satoru physically withers and crumbles every time you return his belongings. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he can only accidentally on purpose leave his glasses on your nightstand, or his jacket on your couch, or his shirt in your laundry so many times before he loses his mind. every time you don’t take he bait, he folds into himself and wonders why you don’t love him anymore and it costs him $22.50 to hear ieiri tell him to suck it up and use his words because he literally has to buy her company (and drinks).
but when you do take the bait, when you do wear his things, satoru thinks it’s all worth it. he can’t explain why it does what it does to him. it’s a sinister kind of possession he wants to have over you, knowing you’re your own person, free to do as you please, but also knowing you’re caged in him. it’s a lovesick kind of gooeyness that melts his heart seeing you fumble with the sleeves of a sweater that’s too long for you. it’s the vision of you seeing you drowning in him—in his clothes, in his things, in him, in him, in him. he’s selfish, he wants to consume you in as many ways as possible, wants you to drown in him, would die happily knowing you were one tenth as enraptured by him as he is with you. he doesn’t know how or why or when you gained so much power over him, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want you to ever stop, so if he has to keep pretending to leave his clothes and bags and glasses around then so be it.
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I’m thinking about Mahito’s great great uncle maintaining and preserving a peaceful and beautiful thing in a way that to an outside observer looks tedious and unimportant, hoping to pass the duty off to a successor but ultimately he cannot find one and dies with it.
I’m thinking about the specificity of the blocks being made and handled with care, not with malice or ill intent.
I’m thinking about Hayao Miyazaki, a bastion of beautiful 2d hand drawn animation who refuses to retire.
I’m thinking about a world where animation is so rarely made with love over profit and efficiency.
I’m thinking about how, though the old man didn’t see it, the next generation still hangs onto a piece of that beautiful, tedious thing and takes it with them because it feels important.
I’m thinking about Mahito being told he should forget, but no. He shouldn’t.
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KIM KITSURAGI - “Is that. My kineema.”
COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something in him is about to break, *big time*.
EMPATHY - And it’s not going to be pretty, do something!
- DRAMA [Formidable] - Everything is fine!
- “Sure is.”
DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Surely he’s aware that he’s not the *only* person in the world who owns a Kineema?
YOU - “Is it really *yours*? I mean, plenty of people have their own Kineemas, right? Like working men, government offices, uh, firefighters I guess, maybe even animal control people? Exactly! A million different people who could’ve driven it into the uh…”
DRAMA - Pause, my liege! Ixnay on the Ineemakay!
YOU - “It could even be our *mysterious* joyrider!”
KIM KITSURAGI - Your frenzied babbling falls deaf to the lieutenant's ears. Instead, he approaches the broken vehicle, sunken in the ice. He moves with a caution and gentleness you haven’t seen him display before.
INLAND EMPIRE - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water. Maybe he could sense its sorrow, calling to him…
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - His hands, which are always stiffly placed behind his back, are trembling.
ENDURANCE - This is the shuffle of a tired, tired man.
HALF LIGHT - He’s going to do something drastic because of you. Oh god, terrible! You’re a terrible liar! You can’t look at this, you just can’t!
VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - It's not *you* who drove his kineema into the sea. You have plenty of faults, but this one is decidedly not yours.
KIM KITSURAGI - He kneels down with his head bowed, casting his face in shadow. He plants a hand on the ice to stabilize himself, squinting to get a better view of the motor carriage. “Detective, it says ‘57’ on it.”
YOU - Sweat drips down your brow, and you feel a terrible headache coming. “Maybe our joyrider has an affinity for that number?”
LOGIC - He's not stupid, he knows that it's not that.
KIM KITSURAGI - “57.”
YOU - “What about 57?”, you brace yourself.
KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 57.”
YOU - You wince. “Kim, look-”
KIM KITSURAGI - “When I woke up in the Whirling-in-Rags with no memory of what happened during the days before, I've taken note that something of mine has gone missing.” He grits his teeth. "A very. Important. Something."
He runs his hands over his face, messing his already unkempt hair in the process. Regret creeps up on his features. “God. Fuck. They’re going to fire me over this, they’re not going to hear me out.”
EMPATHY - Desperation settles in the lieutenant's tone. Sadly, you find yourself in agreement, even if you don’t want it to be the truth.
YOU - “People are more valuable than machines, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI - “Not people like me.” He rasps.
YOU - “…”
KIM KITSURAGI - Before you can say anything more, you fail to notice the lieutenant carefully walking onto the edge of the ice. He looks over the frigid water, a dizzying blue that mirrors and distorts his exhausted face back to him.
YOU - “Kim?”
KIM KITSURAGI - Seconds pass as he looks to be contemplating something. Out of nowhere, he casually takes another step where the ice ends and the sea begins. It happens all too quick for the lieutenant to even voice a call for help— if he even wanted to — his body plunging into the cold water before your eyes.
YOU - “KIM!!!!”
uhhh bonus stuff? sorry i have swap au brainworms pfttt
(im not sure what skills kim has at the moment so rn he only has narration as his inner monologue ok whoops, i would like to keep harry as the guy who thinks in dialogue trees so im still figuring it out pfttt)
also, this was done bc i wanted to expand on these old scribbles of mine, just like an idea, i just think that he'd be having an even worse time wheezes
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