janescayre | Duocaeli Inbox

[Fukawa fidgets. He's a little unnerving. Maybe that's the religious training, all that theological reflection seeping into his most minute motions.

As for her own reflecting? She fidgets even more.]

I-I... [Her throat feels a little thick. It's so easy to spit platitudes and dire warnings at someone else. She's rarely ready for a volley back. No one's asked her if she feels different. Of course they haven't, she doubts they care much. She was difficult before and she's difficult now. Any shift was a matter of degrees, and the greatest change she's had came after she left Hope's Peak.

And yet her stomach turns. She remembers running in relay teams once. In bursts, nothing much of the race itself. They'd found the photo after to prove it. Everyone sweat slicked in their gym uniforms, four flags hoisted for four places. She'd been holding the flag for first, and she'd been smiling. Not even to the camera — to the people around her.

It made her feel like she'd been possessed.]

For me, I think...it w-was more that I can't think of anyone the same way. In one life we were one thing, and in another, we had to be s-something else.

[Body after body after body. Denial, rage, ego and schemes. How is an idyllic school life supposed to outshine murder?]

I don't think I can forgive them.

Edited 2023-05-14 04:13 (UTC)

[Roland's eyes narrow at the gravity of her words, uncertain yet intense in their finality.

In a way, it's not so different from the false memories of Crane City—only, both sets of memories are real. Reality, it seems, isn't always kind. If he's already this uncertain of himself in his current state, he can't begin to imagine the depths of Fukawa's agony at the hands of untold cruelty compounded with remembrance.]

. . . In the end, our relationships suffer the most in the absence of memories.

[Perhaps he's known this from the start. All he left behind for himself was a name. But what of everyone else? One name doesn't justify anything. He can't look Fukawa in the eye and assert that he made a calculated choice to forget her and remember someone else—that forcing her to bear the weight of their transformed relationship was an acceptable consequence when he made the decision on his own.

How awful, all of this. The resultant betrayal upon learning the truth must have been excruciating. That resentment . . . ]

It must weigh heavily on your heart.

Gaaaah. [She cringes suddenly. This is too much. Far too much introspection with too strange a man.] It d-doesn't matter now. And we weren't all buddy-buddy in the first place. It was just a stupid, messed up scenario! That's all. What are you, a m-monk or a psychiatrist?!

[No use dwelling on it. She'd only wanted to shake some sense into him, relay some hard-earned wisdom. Not pry back the layers of her own skin.]

And to th-think, I'd dragged myself all the way up to this kitschy tower to figure out what the hell is going on here.

[Neither, he almost says. The words sit on the tip of his tongue. At this moment, he's a friend.

But it would be gauche to push this matter now. She's had to revisit some unpleasant moments in her past, which is sure to have been exhausting for her heart. Glancing around the tower's interior, Roland turns his attention to the notes and books around them instead.]

Are you in the middle of an investigation?

[Very wise to hold his tongue there, she'd definitely scream at him again if he busted out the "f" word.]

I d-don't know if it's even worth being called that. [She pries her glasses off for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose.] I thought m-maybe there would be a clue with this telescope. Or at least, if I looked at enough star maps I could f-figure out if we're somewhere that could be s-seen from home. A neighbouring galaxy or...oh, god, I feel so stupid.

I don't know the first thing about astronomy. I mean, sure, I know the myths behind all the c-constellations, that's practically kindergarten stuff for any writer. But to try l-looking for that crap for any other angle?

[What a damn headache. What a hackneyed attempt at sleuthing.]

I might as well b-be reading Ancient Sumerian. It's useless.

[If she doesn't know the first thing about astronomy, he may as well be a monkey next to her. Context clues help him to keep up, if barely. She can stand to be more confident in her ideas, but he thinks he can understand the lack of confidence in an area outside of her specialty. So she's a writer . . . ]

Give yourself some credit. Your idea is sound. If it's a matter of expertise, we can always enlist the aid of someone with the knowledge in question.

[Because he definitely knows nothing. And there's no shame in not knowing, so she shouldn't feel stupid.]

What can I do to help?

[Fukawa looks uncertain about that. Any time she wanders too far from her narrow expertise she inevitably falls on her ass. But logically, it should make sense. Right? Anyone worth their salt in astronomy should be able to map out this crap and draw similarities.]

Is there anyone here who kn-knows about this stuff? [Not him, obviously. Blank slate that he is.]

I don't know. I was just taking a l-look through it and trying to see if I could match it to anything here. [She taps a thick tome, open to a detailed map of the Crane City night sky.] I've barely gotten anywhere. If you want to try it, b-be my guest.

[Her question is as good as his. He's about to suggest that they take to DUONET when she offers access to the tome and telescope both. His eyes flit back and forth across the map, trying in vain to make sense of the constellations. As alien as they are, he lifts his head with a nod.]

I shall see what I can do.

[When he peers into the telescope, however, he sees not stars, but undecipherable flashes of something else entirely. Words flood his ears, distant and unbidden—frail: "Pray, see me to my rest . . . You have . . . such beautiful . . . eyes . . . " Another voice, panicked: "Stop! I won't let you—"

He pulls back from the telescope as if burned by the lens.]

What in the . . . !

Roland?!

[His expression had pinched. Briefly, but she'd seen it, right before he ripped free of the telescope. Fukawa juts forward, hands up and useless as they flutter at his edges.]

Wh-what happened? Was there a bug or something? [She's always afraid of stuff like that. Sticking your face somewhere and getting a nasty surprise.] Are you okay?

[A magnified centipede surely would have made for a sight to remember.

And he would have preferred it. Fukawa enters his periphery with her hands, and he remembers to speak, if breathily.]

I'm all right. I . . .

[Trailing off, he peers around the telescope with no small amount of apprehension. As expected, there's nothing unusual on the other side. He pulls back in a daze.]

I'm all right.

[But perhaps not the others.]

[If he's all right, she's a swim suit model. Her scowl returns.]

D-don't lie to me. Something happened, didn't it? [The telescope had been working fine for her. Nothing but a soup of inky black and twinkling stars. But Dodo was a mischievous house, and by now she knows better than to assume anything is safe from tampering.] You better tell me now! I w-won't forgive you if you hold back.

[She can be anything her heart desires.

This was part of the deal. She's supposed to help him as much as he wishes to help her. They're meant to help each other, and that understanding pushes his reluctance to share the burdensome echo of what he just saw.]

. . . I saw them. The elder from Old Town, who begged for mercy as he lay dying in the snow, and the man who threw himself onto a blade for his brother. I'm all right, but . . . fate was not so kind to them.

[His hand hovers over his face—the very eyes into which the old man had peered with such affection—while the image of a bloody body on the ground sears itself into his mind. A wave of sorrow crashes against him.]

They were moments from my past.

[stop being so positive and encouraging she'll burst into flames.

There's a lot of definitive facts here. He's got a city, identities. A devastating event.

That's to be expected, isn't it? Shocking things stick out like tombstones in a flat field. They're often the first to poke through the shroud.]

A war? [She ventures, taking a closer step.] W-were they close to you?

[My, what a lovely flame she makes.]

I don't know. Their faces weren't familiar.

[Is that because they really weren't, or because he's forgotten?]

But perhaps it was. [A war.] There were soldiers. The man was unarmed . . . In his haste to protect his kin, he failed to draw his blade.

[Roland lowers his hand, and he chances a look at Fukawa now that the initial shock has passed. His smile is wry.]

Apologies, Fukawa. I could not see the stars . . .

[I can't take this]

Oh, f-forget about the damn stars! [Can he not flagellate himself for two seconds? It's so irritating, she's going to get hives. ~~this is her territory~~] If you s-saw something in there from your memories, then maybe it can unlock more! Or th-there's another stupid magic thing going on with it. I don't know!

[Soldiers, devastation — it has to be a war. Maybe an ambush, since the defenders were unarmed. Which side was Roland on?]

Try looking again!

[She makes a fine point. As disturbing as the images were, they were indubitably moments from his past. If he's to regain what he's lost, he can't shy away from the unpleasant memories as they come. Thus, he eyes the telescope with a trace of wariness that he ultimately sets aside to look through the lens again . . .

. . . and sees nothing but stars. He could marvel at this. As soon as he's about to draw back, however, the lights distort and fade, and another scene takes their place—accompanied by a strained voice that despairs as the ground is stained crimson: "Father . . . Father, forgive me . . . "

Roland pulls away with a heavier heart. This time, his expression remains pinched from the ache of it all.]

May they rest in peace . . .

[This new sobriety has her stalling. The shock was easy to fire back on, but only now does it occur to her that making him look at people dying is just a bit gauche.

Fukawa winces. You moron.]

I'm... [Deep gulp. These words have never come easy to her.] S-s-sorry...

[She clutches at her elbow. Casts her gaze around the observatory.]

You...you d-don't have to look anymore.

[She couldn't have known that it'd be more violence on top of violence. Roland's eyes open at the meek apology and he turns to her face with soft eyes and a small smile. Fukawa is looking away, but that's all right; he softens his tone, too.]

No need for apologies. You were only trying to help. In the end, it was my decision to look.

...

[He's only going to insist it's always his fault, isn't he?]

It won't b-be avoidable forever. But, for now... [God, this is awkward. Komaru was so much better at the soft stuff than she was.] I don't know. Just b-be prepared. It's probably going to suck.

[Not very helpful after all. Fukawa scoffs, scratching her skin through her sleeve. Then she scampers to the books, ferreting them off the shelf.]

It stinks up here. I'm g-going to get some air.

[It probably is. It already does. But that's nobody's fault but his own. If there's a particularly troubling memory, he'll simply digest its contents and move forward without unnecessarily burdening anybody. Everyone else has their own troubles . . .

He's snapped back to the present by light footfalls. Roland looks at the shelf and realizes that he's added to her load.]

Can I help?

[To carry her things. Then he'll leave her be if she wants to be alone.]

[She rolls her eyes.]

N-not like I'd be able to stop you. [Since he's so determined to hang around her. Vacant memories or not, it's borderline suspicious.

Still, the help is not completely unappreciated. She had struggled balancing the books on the way up, and now there's the flowers to contend with. Without once meeting his eyes, she drops a few tomes into his hands and takes up the last three herself, cradling the flowers atop the stack. Please ignore the subtle press of her nose into a blossom as they descend. And the way her eyes flick to him when she thinks he's not looking.

He's just an odd sort. That's all. Hard to get a read on a guy who doesn't know who he is. Maybe once he knows she can finally decide what she thinks.]

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SCREAMS I THOUGHT I SENT THIS TAG YESTERDAY?????? I could have sworn

time was simply giving fukawa a much needed moment

she needs it ig

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