The Next Morning, Sonntag Introduction
It was the best way Mason thought at the moment to best describe the morning. Light filtered into his room through the curtains. No matter what he did to block out the light, some would still manage to slip in. Even worse it would land against his face. In a lot of ways it was the perfect alarm clock. Much better than his dad or his sister coming in and poking him awake with a ruler or whomever knows what object they happened to have at the time. Once he was jabbed awake with a didgeridoo when they lived for a stint in Australia.
Even worse was when dad would start singing tunes from old children’s shows until Mason would scream at him. The most horrible was when dad started to play that damned didgeridoo. No wait, it would be the vuvuzela when they were briefly lived in South Africa. Thankfully, he made sure it was “misplaced” a short time after its introduction.
Mason got out of bed and started his morning routine. Usually the first thing would be to check his phone. Nope nothing. Then again, he would’ve been surprised if he had received a text, or e-mail since most Japanese people tended to communicate that way rather than SMS. Although, his old friends should’ve been able to send one via Skype or whatever service of choice. It’s not like he dropped off the net or something.
Maybe they’d already forgotten about him? Not surprising the amount of times he’s moved. But he’d been in the US for the longest time, maybe this time….
Mason shock his head. No need to worry about that depressing crap now.
“At least I have Twitter, Facebook, and all the other social services.”
Then again, all of that means squat when no one wants to talk to you.
He knew there wouldn’t be many e-mails from the people he knew at St. Lazarus. There was one from the shooting club sensei reminding him to turn in his report today, another one from his senpai in the Archery Club asking him to give them a price for arrows. Even though there were other traditional suppliers out there, his father’s shooting sports shop fletched some of the best arrows in the region. Of course no e-mails from friends. You would need some of those to get messages from, right?
Ok a bit melodramatic, but he could count on his hand how many people would send him e-mails and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he only needed to lift his index finger to complete the count.
After checking his feeds, he put his smartphone down and opened the paper notebook on his desk. It was a daily ritual and he’d never feel right if he didn’t at least put in a few words before leaving for school.
To the right of his notebook was his Rötring 600 fountain pen with a fine nib. Mason had bought it with money he’d earned from working with his father in the workshop. It wasn’t the first fountain pen he had owned, but it was his favorite. He liked the octagonal shape which kept it from rolling around the desk. The milled billet aluminum case also felt near indestructible in his hands. The 600 was really the best pen he ever owned. Maybe even better than the Montblanc Meisterstück he also had.
Closing his eyes, he could see his world. The world of the story he wrote. It was a fantasy story and he had been writing it for close to three years. The notebook was never far from him and he would scribble down whatever came to mind when inspiration hit.
When inspiration hit was a bit of a misnomer. Whatever happened, Mason would write something every day. It was what separated those who said they wanted to be a writer from those who actually did it. To be a writer, you needed to actually write something. Anything. Not just some stupid tweet about this or that, but something substantive. Like part of a story that would move forward as every word crawled on the page.
The pen glided across the paper as he wrote in cursive. Mason still did better with writing in English than in German, Spanish or Japanese. He could speak Japanese decently but sometimes he would stumble on a kanji or two. He was relatively fluent in the other languages as well, but it was English where he was able to create worlds such as the one he had now.
Like the one where the drow paladin fought her way through a town that had been infected with a disease. Poor Yasual Ousstlar… What will you do with those zombie-like townspeople trying to kill you?
It was an unusual choice. A drow paladin. Someone who would be considered traditionally evil in the role of serving what would be considered a good god. He could see her setting so vividly he sometimes thought he could even see her at times.
An image flashed in his mind. Of the drow girl fighting the goblins yesterday and her wonderful lilac eyes.
Just like Yasual’s.
Mason stopped writing and stared at the page. He read what he had written so far and then flipped back to his character descriptions and backgrounds.
Could she be?
He put his pen down and covered his face with his hands.
“Naw, it’s gotta be a coincidence.”
“Nope, it’s no coincidence you’re late again, oniichan.”
Mason bolted out of his chair and smacked his knee against his desk before he fell to the floor at the sudden intrusion of a voice he didn’t expect.
He scrunched his eyes to the pain and finally opened them to find his younger sister, Rosa standing above him with her hands on her hips. She had short, straight, black hair reaching down to her back. Like Mason, her eyes were also brown, but her skin was lighter in color than his. Rosa was a bit on the short side but she made up for it with her “social butterfly” personality. She went to the junior high school section of St. Lazarus Academy.
And of course right now she had an evil smile playing across her lips.
“Awwww, did that hurt, oniichan?”
“Dear lord, knock it off with the oniichan stuff. It’s creepy.”
“Well, isn’t that what you’re supposed to call your older brother here? I mean, we’re living in Yokohama after all.”
Mason stood up and dusted himself off.
“Tell you what, how about we just ignore each other as usual, hmm?”
“So mean! Such a mean oniichan.”
Rosa dodged the crumpled piece of paper Mason tossed at her, and ducked out of his room as the paper the hit closing door.
“Hurry up and get ready for breakfast. Unless you want dad to get the didgeridoo out.”
“Yeah, I’m going, I’m going.”
After showering and getting ready, Mason rushed downstairs to find everyone at the table.
His father and mother were already eating. Breakfast was pretty simple fare, mostly meats and cheeses like they usually had when they lived in Germany. Having an import and export business catering to expatriates did have its perks it seemed.
Well, at least that part of the family business. There was the shooting sports workshop and lastly the other more lucrative part which was a whole hell of a lot more dangerous and interesting. Mason wasn’t involved in that, but he knew dad expected him to be in the future.
Baby steps, man. Baby steps.
Mason’s father had jumped out of his chair with his arms outstretched to the sky, his voice having adopted an exaggerated German accent.
“He’s alive! HEEEEEEEEEE’SSSSSS AAALLLLIVVVVVVEEEEEE!!!”
And then he promptly sat down, with a wide smile on his face.
“You know, son, you’re lucky I haven’t found the box with didgeridoo. Although I do think I found the one with the Vuvuzela.”
Not a change in hell you did.
Mason grunted as he sat for breakfast. He could never seem to function without having at least a cup of coffee in the morning. A by product of his mixed South American/German heritage.
Ulrich Sonntag commented as he bit into a piece of sausage. His father wasn’t an extraordinarily tall man, but still being German in Japan he was taller than most. He was a stout man, with peppered black hair, brown eyes, and and an easy going smile. With this easy going manner and way of working with people, he made friends and contacts very easily. Which was a good thing considering his line of work.
Way too tiring to deal with. People that is.
Rosa was already shoveling food in her mouth in a most unladylike manner. If only her classmates knew.
Hmmm maybe an interesting piece of information to keep in mind next time she swipes his manga.
“Com’on, ‘Niichan, we’re gonna be late!”
“Will you stop with that!”
“Mason, don’t yell at your sister. And at least try to eat something before you go.”
Maria Sonntag was a short woman by most standards. Although in Japan she was about average in height. She had shoulder length red hair and brown eyes and was pretty for her age. While not as pale as dad, she wasn’t as dark as many other Spanish people could be. But then again, Mason knew even if you were from a particular part of the world, a lot of people came in different shades.
It didn’t matter the color they were people, in general, were still a pain in the ass to deal with.
He grabbed a piece of bread, slapped some meat and cheese on it, making an improvised sandwich. Satisfied with his handiwork, he took a bite of it and his father tsked.
“Not even a bit of mustard, huh? O son of mine, I sometimes wonder if you were really adopted.”
Don’t have the time for this.
Mason grabbed his school bag and rushed out the door with Rosa.
“See you tonight after clubs!”