#//general loredump i could pick off the top off my head before inevitably getting interrupted and too tired to finish

[m0e-ru]

general au lore, I guess

After splitting with Marie and manipulating her, Mim goes off to initiate their social experiment on Inaba to determine people's desires. Granting access to the TV World to Adachi, Namatame and Souji when they arrive at Inaba's central shopping district's Moel gas station by joining hands.

They linger a lot more frequently in the real world to interact with "The Trinity" (give me a less cheesy way to translate 三人) and a few other select individuals from same world.

At the same time, they take care of Inaba's unconscious, once a forest now hollowed with fog that's made it a TV station. Mim is the manager of said station, as well as assisting the Shadow selves that manifest from the people who deny themselves to host a show befitting the desire "to show"; the "Midnight Channel" to answer the desire "to see."

This is establishes the, unfortunately, parasocial relationship Mim has with the IT. Being quite close with their Shadow selves and then seeing them become Personas, the beauty and strength that comes from learning and accepting the truth about oneself. Also watching them to see how they've grown from that ordeal and if they'll ever keep that same vow to accept themselves no matter who they are.

As a deity, their aspect of "caretaker" is quite...dormant. Who they once were was quite a mother herself. Yet, who "Izanami" was couldn't have been determined ever since the split. Even with two entities out and about, pieces and fragments were separate, blurry, unclear. Even the duty to "walk with man" could have disappeared entirely.

Mim is the fog. They are the people's desire. They grant these desires and do what they think is best to fulfill them. Omnipotent in the TV World, the world of human heart, as far as their fog reaches. Appearing to Shadows as a recognizable enough figure with a visible visage. Sharp red eyes and a face they "inherited" from who they once were.

What about the other one? If a gem needed to be cut to perfection, then she'd be the shards and scraps discarded and left out of the final product. Or possibly crushed further to be polish, perhaps.

Mim acts as a fool of a gas station attendant in the real world as their facade. These people creating "bonds" with them which Mim thinks are false and silly, considering these people are friends with a nobody. An identity meant to be discarded when its duty is served and its functions expended. Nullity.

Their body is made out of fog. Only a face present to reveal the beautiful visage "Izanami" in myth holds, as per the cognition of the people. A part of their appearance they're limited to due to their existence being bound to and dictated by a collective. Strange, almost slender hands, if you squint or even bother, with worn out callouses, as well as disheveled hair in front of a face they cannot change in an attempt to obscure what fog cannot. At least their complexion and eyes were normal enough. Go make a poem about eyes looking a beautiful hazel in the sunset lights or whatever.

A handshake or a slap on the wrist is fine. Even a pat on the back or a quick shove on their shoulder. But they abhor lingering contact, much less a full embrace.

There's nothing under there but a corpse, remember? The smell hidden from the rain, and gas, and car exhaust. The smell and sight of burnt, still rotting flesh hidden deep under layers and layers.

Even being protective with their hair. Hiding it under something which makes for uh, distasteful coordination of clothes. Always seen with a hat and never taking it off. It's their gray, wavy hair with an almost soft appearance that resembles fog the most, doesn't it? So aren't they just keeping a plug on it all?

Never actually not wearing their uniform. Just slipping on on a jacket or two to cover up their uniform is enough. Always smelling the same as standing by the gas station, gasoline, motor oil, car exhaust, petrichor, etcetera etcetera.

Wet footprints of rain or oil tracking around the floor of the station, revealing the silly little pattern of stars underneath their shoes.

They're over 20, they can smoke. Never actually pulling one out after being told off the first time. What customer service. But is it really smoke? It's not like it bothered the neighbors.

Even only appearing when it rains because it's the perfect environment for something as inhuman as them. The cold weather with barely any people outside. No light to penetrate the clouds that obscure the truth, after all.

But even this facade was dictated by the people's thoughts. What kind of weirdo would work at a gas station, the one by the central shopping district no less? Even gathering from memories of those who remember the same red, orange, yellow being donned by younger folk.

At the time, rumors also floated around, that of worry, where that once beloved woman went. There was even a strange young man who accompanied her once or twice, vastly different from the suitors who'd attempt to catch her attention, or even the other old folks who knew her well and have long conversations about living and life, as all elderly people do...Say, did she ever have children?