Animecon harem book 3, p.5
AnimeCon Harem: Book 3, page 5
She’d spent the entirety of this short trip across the street hanging off Brian’s arm, and the only time he’d freed it from her grasp had been when he instead slipped it around her to hold her while they walked. In the past, she’d always been more than a little touchy about her personal space, but everything had changed. Now, it was like she was so completely enamored with this puppy-love affectionate skinship that she simply couldn’t let go at all.
Every color was more vibrant, every detail more beautiful and perfect. The AnimeCon banner gently undulated in the breeze from where it was affixed high above the entrance to the hall. Scattered groupings of attendees in familiar nerdy trappings could be seen here and there, along with the occasional cosplay. The normal convention excitement she felt was amped up to eleven despite the fact that she wasn’t even in cosplay today. Everything was better than she could have ever hoped for.
Fuuuck, I’m turning clingy already, Emily tried to scold herself, but all she felt was a giddy sort of glee. I just—I can’t even help it! We’re together; we’re really, for real, actually together. I can’t help but be all over him.
As absurd as it sounded, being boyfriend and girlfriend was enhanced by the inclusion of several other girlfriends into the mixture. There wasn’t any room to be self-conscious or fret over whether she was good enough or if she was doing everything right here in her first real relationship. Emily was instead rolling up with a girl squad, and there was a surreal sense of security in feeling like they would support her.
If someone intimidating tried to hassle or antagonize them, she could rely on Kelly’s keen wit and barbed tongue to launch a counter-offensive. In an instance where Emily wanted to disclose personal things she was shy talking about, she felt like Stephanie was even more innocent, which made her feel more comfortable and secure. Rebecca was still aloof from the intimacy of their team, but she had a firm handle on making sure everything worked out right for her friends—even now, she was probably somewhere ahead acquiring new day passes for the two of them.
Even Megan’s pretty cool, Emily thought, giving the girl a thoughtful glance as their group passed through AnimeCon’s entrance doors. It’s nice having another SUPER GEEK who’s completely into stuff around. Mike, Will, Tanya, and the others— they’re halfway to being total normies at this point and—
Where the fuck ARE THEY?! Chloe seethed, wringing the handrail in front of her as she looked down across the sporadic groups of AnimeCon attendees arriving through the multiple sets of double doors.
She would recognize any of Brian’s costumes at a glance, and recollection of those other girl’s appearances was still so fresh in her mind that each remembrance was still tinged with rage. The embarrassing retard hipster girl possessed some sort of Playmate Bunny costume, and Chloe was sure she wouldn’t forget seeing that stupid fucking pink hair of hers again. That whore who’d been slobbering on Brian’s disgusting knob—like the prostitute she likely for real actually was—wore Burando that didn’t fit right at all, and that made her figure memorable enough that Chloe didn’t think she’d miss it even if the slut wore a different costume today.
And finally, that rat Emily... Chloe felt the silver glass grind and twist and squeak in her mind. Well, it’s not like she ever shuts the fuck up, so I’m sure to hear that irritating fucking voice of hers before I even see any of them.
The Magical Doll Himari cosplay was only a hindrance right now, so Chloe had jammed the bag containing her costume into a small, recessed area of broken limbs beneath a shrub near one of the parking garages on her way to the convention center. If she was able to recover it again later, that was fine. If not, then she would report Brian and his little band of miscreants had stolen it from her while threatening her with violence, and that was obviously fine, too.
She was now back in the ruffled beige halter top and cut-off shorts she’d been wearing yesterday, with only her flats, a pair of sunglasses, and her makeup case with her to combat the naked villainy that had all but destroyed several months of her meticulous planning and setup. Chloe couldn’t even wear the sunglasses right now to hide her gaze, either. Part of her early morning preparation had involved squinting an evil look into the restroom mirror at herself so that she could use her cosmetics to define dark circles of exhaustion beneath her eyes and blend them in. She’d then carefully dabbed her concealer brush to the tip of her lipstick nub and applied subtle color to her lids and lashline—now they looked puffy and red like she’d been crying her eyes out all night long. The rest of her face remained uncharacteristically bare, which grated on her sensibilities but was also a necessary sacrifice for the image she needed to convey.
I didn’t even WANT to have to do this, Chloe all but snarled in her mind. Her pupils were almost shaking with scarcely contained ferocity as she clenched and twisted her hands around the safety rail. Mirror shards quivered with manic glee where they seemed to be embedded in the soft tissues of her brain, bringing on another dizzying spasm of pain.
You’ve all basically forced me to this point. You’ve no one to blame for what happens to you now but yourselves.
Chloe had chosen the high ground—she was arranging her ambush from AnimeCon’s overlook on the upper level. The balcony-like veranda was positioned just right for catching Brian and his little coterie of filthy skanks whenever they finally arrived through the entrance. They hadn’t arrived yet, but despite her mounting impatience, Chloe was determined to see this through no matter what. Perhaps most importantly…
She wasn’t alone.
Andrea—pronounced An-dree rather than An-dree-uh for reasons Chloe couldn’t fathom, was overweight and sported a hideous dyed-black bob-cut, but with bangs that were trimmed back almost all the way up to her hairline. The hairstyle emphasized enormous block brows, eyebrows drawn on so thick and rectangular upon her forehead that it was impossible for them to be anything other than a bold and intentional fuck your beauty standards statement. Thick-framed glasses and the septum piercing that dangled from her nostrils completed the uhh, YEAH, I’m progressive aesthetic and completely assured Chloe that Andrea’s preferred pronouns, gender identity, and orientation were all completely non-conforming.
The girl’s most endearing feature of all, of course, was the oversized ANIMECON STAFF tee she wore—Andrea was the perfect pawn for the confrontation Chloe had in mind. That shirt completely redeemed any shortcomings she might have had. It made Andrea a figure of power, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, and that the girl now stood watch beside Chloe at the railing meant her side now held the weight of authority here at the convention. It had been worth it spending almost twenty aggravating minutes after perfecting her own I’m pitiful, please protect me makeup to carefully single out just the right volunteer for her needs this morning.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asked with a worried glance.
“I just... want to feel safe again,” Chloe tried to sound brave. “If… if I’ll ever feel safe again…”
“I wish you coulda found me yesterday,” the pudgy staffer lamented. “The kind of harassment you’re describing is beyond problematic—it’s completely not okay. It’s basically assault. If only of us staffers had known—”
“I was… was just scared to say anything,” Chloe admitted with a weak smile. “I’m so used to no one ever believing me. I just, I just don’t want to have to be terrified all the time anymore— I-I just, I can’t…”
Although she was better versed than anyone she knew in applying party rhetoric to her own agendas, Chloe still had to remind herself to tread very carefully around these more blatant radfem types, even the dumber-looking ones like Andrea. Via internet correspondence, feminists always got along swimmingly with Chloe, but in person, the troglodyte clowns always seemed to subconsciously begin to resent her for possessing a traditionally beautiful face and perfect body.
Hah.
Chloe despised men more than most, but that by no means meant she was going to sacrifice the incredible leverage she could bring to bear against them and turn her appearance into a walking punchline like some of the other social justice warriors she’d met. After all, Chloe enjoyed having a graceful figure and irresistible good looks that allowed her to get away with anything and everything. Why the fuck wouldn’t I?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the staffer girl asked again, giving Chloe a look.
“It—it’s just a stress migraine.” Chloe carefully swayed on her feet in an unsteady way and brought a hand to her forehead. “I’ll be okay. I’m used to them.”
She’d already downed four ibuprofens earlier—selling a sob story about some spinal tension disorder to a hapless loser standing around with the smoker crowd lingering just outside the convention center entrance in exchange for them—but the pills had done nothing to stop the broken shards of silver that sometimes spun and twisted and bit into her brain like the serrated teeth of a saw. That infuriating pink-haired art hoe with the rampant chuunibyou was to blame. Chloe just wasn’t sure how the disgusting thot had managed to actually affect her just yet.
Probably overthinking it—it was probably that real nasty bitch with the rank BO just getting to me there in the hallway last night. But why is my head STILL like this? Maybe it’s that thing where a person can have rare body chemistry and gut enzymes or whatever that I might just be specifically allergic to? Can I sue for that, maybe?
After getting only a scant six hours of sleep, Chloe had stiffened her upper lip and stormed out on the betrayer Rebecca and the greasepile fat fuck she’d forced them to shack up with last night. All the appropriate groundwork to salvage whatever she could of this weekend had been laid out last night, but no matter how much pain she had to bravely endure, Chloe still needed to be right here.
Waiting to catch Brian in the act of slinking back into the convention, she played her part to ensure that things went as they were supposed to. Fixing the right crimes on Brian would stain his reputation, his removal—preferably ban—from this stupid fucking convention he looked forward to so much every year would hurt, and hopefully, some bystanders would step up to make things messy and heap on the shame, slander, and maybe even violence Brian deserved.
No one seemed to appreciate the sheer amount of work Chloe had put into reforming Brian into an appropriate boyfriend. The amount of reasoning and argument Chloe had to turn him into an unquestioning provider, the verbal hoops she had to jump through to make him realize he had certain obligations to fulfill simply to be in reparation of the innumerable sins of his gender. The time and patience she’d invested in training to do the most basic of tasks like eat pussy on command just the way she liked it.
There wasn’t even a problem with my plan! That little goblin shitstain Emily just couldn’t fucking let go of that pathetic little torch she was carrying for him. As if you two would EVER be together—you basically have the body of a child, Emily. The best you could ever hope for is some pimply faced manlet who’s on your level. Or some old pedophile guy or something. Not the Brian I was carefully—PAINSTAKINGLY—cultivating into proper human decency for myself.
It should have worked. IT SHOULD HAVE WORKED. Emily was the hyperactive little chatterbox—always trying to talk over her shortcomings, desperately scrabbling for any bit of social clout she could get from that—because she obviously doesn’t have any other options. She SHOULD have been the absolute best avenue to have the news leak out, Chloe fumed. It was difficult to even maintain her pity-me face right now.
It SHOULD have been an open secret among our friends that Brian got me pregnant, that we were fighting, and that things were tense between us for ambiguous reasons. That SHOULD have put the pressure on him. People should have been approaching him with advice. Telling him that no matter what actually happened, he needs to STEP UP, that he needs to apologize and make things right because there was supposedly a baby at stake here.
Instead—nothing. Fucking nothing. Nothing at all. Against all fucking odds, Emily chooses the exact wrong moment to keep her filthy shit-trap shut. Brian has no clue. No one knows he’s supposed to be this asshole who got someone pregnant and then shirked the mantle of responsibility for ambiguous reasons. It SHOULD have worked perfectly. Any outrageous emotional response or outburst on my part? Automatically justified. Brian’s reputation as the DEPENDABLE GUY in our circle of friends? Called into doubt and challenged by everyone he knows. Unless he mans up and BEGS me to take him back. Promises me ANYTHING and EVERYTHING.
Just this last little painless bit of attitude correction and you would have been PERFECT for me. You were so close, Brian. Chloe shook her head in dismay. And now I have to ruin you. What a total waste of my time this has been. I’m going to have to make sure Emily gets exactly the comeuppance she deserves for this. Those two girls are going to pay, too.
Then, as if summoned by her very thoughts—Brian and the girls appeared.
As improbable as it was, Chloe felt them arrive a mere moment before they stepped into sight because it was as if their approaching presence was an atrocity that triggered a hateful storm of dancing sharp slivers within her mind. Chloe blinked away hateful tears as her brain buzzed with silver noise, but she gritted her teeth and lifted her hand to immediately point in the direction of the entranceway.
“That’s them!” Chloe hissed out, nudging Andrea with her elbow. “You have your walkie-talkie? Those are the ones. Right there. That guy, and those three girls with him with the colored hair. The fat one, too. All of them.”
Chapter four
Chloe Confrontation
“Brian Douglas?” A pair of college-aged guys wearing AnimeCon Staff shirts stepped out from the side and cut them off from advancing through to the lobby with the rest of the crowd pushing forward. “Are you Brian Douglas?”
“AnimeCon has a zero tolerance policy for harassment,” the first volunteer staffer said. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave—to ask you and your whole group here to leave.”
“Uhhh—what?” Brian gave the guy an uncertain smile, unsure as to whether he was joking or not. “Our whole group. Are you serious?”
It took Brian a moment to realize that this wasn’t some sort of practical joke and that the overweight staffer with the scraggly orangish-brown tufts of facial hair swaddling his neck was completely serious. Another guy in a volunteer staff shirt was standing right behind the first one with an equally solemn expression. Everything else—the rest of the convention hall interior—was normal, with all the other attendees merrily going about their business, chatting and laughing, and heading toward where they wanted to go. Brian, for some reason, had been specifically singled out.
“Yeah,” the staffer said, gesturing across all of them. “Brian Douglas and this whole group. We’re going to have to ask all of you to leave.”
“Me? What? Why?” Brian glanced from the girls traveling with him back to the guy in the volunteer staff shirt in disbelief.
“Oh, Brian has to leave, does he?” Kelly grinned. “Oooh, wow, our whole group, too? You must have some solid as fuck evidence of whatever the fuck you’re charging us with.”
“We’re not charging you with anything.” The guy’s expression darkened. “We’re asking you to leave. AnimeCon’s a privately hosted event, and it states right there in the registration terms and conditions that we can ask attendees to leave at any time—”
“What the hell?” Megan blurted out. “But why?”
“You’re not security.” Emily gave the staffer a skeptical look. “You’re just some volunteer asshole harassing us. Power trip bullshit, no doubt based on some totally bogus sob story a certain someone cooked up.”
“We definitely haven’t harassed anyone.” Brian held his hand up to Emily as he carefully addressed the staffer. “Maybe you have the wrong people?”
“Brian, c’mon—you know this is Chloe trying underhanded shit,” Emily snapped. “That forum thread she started this morning—late last night—whatever. Uhh, Mr. McStaffer guy, if you go to the third page of that thread where I start making replies, I basically debunk everything she says and lay out what’s really going on.”
“W-we didn’t do anything wrong!” Stephanie asserted.
“Called it. I told you it was her calling in a noise complaint on us that had that cop show up last night.” Kelly chuckled, shaking her head. “I totally called it!”
“Sorry, I’m going to have to ask for your badges,” the staffer insisted, refusing to give them any leeway. “Are you guys going to leave peaceably... or do I have to involve security?”
“Involve security—please,” Emily brightened. “Mr. Gary was a huge help to us yesterday. He’ll know this is fishy as fuck and get to the bottom of everything!”
“Fine,” the staffer grunted out with a rigid expression. “Security it is, then. Your funeral.”
“Where’s he going?” Chloe demanded, watching the volunteer staffer who’d confronted them take a step back while speaking into his radio handset. “What’s he saying—why don’t you have a radio on you?”
“Uhh, not all of the staffers get radios.” Andrea blinked. “I've got a walkie-talkie. It's two-way. They had to make sure that the ones who needed—”
“Okay, but why don’t you have a radio?” Chloe demanded, trying to sound panicked rather than furious at the sheer fucking ineptitude of her helper here. “They’re still there, what’s he doing? They’re not freaked out or upset or anything at all. They’re just—they’re just standing there!”
“He’s not leaving this alone,” Andrea began to say. “He’s probably contacting security to—”
