous as it may sound to try and sell this as the truth, Teally, who rose to the top of the music industry during the late 70s only to crash and burn alongside Disco during the mid 80s and has miraculously managed to once again catch lighting in the bottle with Pop Guns’ first two albums, is actually not lying. At least, not entirely.

Inside sources have indeed confirm that Pop Guns’ surprise pit stop in Kafkastak has  aussd the group’s “Triple Fantasy” tour to go almost 5 million dollars over budget in order to have the National Football Plaza ready for tonight’s big show. Ironically though, it seems most of that money will be going directly into the pockets of the Kafkastak Tourism and Culture minister, Vladimir Kolcjac, who was in charge of expediting the process of issuing the multiple permits necessary for Pop Guns to set stage and perform within their borders.

And there is also the matter of president Sirrah receiving a personal invitation from the girls themselves to assist to tonight’s event, which seems to go completely against their hopes of providing the citizens with an escape from their very harsh national reality. Many expect tonight’s festivities to end in tragedy, yet Teally remains optimistic.

“The girls want to bring the nation together. That is their number one goal tonight. They want to bring the people and the government together under one roof in the hope that music can show them a way to reconcile their differences and work together once again to build a new, better nation. The girls are still young. They’re still idealistic. They truly believe everything I just told you, and God bless them for it”.


Everything had to be perfect.

That is what Raspberry De’Laight kept telling herself while going over the Gulag’s schematics over and over again, memorizing each and every detail, the mission briefing on one hand and a water bottle on the other.

If not, hundreds of people who’d been imprisoned against their will for a decade, their families, and entire nation and perhaps even the World could be at stake.

Raspberry hated this. The emptiness in her stomach and the tightness of her pink satin outfit for their opening act. It cut on her midriff section, barely letting her breath. It squeezed her breasts almost up to her chin and all the frills and veils were starting to put her on edge. And don’t get her started on the silver booty shorts. Just the fact that she had to wear them, as if she didn’t have enough body issues as it was, but it was like they were designed to ride up. She hated them. And her stockings were itchy.

The truth of the matter was that femininity was something that made Raspberry De’Laight intensely uncomfortable, having grown up the only woman amongst her two brothers and her father, a career army sergeant whose job had him jumping from army base to army base. Her mother had bailed on him shortly after her little brother’s birth for reasons she neither knew nor care. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Her father and older brother provided her with all the love and care she never attempted to give. Still, the young sergeant had been very ill prepared to raise a young girl all on his own.

So, he didn’t.

He simply raised another boy and left the complicated discussions on womanhood in the hands of the base nurse.

And so, Raspberry had grown up an army brat in mind, body and spirit. Constantly covered in cuts, bruises and mud, she preferred to wear baggy clothes and have her hair cut short by the base barber. She knew nothing about makeup, or painting her nails. Heck, she’d been wearing the wrong size of bra ever since she’s had boobs. So finding herself now having to wear cutesy, short and revealing clothing, makeup, earrings, long hair and high heels has been more than a mere culture clash for her. More than once the idea of being caught by the enemy sounds more enticing than having to perform yet another concert.

Still, when her “laser vision” first manifested itself, the first thought in Raspberry’s mind was using her gift to serve her country, just like her father. The fact that her other talent, super strength, bloomed in the middle of her UN training pretty much closed the deal on her drafting. And not only was she powerful, she was an apt pupil, knew how to take orders and was respectful of the chain of commands and less prone to bouts of insubordination than all of the other applicants.

They had found their team leader.

#7 – Bosozoku-Hime

| November 7, 2011 | 0 Comments

Enter through the Crimson Hellmouth into the Obsidian Dome, to a land of fantasy far away from consciousness and imagination.

Once known as the empire of the rising sun, it is now a country where the Sun never rises and the eternal night is only kept avast by the light of the soul in search of adventure and excitement.

Welcome to the Neon City.

Where once upon a time, the indomitable Susanoo and his eight Orochihana fought the legions of the Sun Mother, Amaterasu. And yet, when their country needed them most, these brave heroes gave up their life in order to defend their subjects, dying in a fulminating flare of atomic power.

And so it was that the Gods were killed. Encased in eternal darkness and having been abandoned by all semblance of divinity, the sons and daughters of Izanagi and Izanami fell into chaos and anarchy. These were the days before the Rise of the Neon Sun, when the techno-men plague started, when the Crimson Hellmouth opened, adding the Oni Gender Wars into the mix, and when the bosozoku first started to appear.

And then, it reappeared: The crown jewel of the Gods. The unquestionable fetish of power and authority within the Obsidian Dome.

The Blazing Hachimaki.

It’s flames will scour whoever she fits unworthy to hold her and will only accept to be worn by the one true God made flesh.

Shiromori Tomoe was little more than a 13 year old girl, trying her best to hide her fear and uncertainty under a face of fake bravado when she first tied the Hachimaki to her forehead, uniting all of the motorcycle tribes under a single banner.

The first year or her ruling brought the beginning of the construction of the Neon City, the country’s new capital.

The second year brought the first secession of the Clown, Carnation and Water Dragon tribes. From then forth, their members would become outcasts and continue living in the periphery of society.

The third year brought laser tempering technology for the construction of neon katanas and the first ever prototype of the emotional engine.

The fourth year brought the end of the Oni Wars and a lasting and prosperous alliance with the female ogres.

The fifth year brought Blood Plumb, the empress’ beloved motorcycle, fueled by honor and fury. It also brought the Neon City’s first interaction with the outside world since the end of the Great War. Shiromori-dono, in her role as ambassador became the most beautiful and delicate flower, which only accentuated he sharpness and bitterness of her thorns.

What will the future bring to our beloved empress, sitting now in her neon lit throne, multiple rave geisha dancing for her amusement while she waits for the next big asphalt stampede, demonic invasion, coup d’eta or formal gala to come her way. Her eyes filled with the steel of resolve, her neon katana gently resting on her lap while a multicolored kimono covers her tight letter jumpsuit and the Blazing Hachimaki flutters in the air, like the young empress wild spirit.