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GRAVEYARD 2.0
GRAVEYARD Well, that sucked. But no matter what your death was like—whether it was something peaceful or traumatic, you'll find yourself waking in a completely white room on the floor. Small and empty, there isn't anything else there besides an open door to walk through. But before you do that, you'll probably notice that whatever injuries you may have had, including whatever may have been the death blow, are now gone. That's exciting. Stepping out of the room, it seems that you're in a large... house? with three different floors. Everything from floor, ceiling to furniture is completely white, except for the drawings that are plastered to the walls in each room. These are all colorful, drawn in colored pencils and crayon, and resemble a child's drawing. The other notable thing are the windows. While they're present all around the building, looking out of them only shows TV static. Besides that, everything is furnished with the absolute bare minimum of each room. The first floor is all typical common areas one would find in a house. There's a kitchen, living room area, laundry room, dining room, and a main hallway where the stairs are. There are also helpful drawings in these rooms that show the rooms much more lavishly decorated than they actually are. There's a door that appears to be the way to exit the building, it's locked. The second floor consists of nothing but twenty bedrooms. Each room has one queen sized bed, an empty dresser, and an attached bathroom with only a sink, toilet, and shower. Like the first floor, each bedroom has drawn pictures that show it looking much more lavish than it actually does. Thanks for nothing, artist! The third floor only has two rooms. One appears to be a home office with nothing but a desk and two chairs, one behind it and one in front of it. While there's blank pieces of paper and crayons on the desk, the note that was previously there is gone. The other room is much larger, and it's completely empty save for the many drawings lining its walls— in fact, the walls are covered in them, much more than in any other room. On closer inspection, though, it seems like these aren't actually drawings? The papers seem to be showing scenes from the living area. Everything from inside the hotel to the areas beyond the bridge are visible here. However, when curfew hits on Thursday nights, they revert to being normal drawings! Except for the fact that they're all drawings of stick figures being murdered in various ways. Well. At least there's plenty of things to draw with, if you get bored. Also, a handy link to the previous post. |
NAVIGATION locations ₓ˚. statuses *+:｡ ic profiles :ₓo ic rules ･ﾟﾟ･｡ audience requests murder proposals ｡✧o private conversations ･ﾟo｡ curfew ･ﾟ✧ memories |
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[He doesn't really know if his heart is particularly strong! This whole thing seems. . . a little crazy! A lot is happening that seems important and he doesn't understand it.
But he wants to help Hikaru, and this lion seems like he knows what he's doing, so. He'll just walk towards the door.]
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The door twists closed behind him to a fog of white noise and static. As he walks forward a couple of steps, the floor grows solid and clear under his feet.
Does he keep walking?]
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As he walks, he feels the flicker of things passing him by. Bits of color, the smell of grass, the sounds of a classroom, the bubbling laughter of older boys, the feel of a cold rain on a hot summer day. But they feel disconnected, as though seen from a great distance, with no rhyme or reason.
His mind begins to grow fuzzy. How long had he been walking, again? When did those memories start? Where were they going to end?]
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But. . . he was supposed to be walking this way, right? So he'll just keep doing that.]
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Off to the side, in the muffled voice of a radio, he can hear the broadcast of a new emperor, a new era for Japan. He hears talk of the Crown Prince and his marriage, of an Earthquake in Hokkaido, the bare whispers of those same older boys of a theme park called D*sney that they want to take you to when you're old enough. Out of the corner of his eye is a flicker of orange, the ghost of Hikaru walking the same stride as him with clouded eyes, as though she can't quite focus on anything but the ground beneath her feet.
How... old are you, again?
The fuzziness worsens. Static seeps in to try and fill the cracks, to try and reach into the space of Mob's memory.]
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[His mind is a little fuzzy, so he can't quite remember what he's supposed to call her, but when he sees her there, he'll reach out to her.]
It's okay. Keep walking with me.
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Do... you remember what a birthday is, Shigeo-kun?
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A birthday. . . mm. Yes, I remember.
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It's a happy time... isn't it?
I feel I should know this. That maybe it was... important, once, to know it.
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It's good to be with the people you care about.
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The people you... care about...
[There's a flash of something - of multiple sets of bare feet across tatami mats, the smell of incense and water and wood, the feel of a screen door sliding under the fingers.]
...
How do you cherish that time, Shigeo? Who... was that person? You looked so happy.
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[What was it? He had it a minute ago. He was happy, right?]
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[Hikaru's hand squeezes in his.]
You made a promise to him, didn't you? A really important one.
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[He considers this for a moment, and then his eyes grow wide and terrified. The image around them changes - no longer a child's birthday party. Instead, they're out on a street, surrounded by rubble. Some teenagers are lying on the ground, bleeding, but your eyes slide away from them, to the boy on the ground bleeding from a wound in his head, crying.]
Ritsu! Ritsu!
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Hikaru doesn't hesitate, not even letting go of Mob's hand as she rushes forward. For a brief moment, Ritsu flickers, to the figure of a highschool-age boy, before flickering right back... and Hikaru's grip tightens.]
Shigeo-kun, what happened? Do you remember??
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He was okay. He was okay.
. . . But I promised him that I would never do that again. I promised I would change, and I still haven't.
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"Let's both promise that we're not going to regret the things we've done."]
...What needs to be changed, Shigeo-kun?
Your promise was so important that you had me remember it for you, if you ever couldn't. And Ritsu-kun... he was really important to you, wasn't he?
[Not just a friend. A b̸͈̟̑͒́̄͝r̸̭̺̾̈̒̄o̸̧̫̳̿t̸̢̥̘̘͍͗̂̂̾͝ḧ̵͈̱̤̠̖́̐͆ȩ̵̺̼̑̄r̷̥̩̳͎͛͝. Something that feels foreign, almost...
No, not quite that. Not foreign, but... out of reach. A love that feels like, maybe, it should be familiar and bone-deep. One that binds no matter t̷͉̠̃̏ȟ̶̞͇̱̑e̷̯̯̐́̋͝ ̸̢̼̯̩̏̎͌͛͊s̵͚̼͔̮̭͊̎́̋̚p̶̨̧̛͕̥̟̅́̕a̵̡͓͓̎̈́͌͠ͅǹ̴̳̀̚ ̶̛͕͈͙̞͐̈́o̸̰̹̰̐̕̚f̵̹͓̿͝ ̸̺̱͊̎y̶̙͕͕̯͗̈̿̇̎ͅö̷͉́̿͛̓̚u̴̻͉̫͊̆̊͒̽r̷̛̙̔̈́͘ ̸̛̦̖̣̫̬̀̋̉͘l̴͙̺̜͊̆̅̎̕ȉ̵͖̞͚̎̌f̶̛̞̖̜̫̘̅́̈́̚e̵̥̫̳̺̍.̸̟͇͈̑͆]
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[The promise is. . . hard to explain. If she doesn't understand from what she's seen, he's not sure he has the words to explain it to her. But the memory changes again, to Ritsu, smiling as a young preteen, calming reassuring Mob. There's something a little strained about that smile, as he tries to calm him down, tells him not to get upset.]
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She watches quietly, the look in her eyes paining a little. To be looked at with that kind of smile, eyes that try so hard to stay calm.]
Was he worried about the things you could do? With your powers?
[Even as they talk, it's hard to place where the memory is, when it is happening. It is, but to pinpoint how long it was from his last memory, the memory before that, how old Ritsu was, how old he was... it takes concentration to keep it all together.]
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. . . What about your brother?
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[B̸̜̙͕̏̋̉̏̈͜r̸͚̰̯͚͋͌͌͗̍ͅǫ̷̼̩̖̊t̴̝̭̪̚h̶̢̛̞͒ḙ̶̚ř̷̡̧̃̽̋͘?̵̺͎̆̊
...
She looks like she's going to shake her head, to tell him he must be mistaken. But the scenery shifts to static under their feet, to the feeling of wood, to see yourself knelt before a shinai in tense silence as someone comes to sit in front of you with a look of quiet concern.
Is it Ritsu? For the moment, perhaps it is, though he flickers to static every few moments, even as he reaches out to touch the top of Mob's head.
You won't say why you're sad, huh? It's alright. I won't ask you.]
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Did you mistake me for someone? Could the person you're looking for be Hikaru-san?
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It flickers again, to someone in the under layers of a kendo uniform, of straight cut hair of deep, deep brown. Is this person younger? Older? Does he remember?
"Ritsu" cocks his head to the side a little bit.
People have got to make up their minds in this world, Mob, and they've got to do it for themselves.
You can stick to your decisions, right?
Next to Mob, Hikaru's shoulders draw up, her expression tensing, something about the nostalgia of the moment, even if unfamiliar, makes one feel...
Homesick.]
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. . . Yes, I can.
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