Disclaimer: So, I wish I was smart enough to create Eyeshield 21, but because I'm not, you have nothing to worry about, or atleast be able to draw, but because I can't, you have nothing to worry about. I only own Michael, so I cry. (As does the rest of the fandom because Michael is a Mary-Sue, thus Canon-rape is inevitable.)
1.
Michael Fiore stepped out of the airport in Tokyo, Japan after spending like fourteen hours on a plane (leik omg, r u srs?) and an equally long time in the bathroom (. . . lawl. [insert immatuity here]) fixing herself because no one wants to look like crap upon entering a foreign country (Yeah, 'cept you're not a fuckin' queen or anything, so said people of the foreign country are not really going to give a shit what you look like.) for the first time. Sure, the second time is alright, but no, not the first time. (It's still the same; I'm quite sure everyone has more important things to do than to await the arrival of a some random American.) Michael was about 5'7, 5'7 and a half feet not counting the high heels she normally wore but she was really all legs. (So am I, and I'm only 5'3. I fail to see the uniqueness in this description.) She had mid-chest ('Mid-chest'? Er . . . don't you mean 'mid-back'? Who the hell describes hair length using 'mid-chest'? What, was the OC born with her head backwards or something?) length brown hair with caramel highlights, real caramel applied, from naturally-ness (lol, I still can't get over how she used that instead of the actual word "naturalness") and well, dying it every summer. Also within the last year she had put in purple and orange streaks (zomg, u must feel so kewl!!1) preferably to the left side of her head, and also on the right, the front, the back, and underneath. Michael had come to Japan for not student exchange, but transfer student. (Mary-Sue.) Just plain transfer student. (wait so u meen there r diferint kinds?!) She decided to come here in her junior year of high school, seeing as nothing good ever happened (Yeah, that's so the main reason why people transfer to schools in different countries that are on the other side of the planet: because nothing ever happens at their other school.), your just the kids who were ALMOST seniors. (Um . . . what?) Besides it would be fun to start school in a foreign country, (O rly? Because I would never go out of my way, uprooting my life and leaving behind my friends, family, home, and sense of security . . . just to have 'fun'.) she could act however she wanted (even though she did that already) (So . . . what was the point in transferring again?). Michael came to Japan at the start of her school year so she'd already missed their first quarter, still, she'd run into their summer break and than ('then', please) she would get HER summer break which is like doubly good (liek omg it sooooo wuld bee!!1) and she would still get the grades for it. (Seriously, like I care, lady.)
Michael really needed to go to her new school but walking around with like twently ("Twently"? Would that be the equivalent amount of our "twenty"?) bags and suitcases around her arms probably wasn't the best idea. (Really? And here I thought it was a brilliant idea!) So, like she would in New York, she hauled the nearest taxi and in perfect Japanese (Mary-Sue), only hinting in her accent she was from a different country, she told the driver the address to her new apartment. (Whoa, really? She already has an apartment? I mean, usually people tend to stay at hotels after entering another country for the first time . . . but, I am deal with a 'Sue here . . . so maybe I'm wrong to think logically while I read this story?)
---
Michael walked around Deimon High, her new school (Really? I'd never have guessed that, especially seeing as I'd just finished reading how she's a transfer-student-on-a-whim.), in her black-and-neon-pink DC skateboarding shoes, the matching mini-skirt that barely went four inches below her butt (Why does that detail scream "prostitute"?), her white, fancy button-down shirt with the collar half-up and half-down (. . . how does that work, exactly?) and the cufts neatly unbuttoned (. . . and how does that work, exactly?). To top it all off, she had her black rosary choking around her neck, restricting most of her air flow, but because she's a vain hoe, her life was of little importance to her compared to looking stunning to everyone, and eyeliner heavily applied. Not so much like raccoon eyes, like omg, twelve levels behind that but, liek, way more than most average people use because Mary-Sues are anything but average, so even twenty coats of eyeliner are seen as beautiful and heavenly whereas it would be seen as slutty raccoon eyes on anyone else. She walked around a grassy hill and slightly below is what looked like a crappy excuse for a football field were, I guess (Hey! Stay out of the story, fuckin' Suethor!), the local teams were having a game. (What, you can't tell? I mean, they're either having a game or they're not.)
So, atleast I won't be missing out on my sport while I'm here.
A girl with light brown, almost red hair (God damnit! It's NOT red, people, nor is it even 'almost red'!) walked up to her with a stack of flyers in her arms, one of the sheets of paper extended towards her.
"Do you need rules on playing American football?" She said in a native tongue. The Deimon highschooler was wearing the typical Deimon High uniform and Michael noticed on the flyer that Deimon's team must be the one in red and white. Devilbats.
Lovely name. Jeez, what idiot came up with such a lame name as Devilbats? (ZOMG, the future love interest that you plan on fuckin' over, of course!)
"Uh, no. I'm pretty familiar with football, even though I can't tell when they're playing a game or just lazing about. I mean, I play it back home like, omg, everyday almost, and by 'almost', I do mean every day." Michael replied to the 'girl with flyers'. " I'm sorry, I don't know your name and I tend to give people labels...Anyway, I'm Michael Fiore! Just got off the plane like, omg, twenty minutes ago."
"Oh! Hello, Fiore-san! I'm Anezaki Mamori! I really hope you like you like it here at Deimon High! But if you screw over Hiruma's character, I'll break your kneecaps with a tire iron! Got that, skank?"
"Oh no! My name isn't Fiore! Please, don't call me Flower (She didn't. She called you Fiore. Fiore-san, to be exact. Where the hell did you get "flower" out of that?). Michael is my real name because I'm a Mary-Sue, so even male names that aren't considered unisex are made as such because I'm, liek omg, so unique and special. I'm sorry for confusing you! I know the language, but it'll take some time to get used to your customs I guess." Michael gave her signature, heart-melting, 'I'll-make you-bow-down-to-me' smile, but the "I'll-make-you-bow-down-to-me" message was more of a "check-out-my-lack-of-front-teeth-and-discolored-molars" because she's a transferee from boon country. The less teeth you have, the more beautiful you are, they say.
Mamori-san, as predicted, melted from utter disgust into Michael's palm. "Oh no! It's my fault, I should have known, I mean your accent is so noticable. Can I help you in any way, do you have any questions about Deimon High?"
"Oh! As a matter of fact, the red and white jersey's are Deimon's right. The Devilbats. But whose is the white and green team?" Michael asked in total innocence. Mamori-san's face couldn't hide the state of shock at the oddity of such a question, after all, couldn't she tell that they where human men representing Earth? Be it as it may, it really didn't have anything to do with the school.
"Uh, Zokugaku Chameleons but this is only our third game this season." Mamori-san said quickly recovering herself. "And Michael-san, may I ask how old you are? Do you know what class your going to be in?"
"Well, I'm sixteen going on seventeen, and three years ago I was thirteen while six years from now I'll turn twenty-six, and I'm a junior back home so I'm supposed to go into second form, right? Uh, I really don't know what class I'm supposed to be in yet. I was supposed to check it out when I came here but I got distracted. Do you want to go with me and find out?"
Mamori's face lit up in excitement but quickly fell, "Oh, but I don't think I should leave the game, what if..." She trailed off thinking of all the bad possibilities that could happen. "And I don't really think I'm allowed..."She took a quick glance at a boy in the #1 jersey.
"Come on! I'm hopeless and lost, please!" Michael flashed her smile again and instantly Mamori went with Michael if it meant she would stop flashing that hideous smile and prevent it from possibly scarring her eyes for life.
---
"Oh no! Your in Hiruma-kun's class. He's not very nice, be sure to stay as far away from him as you can. Well, atleast Kurita's in that class as well, he's very nice." Mamori said, more or less, trying to comfort herself.
"Oh, don't worry, I can take care of myself. I've handled enough ass-holes in my time." (So much so that apparently there are different kinds, "ass-hole" clearly not being the same as "asshole".) She lifted her head once they got back at the football field. "Looks like it's over. Devilbats won." Michael smiled. Already she was supporting the Japanese high school team. (She must feel very special.)
"Do you want to head back to the clubhouse? I'm sure its fine it you're with me." Mamori-san offered nicely. With a slight nod, they walked in the direction of the American Football Clubhouse.
---
Michael looked at the even-crappier-than-the-field clubhouse and decided, it's now or never. She slid the door of the clubhouse with alarming speed and bounded into the already tight space of the clubhouse.
"Hai-lo ('Hai-lo'?), Devilbats! I'm Michael, the Mary-Sue of this story and your captain's future love interest. I demand that you all love me and worship me while I show you up on the field in your future games!" She leaped around the room, kinda flashing her matching neon pink underwear (not that she cared, because she's a Mary-Sue, and Mary-Sues are, in the end, simply just hoes with no shame or sense of self-respect.) and waving to the hot and sweaty, only four members teammates.
"You have a weird accent." A short kid with spikey-ish, brown hair said.
"Sena! Don't be rude." Mamori-san turned to Michael, "I'm sorry, he's normally better than this. Usually, he doesn't make fun of the mentally handicapped right to their faces."
"Damn manager, why the hell did you bring some bitch here?" #1 jersey guy said.
Oh no, I'm giving people labels... (OH NOES! NOT TEH LABELS!!1!) Michael thought, not really hearing what anybody said. "Quick, I need your names, or I'm going to end up labeling you and because I've the inability to replace them with your real names, I'll end up calling you by said labels for the rest of my life! (Sounds awfully familiar, eh? Another Mary-Sue trait: make OC resemble Canon character as much as possible.) I know your Sena but I don't know you or ass-hole's name or the other short persons name and I really don't need to give people labels." Michael said ignoring all the rude comments and pointed to the heavyset #77, the kid with the bandage on his nose and '#1 ass-hole'. "So? Names?"
The heavyset #77's face lit up and he broke into a smile, "Kurita Ryoukan, but you can just call me Kurita. Do you like American football?"
"Uh, duh! Liek, omg, I only play it like, omg, every single fucking day of my life, liek, omg. Totally like, omg, thee best sport ever!" Gushed Michael. (So much so that "the" gets an extra "e"!!)
"Name's Monta! I'm gonna be the best catcher MAX!" The short, monkeyish-looking kid said, bending down into a half-kneeling, right arm-index finger pointing towards the sky pose. Michael broke into her signature smile. Not for something, no from this kid's enthusiasm. Instantly, Mamori, Sena, Kurita and Monta melted at the sight of her smile because her breath was positively rancid; it could peel wallpaper!
"Did you see our game? Weren't we really good?" Kurita-kun asked, his big smile stretched across his face.
"Duh, yeah! I didn't get to see the full game, Mamori took me to get registered some time after half-time but you-"
"So that's were you went damn manager!" #1 ass-hole interupted. Mamori-san's smile instantly turned into a scowl.
"Hiruma! Don't call me that! How many times do I-" Mamori-san started.
"Oh! You're Hiruma. M'kay. Good to put a name to the face...or is it the other way around? I'm always messing up those sayings... just like I plan to do with your Canon!" Michael said interupting Mamori-san's rant on how Hiruma calls her. (Really? How does he call her? Does he do it like normal people and use a phone?) Michael walked over to the empty chair, tucking one of her long legs under her and fingering the cross laying a little bit above her somewhat large chest all the while still moving toward that empty chair (not like D cups more like low C, high B cup, though it might be more of a medium T cup on the left and a high C on the right.) and asked, "So, who you playing next 'cause I totally plan on joining the team so that I can have a cheap excuse to be next to Hiruma?"
"Well, we don't exactly know yet," Kurita said, glancing at Hiruma, "We haven't arranged another match..."
"We've got to many applicants trying out for American football, we're gonna need to hold a trial." Hiruma said from the corner of the room.
"Cha-ness ('Cha-ness'? Seriously, what's with all the made-up crap?), okay, cool. Officially I don't start 'til next Monday but I'll try out , even though I don't need to because I know I'll be recruited anyway because otherwise, what's the point in this story? Couldn't be originality because my author couldn't think outside the box even if her life depended on it," Michael exclaimed.