It's true, and it's awful.
– ♥, Nabocchan
It seems I've woken up on the floor again. The sun is just a little too bright this morning too, stabbing into the back of my skull. I try to roll over and the motion compresses my stomach, forcing vomit over the front of my shirt and onto the carpet.
I sit up straight in anticipation of more, and the idea hits me alongside the second wave of retching: Kiriko. There hasn't been one of those yet.
Brushing last night's cans off my desk, I begin the character sketch. It seems pigtail-types are on a resurgence this year, but I need something edgier. Definitely straight-bangs. And if I'm foregoing pigtails, I'd better have the breasts to back up the mature angle; maybe blonde hair to add some exoticism?
Kiriko will be a... solider. Who was recruited via video games. To fight aliens. With a special glowing M16 sword polearm thing. Maybe I can get some deal with the army, like a run of recruitment posters or something.
I'm out of cola but the whiskey bottle still contains a respectable amount. It would be a shame to waste it, so I drink my breakfast from a fast food cup.
Of course. She needs some distinguishing feature. Like an eyepatch. Except maybe that's too rough. An eyepatch... to conceal a differently colored eye. Which she's self-conscious about. Maybe because she has alien powers due to a tragic backstory? Heterochromia is a reliable flair, but it alone doesn't quite have the same marketability as other niche fetishes.
Maybe she lost an arm so she has a mechanical one, but out of habit she uses her feet to compensate. That hits a couple more demographics.
Her love interest and allies will be easy enough. Just take a few tried-and-true character traits, add a sexy body and some little idiosyncrasy and you can create anyone. For example: the sniper is a cute young-looking girl with pigtails and a verbal tick of ending sentences with ban. It doesn't have to mean anything, just exist. And we'll give her a knife strapped to her chest so pictures get passed around the internet like, “whoa, can you believe this cute girl has a knife?”.
I reach around and find some cold fries.
The thing about creating a niche market is, they like to think they're on some avant garde of consumerism. So you've gotta give them some stuff to know that others don't. Like the ban or that Kiriko's whole unit was wiped out. We'll show her being captured to give that whole pathetic appeal thing.
I stumble outdoors in search of lunch and end up dining al fresco in the park. KFC and a six pack: my standard fare. The shitty teenager at the counter was acting like I stank again—I guess I should have showered, but I have more important things to think about. The creation of art must take priority over everything else: I'm trying to make something timeless, and I think I'm onto something big.
Oh, right. I need a message. Uh, love and friendship conquer everything right? And as we long as we believe in ourselves and our friends like Kiriko we too can kill aliens. Our problems, that is. It's metaphorical.
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