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pearl-pilots-in-chains · 3 years

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Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

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Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #fanfic #fanfiction #highschool au #asurei #asuka x rei #rei ayanami #asuka soryu langley

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kim-miri · 4 years

Text

HALF(have a little fun) pt. v

→ one | two | three | four

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part five / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 3,127

☾v.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾v. part v: the mafia(2/2)

Sayomi made her way to the elevators once again, dispatching the control room through her walkie talkie that she needed to get to her shift.

It was currently a quarter to 1, the last minutes before her shift would start. With a hand resting on her katana, Sayomi now exited the elevator having arrived at the 48th floor.

As she approached the VIP’s room, the two bodyguards on duty sighed in relief.

“Thank god, it’s finally rotation time”, the woman exhaled lazily.

Sayomi tried her luck at a friendly interaction, casually asking the pair a question. “I’m guessing there wasn’t any action?”

The man laughed a genuine, but tired laugh. “Absolutely nothing. We haven’t moved an inch since the start of our shift.”

Sayomi laughed at the pair’s lack of enthusiasm, her violet eyes crinkling at the edges. Her expression of joy seemed infectious, as the older members in front of her laughed along with her in their despair.

She was starting to feel like a true member of the team already.

This is nice, I didn’t expect the others to be as unmotivated as me.

Closing in on the time designated for the shift change, Sayomi’s partner arrived as well. Seeing no purpose in waiting around when everyone was present, the pairs switched early, starting Sayomi on her very first stretch as a bodyguard.

☾v.

The first 30 minutes into her shift, Sayomi had learned that her partner was a rather quiet person by nature.

Upon starting their shift, the two had exchanged a brief greeting, nodding to acknowledge the other.

It was only after an hour of standing and staring at the wall that Sayomi decided she couldn’t stand the silence while they waited out their shift.

She initiated a conversation with the older man, coming out bold as to establish her character.

“So, how did such an average man like you get stuck working for the mafia?”

The man was unmoving, replying to her question in a soft voice. “My family’s debt… Why did a young girl like you get caught up with the mafia?”

She wasn’t expecting such an honest response from the man. It threw her off, making her unprepared to answer the question shot her way.

“Um… I guess you could say family circumstances?” She hadn’t lied, given that it was her family’s actions that left her at Meteor City.

The man nodded in understanding at her vague answer.

Another wave of awkward silence fell over the two, Sayomi’s initial attempt at socializing having failed miserably.

She decided not to reattempt a conversation with the man, sensing that he didn’t care for idle chatter.

Family circumstances, huh. That’s the best thing I could think of.

Sayomi had fallen deep in thought, her brows furrowing as she reflected back on her life.

I wonder if… father ever came looking for me? Or Illumi… did Illumi want me gone too? Ah, I shouldn’t be so dramatic about this. Either way I won’t return home, because that would mean mother winning.

She exhaled audibly, tired from the splurge of thoughts that had taken over her mind once again.

The man glanced over at the teen stationed next to him. She was obviously just as bored as he was to be stuck with this job.

Moving his eyes back forward to the wall in front of him, he attempted to kickstart a conversation once again. “You seem a bit too young to be on your own, don’t you miss your family?”

Sayomi blinked at the man in surprise, both at the question and the fact that he had initiated a conversation.

She contemplated whether she should tell the truth or cover it up with a lie. Deciding that a lie would take more effort, she settled for the truth. “I’ve been in the assassin business for 6 years now, so I wouldn’t say too young… I do miss my little brother though. Do you miss your family?”

As the man appeared to be deep in thought, Sayomi mulled over her words. My little brother… Killua, are they treating you alright?

“My apologies for assuming. And, yes, I do indeed miss my family. But, why haven’t you escaped yet, then? With no leverage against you, you could easily run away at any time.” The man spoke while looking at her this time.

She thought about his question. “I guess… well, I don’t really have anywhere else to go. It’s my first time in Yorknew City, and I wouldn’t want to go back home to the people that left me in the first place.”

He let out a hmm at her response, obviously putting the pieces of her situation together. “If I told you of a way you could live here in Yorknew without being trapped under the mafia… would you oblige?”

His eyes were soft and earnest. He knew what it was like to remain helpless at the hands of the Mafia, and saw no reason she should as well, especially at such a young age.

Sayomi’s expression formed one of shock and surprise, obviously taken aback by the man’s sincerity to help.

“I suppose I would… but if you know of a way out, why haven’t you left yet?” The two were now holding eye contact as if to read the other’s intentions.

“I’m afraid I’ve already received too much from the Mafia. I owe my life as well as my family’s safety to them.” He responded somberly.

Sayomi nodded silently, understanding the man’s situation. She decided to at least take a listen to the plan he had to offer. “So, you know of a way I can live in Yorknew without the Mafia breathing over my shoulder?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and the man could sense it as something between the recklessness of a teenager and the confidence of a powerful assassin. She has no fears. I wonder how much she’s experienced to be this strong at such a young age.

“Ah, yes. Sticking with the Mafia will never do you any good. There’s a way of living here in Yorknew City if you’re especially confident in your fighting abilities. It’s called Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi raised her eyebrows at the man’s words, curious. Heaven’s Arena? Sounds like some shoddy place where people bet on fights.

“Alright, you’ve got my attention. So, what does one do at Heaven’s Arena?” Sayomi asked.

The man cracked a ghost of a smile at her interest. “You fight. From what I’ve heard, it’s set up in multiple floors, and each time you win they let you advance to higher floors. I’m pretty sure the pay goes up with each floor as well.”

Sayomi was impressed. A place where they pay you to fight? Count me in.

“I wonder what the catch is though… if it’s as easy as you say, wouldn’t everyone be taking their chances at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man hummed in agreement with her words. “You’re right. The most I’ve heard is that once you reach a certain point, the matches become a fight to the death, and through any means possible. I’m guessing that’s where most people falter- it’s either life or death matches that’ll provide you with a stable income, or small fights once in a while that pay very little. Only the strongest find what they’re looking for at Heaven’s Arena.”

Gambling with your life in order to pay the bills…

“And you think I could make it at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man looked down at Sayomi with a fatherly gaze. “I don’t think you’re the type of person to need someone else’s approval. But to answer your question, yes, I think with the right amount of training you could find a new life with Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi smiled at his judgement of her character. “Well, then that does it. I just need to find my way out of the Mafia’s grasp, and then I can get to training.”

☾v.

Sayomi’s shift was over before she knew it. Just as the pair before them had said, their VIP client had no one after him.

Her partner had told her all he knew about Heaven’s Arena and the Mafia from his many years working in Yorknew City.

She had learned that there were members of the Mafia hidden within the assassin recruits, keeping anyone from sneaking away. Her escape would have to be well planned out to avoid getting caught along with any consequences.

Tagging out with the next pair of bodyguards, Sayomi head back to her room once again.

2 days later

VIP Adachi Yuto’s stay came to an end, with it marking the end of Sayomi’s first job. The team was dissolved as a result, and Sayomi was dispatched by her section leader to meet with him down at the lobby.

The section leader turned out to be the man who had first brought her to Yorknew City, a familiar face that relaxed Sayomi’s nerves a great amount.

Upon meeting, he was immediately down to business, letting Sayomi know of her next assignment.

It was an assassin’s job.

She had originally planned to find a way out of the Mafia’s scope soon, but with the mention of her finally getting some action, the plan was postponed.

Her target was a man in his 30s. No other information was given to her besides a photo and his location.

Not much to her surprise, an ankle monitor was situated around her right leg, keeping her from straying from the job.

Damn you, bloodlust. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to ditch the cold blood and murder mother and father drilled into my head.

Sayomi was falling victim to her old habits. She knew it was wrong to stick around any longer, but the consequences of the offer to satisfy her thirst for blood didn’t sink in until the cool metal of her ankle monitor pressed into her skin.

The man seemed to read Sayomi’s thoughts as she realized her mistake. “The ankle monitor is programmed to shock the user upon our command. It’s enough power to deal sufficient damage to even the largest of animals, so I insist you remain focused on the missions we give you. We never enjoy having to resort to using it, but keep in mind that we will not hesitate to, given a reason.”

She looked down at her ankle in defeat. It seemed Heaven’s Arena would have to wait.

☾v.

Later that night

Sayomi paced anxiously about in her hotel room. It was a mix of long-overdue bloodlust and hatred towards herself as a result of her assassin’s instinct to kill.

Deep inside her head, a war of conflicting feelings raged on.

Calm down, Sayomi. Every time you do this it’s only proving that mother succeeded in sculpting you into her little assassin.

She had completely thrown away a perfect chance to escape just because she couldn’t control her impulses to kill in cold blood.

But is it that wrong to want to kill? Being an assassin doesn’t mean I’ll be exactly like mother. I can control my own future now, I am my own person.

Setting her katana down against the wall, she opted for her needles instead. It had been a while since she’d used the smaller weapons because they reminded her of the past.

Now putting the past behind her, Sayomi walked with a new air of confidence. It was her greatest skill and job to kill, she’d decided. And this was a decision she had come to on her own, a new mindset for a new beginning.

A static-ridden dispatch over her walkie talkie marked the beginning of her assignment, and Sayomi headed down to the lobby.

Since she was still underage, a driver was provided to her, stationed in front of the hotel with her designated license plate.

The brisk night air greeted Sayomi as she exited the hotel. It was currently a few minutes past 12, the streets being mostly empty except for the young city goers enjoying the nightlife in Yorknew City.

Exhaling out an envious sigh at the stunning city lights surrounding her, Sayomi watched her breath disappear into the night as she walked briskly to the car.

The drive to her target’s location was silent. Sayomi sat alone in the back seat, watching with empty eyes as friends, lovers, and complete strangers came together in harmony within the lively city.

She started to wonder what it would be like to live a normal life like them. What would she be doing right now? Staying up and texting friends? Going to bed before midnight?

As the teen sat in the back of a luxurious car going towards her next target to assassinate, she couldn’t help but wish she had a normal life, with friends who cared about her feelings or guy problems instead of waiting for orders on which guy she would kill next.

These are useless thoughts. There’s no turning back now.

The car came to a stop at an intimidatingly tall company building, around the same height as the hotel.

Stretching her limbs as she exited the car, the driver notified Sayomi he would wait for her return in the same spot.

Thanking the driver for his services, she took quick steps towards the entrance of the building. With her persistently developed speed and underground techniques, sneaking in and out of the building would be no problem.

Taking notice of the lack of security, she rolled her eyes as she let out a breath in annoyance. This is amateur work.

Activating her zetsu, Sayomi’s menacing purple aura dissipated into thin air as she dashed past the sorry line of security, making her way to a deserted hallway.

There was a lone guard doing rounds with a bright flashlight in hand, failing to notice the slight breeze that Sayomi had left in her path.

Positioning a needle between her fingers, Sayomi flicked her wrist out at lightning speed, sending the needle flying towards the guard.

It hit home in the guard’s neck, knocking him out instantly. Taking nimble steps towards the fallen guard, Sayomi made quick work of grabbing his access badge before heading to the elevators.

Seeing as no one else was around, she tabbed an elevator, rocking back and her toes as she waited.

Just as she had expected, the elevator required an access badge, which she tapped against the scanner while pressing on the button for the 38th floor.

In a bored attempt to keep herself preoccupied on the way up, Sayomi spread her band of needles out in her hands. Closing her eyes, she ran a pale hand over the band.

Her hand came down on a single needle, the needle she would use to finish off her target. Putting the band back into her pocket, she held the single needle between her knuckles, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The elevators chime signified Sayomi’s arrival at the 38th floor. The floor was empty, being past working hours and in between shifts for the security guards.

A single desk lamp shone in her target's office, and Sayomi strolled casually to the partially open door.

She could see from where she approached that her target was busy at work, having stayed overtime.

Knocking twice on the inside of the open door, Sayomi just barely caught the attention of the man before moving her wrist in a single, fluid motion.

The man had no chance to react, slumping face down onto his desk with a muffled thump.

She had hit the jugular clean and precise, leaving no trail behind of her job besides the now motionless man.

Satisfied with her work, Sayomi returned to the elevators with a skip in her step. A few months without my needles and I’ve still got it!

Greeting her driver with a smile this time around, she didn’t blame him for being utterly confused.

The job had taken her just under 5 minutes, the majority of the time belonging to the elevator rides up and down from the 38th floor.

Dispatching her section leader of the completed job, Sayomi returned back to the hotel, looking as if she had gone out for an evening stroll.

Her section leader greeted her in the lobby, letting her know she had the remainder of the night off. She frowned slightly at the news, her adrenaline still rushing from the short job.

An easy target like today always left her wanting more, unsatisfied with the lack of fighting that came with it.

I’m getting all caught up in this again.

Shaking away her thoughts of possibly finding more action, Sayomi returned to her room with slumped shoulders. She forced herself to set her needles back down on her nightstand, finding it hard to keep herself from fiddling with them.

It was late. And though the 51st floor around her seemed to be deep in sleep, Sayomi was restless.

She decided to wash up and take a quick shower to relax her nerves, changing out of the uniform and into one of the other outfits they had provided her with.

Wrapping her silvery-white hair in a towel, she opted to sit on the floor, gazing out of the floor length window in front of her.

Yorknew City was quieting down, the street vendors having cleaned up for the night, stores being long closed, and clubs starting to die down. The last of the neon signs flickered in the darkness, looking like tiny specks of color from where Sayomi sat, high above most of the buildings bordering the one she was in.

The 16 year old girl sat cross-legged in a trance, no longer focused on the city in front of her, but something within her mind.

What am I gonna do now… I ruined my chances of escaping anytime soon. All because I couldn’t control myself, my old habits. Does this mean mother was successful with her plans?

No. I don’t have to give in to defeat. I’ll find a way out, just like how I got out of Meteor City. Maybe if I gain their trust they’ll take this ankle monitor off.

I just have to become one of their obedient assassins, quiet and reliable.

Sayomi fell asleep slouched on the rough carpeted floor that night, lost in her own thoughts and emotions.

But despite the uncomfortable position, her face proved differently. She was only ever at peace when she was fast asleep, because that’s when she could see her loved ones within dreams.

Illumi, Killua… Are you two taking good care of each other? Are you doing better than I am?

Do you guys even miss me?

I miss you two so much I feel like I could die.

☾v.

to be continued.

a/n: taglist open!

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petty-crush · 3 years

Text

“Cowboy Bebop Netflix 2021” (CB21)

-This is a fanciful frog to watch sweat and then dissect

-every piece of art is essentially decisions and behavior of humans

-a decision is made to have almost every character in CB21 bicker at each other on the level of a depressed sitcom couple

+not my thing

-this is especially odd since a great deal of Cowboy Bebop 1998 (CB98)’s charm is in its sparse, laconic dialogue as defensive and sad loners open up their past to each other

-I think CB21 should be judged on its own merits, but this one really stuck out to me

-we see wayyyyyy too much of Vicious and Julia every episode, especially since they never do anything endearing or interesting

-this reminds me of Castlevania Netflix where the heroes should be fighting Dracula but spend several episodes talking in a library, for no reason other than to pad out the running time

-also, Vicious looks like the villain from Shrek (it’s the pronounced chin)

-similarly, it’s boring to have him behind everything in this series; getting the red eye back from the lovers escaping to Mars, freeing Pierre Le fou, the council elder is his father, etc

+it makes this universe feel so small and insignificant

-Mustafa Shakir does an excellent job of playing Jet (my favorite character in the series).

-While the dialogue (and daughter drama) more often than not lets him down, when he simply occupies the character in space he works

-this whole series feels like a love letter to the fake plastic looking films from the 90s

-I was reminded of “Batman and Robin”, in that a fair amount of money was spent but the design concepts were bogus in its fakeness

-when Julia sings she has an outfit exactly like “Barb Wire”

-I think episode 6 is the best of the lot

+it is a legitimately interesting cyberpunk drama

-the warped reality bits and repeats are fantastic

-Faye having a relationship with another gal took me by surprise and its reveal (a pan up conjoined female legs) is excellent

-Daniella Pineda is talented and gorgeous, but this characterization and need to have her constantly quipping does her no favors

-that said, if she had room to grow it could be fun to follow her

-I really kept thinking of Rob Zombie’s Halloween

+it splits the difference between massive homaging (and all attempted extensions undercut the fun of the original) and do its own thing when not weighted down thus being more satisfying

-(and to me Halloween 2 by Zombie was fun because it just did what it wanted, it got past the paying respect larva stage)

-I can’t recall a single piece of music in this series, which is a crime

-maybe they should have not been talking all the fucking time

-I sorta enjoy episode 9, the flashback.

+it’s gimmicky but John Cho seems to be having the most fun in the series. He gets to be vibrant

-strange how they make all the characters older, but they seem less worldly, less experienced, in this iteration

-the twist they go for in the end with Julia does not land with me

-it feels completely pointless and the verbal explanation (“why didn’t you come for me?”) just reveals the shoddy bridge they make shifted to get to this result

-(I kept thinking “yeah, why did the show runners make this boring decision” not “what a compelling and clearly set up payoff”)

-I think I’m done with hour long Netflix shows

+at least two episodes always feel redundant and these episodes do not feel satisfying individually

-I cannot help but feel this show would have been 5000% better if they stuck to 30 mins

-it’s very noticeable when original parts are single protagonist heavy then are required with bloated ensembles

-jet’s daughter did not need to be involved in the final episode, and slowing down the action to have Faye be more involved just really exposes how this was making the situation (over)complicated, not complex

-succinct example of making a show more culturally in sync that also derails the overall storytelling (to these eyes)

-I did like the part where Spike is hanging upside down, smokes a cigarette, the camera zooms out to reveal him in between breasts on a billboard

-nobody seems sad in this series (just annoyed) and it’s really a bummer

-I also missed all the fragmented side stories; these were never filler, they different keys in the piano of emotions (sympathy for the devil, aka killing the immortal child is my favorite of these, along with the senile chess playing terrorist in Bohemian Rhapsody)

-I would watch a live action redo of Bubblegum Crisis. The technology is there for ladies in armor to fight robots and that story never got finished

-this series is sporadically interesting, but its longer run times, intentional delaying of events to bump episode count, lack of diverse influences, and no confidence to be its own thing gums up the saxophone of fun

#cowboy bebop 2021 #john cho #cowboy bebop netflix #daniella pineda #mustafa shakir #cowboy bebop live action

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reachexceedinggrasp · 4 years

Note

Would love to hear about your beefs with Lucas because I have beefs with Lucas

(Sorry it took me three thousand years to answer this, anon.)

They mainly fall under a few headings, with the third being the most serious and the thing that I am genuinely irl furious about at least biannually (and feeling unable to adequately sum up The Problem with it after yelling about it so often is a huge part of why this post has been in my drafts for such a long time):

1. His self-mythologising and the subsequent uncritical repetition of his bullshit in the fandom. Obvious lies like that he had some master plan for 10 films when it’s clear he did not have anything like a plot outline at any point. We all know the thing was written at the seat of various people’s pants, it’s blatantly self-evident that’s the case. There’s also plenty of public record about how the OT was written. Even dumber, more obvious lies, like that Anakin was ‘always the protagonist’ and the entire 6 films were his story from the beginning. This is preposterous and every time someone brings it up (usually with palpable smugness) as fanboys ‘not understanding star wars’ because they don't get that ‘the OT is not Luke's story’... Yeah, I just... I cannot.

Vader wasn’t Anakin Skywalker until ESB, it’s a retcon. It’s a brilliant retcon and it works perfectly, it elevated SW into something timeless and special it otherwise would not have been, but you can tell it wasn’t the original plan and there’s proof it wasn’t the original plan. Let’s not pretend. And Luke is the protagonist. No amount of waffling about such esoteric flights of theory as ‘ring structure’ is going to get away from the rigidly orthodox narrative and the indisputable fact that it is Luke’s hero’s journey. Vader’s redemption isn’t about his character development (he has almost none) and has no basis in any kind of convincing psychological reality for his character, but it doesn’t need to be because it’s part of Luke’s arc, because Vader is entirely a foil in Luke’s story. It’s a coming-of-age myth about confronting and growing beyond the father.

All attempts to de-centre Luke in RotJ just break the OT’s narrative logic. It’s a character-driven story and the character driving is Luke. Trying to read it as Anakin’s victory, the moral culmination of his choices rather than Luke’s and putting all the agency into Anakin’s hands just destroys the trilogy’s coherence and ignores most of its content in favour of appropriating a handful of scenes into an arc existing only in the prequels. The dilemma of RotJ is how Luke will define ethical adulthood after learning and growing through two previous films worth of challenge, education, failure, and triumph; it’s his choice to love his father and throw down his sword which answers the question the entire story has been asking. Vader’s redemption and the restoration of the galaxy are the consequences of that choice which tell us what kind of world we’re in, but the major dramatic conflict was resolved by Luke’s decision not the response to it.

And, just all over, the idea of Lucas as an infallible auteur is inaccurate and annoying to me. Obviously he’s a tremendous creative force and we wouldn’t have sw without him, but he didn’t create it alone or out of whole cloth. The OT was a very collaborative effort and that’s why it’s what it is and the prequels are what they are. Speaking of which.

2. The hubris of the prequels in general and all the damage their many terrible, protected-from-editors choices do to the symbolic fabric of the sw universe. Midicholrians, Yoda fighting with a lightsabre, Obi-wan as Anakin's surrogate father instead of his peer, incoherent and unmotivated character arcs, the laundry list of serious and meaningful continuity errors, the bad storytelling, the bad direction, the bad characterisation, the shallowness of the parallels which undermine the OT’s imagery, the very clumsy and contradictory way the A/P romance was handled, the weird attitude to romance in general, it goeth on. I don’t want to re-litigate the entire PT here and I’m not going to, but they are both bad as films and bad as prequels. The main idea of them, to add Anakin’s pov and create an actual arc for him as well as to flesh out the themes of compassion and redemption, was totally appropriate. The concept works as a narrative unit, there are lots of powerful thematic elements they introduce, they have a lot of cool building blocks, it’s only in execution and detail that they do a bunch of irreparable harm.

But the constant refrain that only ageing fanboys don’t like them and they only don’t like them because of their themes or because they humanise Anakin... can we not. The shoddy film making in the prequels is an objective fact. If you want to overlook the bad parts for the good or prioritise ideas over technique, that’s fine, but don’t sit here and tell me they’re masterworks of cinema there can be no valid reason to criticise. I was the exact right age for them when I saw them, I am fully on board with the fairy tale nature of sw, I am fully on board with humanising Anakin- the prequels just have a lot of very big problems with a) their scripts and b) their direction, especially of dialogue scenes. If Lucas had acknowledged his limitations like he did back in the day instead of believing his own press, he could have again had the help he obviously needed instead of embarrassing himself.

3. Killing and suppressing the original original trilogy. I consider the fact that the actual original films are not currently available in any form, have never been available in an archival format, and have not been presented in acceptable quality since the VHS release a very troubling case study in the problems of corporate-owned art. LF seizing prints of the films whenever they are shown, destroying the in-camera negatives to make the special editions with no plans to restore them, and doing all in the company’s considerable power to suppress the original versions is something I consider an act of cultural vandalism. The OT defined a whole generation of Hollywood. It had a global impact on popular entertainment. ANH is considered so historically significant it was one of the first films added to the US Library of Congress (Lucas refused to provide even them with a print of the theatrical release, so they made their own viewable scan from the 70s copyright submission).

The fact that the films which made that impact cannot be legally accessed by the public is offensive to me. The fact that Lucas has seen fit to dub over or composite out entire performances (deleting certain actors from the films), to dramatically alter the composition of shots chosen by the original directors, to radically change the entire stylistic tone by completely reinventing the films’ colour timing in attempt to make them match the plasticy palate of the prequels, to shoot new scenes for movies he DID NOT DIRECT, add entire sequences or re-edit existing sequences to the point of being unrecognisable etc. etc. is NOT OKAY WITH ME when he insists that his versions be the ONLY ones available.

I’m okay with the Special Editions existing, though I think they’re mostly... not good... but I’m not okay with them replacing the original films. And all people can say is ‘well, they’re his movies’.

Lucas may have clear legal ownership in the capitalistic sense, but in no way does he have clear artistic ownership. Forget the fans, I’m not one of those people who argue the fans are owed something: A film is always a collaborative exercise and almost never can it be said that the end product is the ultimate responsibility and possession of one person. Even the auteur directors aren't the sole creative vision, even a triple threat like Orson Welles still had cinematographers and production designers, etc. Hundreds of artists work on films. Neither a writer nor a director (nor one person who is both) is The Artist behind a film the way a novelist is The Artist behind a novel. And Lucas did NOT write the screenplays for or direct ESB or RotJ. So in what sense does he have a moral right to alter those films from what the people primarily involved in making them deemed the final product? In what sense would he have the right to make a years-later revision the ONLY version even if he WERE the director?

Then you get into the issue of the immeasurable cultural impact those films had in their original form and the imperative to preserve something that is defining to the history of film and the state of the zeitgeist. I don't think there is any ‘fan entitlement’ involved in saying the originals belonged to the world after being part of its consciousness for decades and it is doing violence to the artistic record to try to erase the films which actually occupied that space. It's exactly like trying to replace every copy of It's a Wonderful Life with a colourised version (well, it's worse but still), and that was something Lucas himself railed against. It’s like if Michaelangelo were miraculously resuscitated and he decided to repaint the Sistine Ceiling to add a gunfight and change his style to something contemporary.

I get genuinely very upset at the cold reality that generations of people are watching sw for the first time and it’s the fucking SE-except-worse they’re seeing. And as fewer people keep physical media and the US corporate oligarchy continues to perform censorship and rewrite history on its streaming services unchecked by any kind of public welfare concerns, you’ll see more and more ‘real Mandela effect’ type shit where the cultural record has suddenly ‘always’ been in line with whatever they want it to be just now. And US media continues to infect us all with its insidious ubiquity. I think misrepresenting and censoring the past is an objectively bad thing and we can’t learn from things we pretend never happened, but apparently not many people are worried about handing the keys to our collective experience to Disney and Amazon.

4. The ‘Jedi don’t marry’ thing and how he wanted this to continue with Luke post-RotJ, so it’s obviously not meant to be part of what was wrong with the order in the prequels. I find this... incoherent on a storytelling level. The moral of the anidala story then indeed becomes just plain ‘romantic love is bad and will make you crazy’, rather than the charitable reading of the prequels which I ascribe to, which is that the problem isn’t Anakin’s love for Padmé, it’s that he ceased to love her and began to covet her. And I can’t help but feel this attitude is maybe an expression of GL’s issues with women following his divorce. I don’t remember if there’s evidence to contradict that take, since it’s been some time since I read about this but yeah. ANH absolutely does sow seeds for possible Luke/Leia development and GL was still married while working on that film. Subsequently he was dead set against Luke ever having a relationship and decided Jedi could not marry. Coincidence?

There’s a lot of blinking red ‘issues with women’ warning signs all over Lucas’s work, but the prequels are really... egregious.

#sw #salt #more unhinged rambling #anyway dowload the despecialised editions #unsubscribe from Disney+#be free #usually we'd be having a big family thing for Boxing Day but you know #so God bless us all at home separately #I hope everyone had as happy a Christmas as possible in keeping with the situation #I should see if I can drag my brother outside to build a snowman

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littlethingwithfeathers · 5 years

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I want to talk about HBO’s “Chernobyl.”

I feel like this might ever so quietly be one of the most important and well-made things ever put on screen.

And if there was any word to describe the show in total it’s that.

It’s quiet. Unassuming and understated by comparison to its stablemates on HBO. It’s a profoundly quiet show.

There’s no pitched, panicked screaming in the wake of the explosion. No one was running around Reactor 4 clawing at their skin. There’s no orchestral soundtrack with a thousand violins shrilly announcing the coming of a localized apocalypse. No booming speeches or flashy action sequences.

None of it.

It’s quiet rooms filled with quiet voiced men, who quietly and calmly have bright red faces, that are almost comedic to look at. It’s quiet discussions by scientists about the toll of the accident in numbers too large to comprehend as quickly as they are disseminated. It’s quietly and calmly abandoned streets. It’s the quiet claustrophobia of a hazmat suit. Even the explosion itself is quiet, watched through a window in nearby Pripyat. Just a flash of light and then a shock wave that merely rattles the windows. Startling, but hardly a herald of the terrific tragedy to come. And all to a quiet soundtrack consisting of little more than manipulated field recordings of a working nuclear plant.

Because that’s what radiation is in the end. It’s what it was to these people. It was invisible and quiet. Slow death or quick death, it’s unceremonious in its awfulness.

And it’s quiet.

“Chernobyl” masters the art of this quiet and brings it to bear with expert artistry. Because its writers and directors understood that if you know even the cursory account of what happened in Chernobyl, while watching it, your head will be anything but quiet. It’s like Titanic if it were a five and a half hour horror movie. Because that’s what it is. It’s what Chernobyl was and is. It’s a horror. A real one, that acts like all our worst campfire tales. An irresistible force that we can’t help but name as malevolent, because anything that remorselessly deadly must be.

But that’s where “Chernobyl” as a cultural work stands the tallest. I’ve heard a great deal of criticism levied against the show for being “scaremongering” on the admittedly tenuous subject of nuclear power and its safety. Is it scary? Yes. Nuclear power is something to be respected if we are to use it. It can go wrong and when it does, as evidenced here and in other events, it is incalculably catastrophic.

But in my watching of “Chernobyl” one thing was clear. Nuclear power is not the villain here. The show, I feel, has a far bleaker message than that.

Humanity is the villain we cannot account for. It’s even clearly stated in the series finale.

“When the truth offends, we lie and lie until we cannot even remember it's there. But it is still there. Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, the debt is paid. That is how an RBMK reactor core explodes. Lies.”

Three Mile Island had already been built, operated, and melted well before the Chernobyl disaster. We knew how to have a worst case nuclear disaster occur in a way that was containable. But sadly, the issue with Chernobyl was not the fault of the power plant itself. A nuclear reactor isn’t some uncontrollable, unpredictable demon waiting to break free. No... the uncontrollable and unpredictable element in Chernobyl, as it is with all things, is human agenda.

Why was there no containment dome over Chernobyl like there were for the reactors in the West? Money. And speed of construction. The Soviet nuclear power system was a point of national pride. It was a race against the West for technical superiority and nationalistic bragging rights.

Why were the tips of the control rods made of something that accelerates nuclear reactivity rather than stabilizes it (which is what control rods do)? Money again. It was just flatly cheaper. And since they were building these things in bulk, cheaper also meant faster.

Why was the test that caused the reactor to explode conducted by the untrained night-shift? Because the plant management had priorities in mind other than safety. Self advancement, covering for shoddy paperwork, and again... national pride.

And then there was the attempted cover-up. If it weren’t for the sheer magnitude and the speed at which the radiation spread, the damage would have been far worse.

And another thing I appreciate about “Chernobyl” is that the show makes these points without beating its Western chest and saying, “See how evil the Soviets are?” No... if you don’t think American capitalists would make these same mistakes, you are provably wrong. So say the entire river of dead fish caused by a hazardous waste spill from a factory that’s less than an hour’s drive from my house. No. We are no better. Do not delude yourself in thinking this.

Human agenda is something one cannot calculate for when designing nuclear reactors. Or anything, for that matter. I help build two and three ton light trusses that hang over stages as part of my job. And they all have ways that you can fuck it up if you’re stupid enough. Or just not paying attention because something you believe is more important that safety has your attention. And if one posits from this that, “Well, then if we aren’t responsible enough, we shouldn’t have nuclear power.” I would say in return that there are a great deal of things we shouldn’t have. Labs with hazardous material. Standing armies. Light trusses. Hell... this is literally the same argument we have about gun control, but I’m not about to open that can of worms. This one is plenty.

I watched “Chernobyl” with my best friend, and he is one of the most level-headed and articulate people I know. And even he looked askance at “Chernobyl’s” understated treatment of the safety of nuclear power. He stated that more could have been said and done and more pointedly so in order to keep the show from feeling like it was anti-nuclear power. And I asked him what he thought they should’ve done? He didn’t really have an answer.

And here comes the larger question. At what point does a narrative have a responsibility beyond what it sets out to do? “Chernobyl” is not about nuclear power. It’s about what happened in Chernobyl, which happened to be a nuclear disaster. It’s not about nuclear safety any more than Titanic is about nautical safety. And no one would say that Titanic scare-mongers about ocean travel. And yet the causes of both disasters are the same. The only difference of course, is scope.

Furthermore, “Chernobyl” is not a documentary. It’s a docu-drama. There are inferences and composite characters and generalizations of events. But to this, I quote the author Victor LaValle, "My idea of fiction is that it’s different from, say, journalism because journalism’s job is to tell you what happened, and fiction to some degree is to make you understand how it felt to go through a certain experience." And “Chernobyl” as a series is about the experience of the event... not just the veracity of it. There are plenty of documentaries about Chernobyl. I’ve never watched one, but I watched this because of the human element. And that’s probably going to have me diving down the Netflix documentary rabbit hole very soon.

“Chernobyl’s” message is bleak, but not without hope. It’s a slim and suitably Soviet sort of black hope. But it is hope nonetheless. A conversation near the end of the finale between Valery Legasov, the scientist leading the investigation, and Boris Shcherbina, a career Communist party member risen to a position as vice-chairman on the council dealing with Chernobyl, highlights the hero to the villain of the situation. Where there are men with twisted agendas, like the plant managers, there are men who set their own aside for the greater good. Men like Shcherbina.

Legasov says, “There are other scientists like me. Any one of them could have done what I did. But you-- Everything we asked for, everything we needed. Men. Material. Lunar rovers? Who else could have done these things? They heard me, but they listened to you. Of all the ministers and all the deputies-- the entire congregation of obedient fools-- they mistakenly sent us the one good man. For god's sake, Boris-- you were the one who mattered the most.”

We have to be the answer to our own villains in the end. Sometimes we can head them off at the pass. Sometimes we must deal with the aftermath of their victories. Either way, it’s the good people who matter. Because it’s just us. Our imperfections are not cause for us to keep ourselves from dreaming big. But in the end, our focus must be on each other. Not merely upwards.

...

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that everyone should go watch “Chernobyl.” It’s great.

@catcmack @cactusowl @lawlessdragon

#chernobyl #hbo chernobyl #nuclear power #review #wow I like to talk #but seriously though #this show is amazing #and everyone should watch it

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paintedwithapalette · 5 years

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Memories of You Ch 1 (snippet)

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Naminé had been telling herself that all evening. She was stupid enough to allow Kairi to convince her to go to this dumb party. What was she thinking? She just wasn't designed to be a people person. Why couldn't Kairi just see that?

Naminé ran along a dark road that was steep and gradually tilted upwards. She had to take off her glasses in order to run freely, making her vision blurred. She just had to trust herself to keep going. She had to get away from that stupid party and away from the prying eyes of those onlookers. She would go back to assure Kairi she was okay after she cooled down a little.

Then her mind began to clear. When she realized she was in a brand new world with no sense of direction, she stopped in her tracks. What was she doing? Where did she think she could go? She had no idea how to get back home from there. She acted on impulse. Maybe she should just go back before she was really lost. Her first instinct was to pull out her phone and call Kairi. Just her luck, her phone was dead. It looked like she would just have to retrace her steps.

When Naminé turned around, she bumped into someone and it sent her falling flat on her bottom. What just happened? Her head was aching and she attempted to groan the pain away. In a daze, she slowly regained her composure. That's when she noticed the blond boy staring at her like an optometrist. Though, she couldn't quite make out the finer details due to not having her glasses. Still, she gulped. She could make out their proximity at least, and it was enough to get her cheeks to heat up. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared.

"Sorry about that," was the first thing the boy said. "I kinda bumped into you on accident. In my defense, it was dark. Are you okay?"

Realizing that this was a person and not a figment of her imagination, Naminé recoiled with quivering lips. Xion was one thing—she was associated with her sister, plus she was a fellow member of the female variety. But a complete stranger of the opposite sex? That was death. She was tongue-tied.

She eventually noticed through her blurry vision that the unfamiliar boy appeared perplexed while he scanned her stunted expression. Realizing she couldn't find the proper words, she pursed her lips to keep them relatively steady and nodded her head vehemently.

Roxas put on a relieved smile, thankful that the girl could understand him. "Good." After helping her up to her feet, he handed over her glasses. "Here. You dropped these."

Unfortunately, one of the rims of her glasses broke and wouldn't stay situated on her ears, meaning she would have to be blind as a bat until she taped it back together. She opened her mouth to say thank you but all that came out were her incoherent and shaky exhales.

Roxas noticed her lips shivering and recalled what Kairi said earlier. He did his best to put her mind at ease. "Hey, I know this is all probably a little new to you. Destiny Islands can be... a little alien and ruthless to the new guys. But don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Naminé opened her mouth to speak, to clarify that she wasn't afraid of him specifically, but of the situation. But she held her tongue when she couldn't figure out how to say it and shut her eyes. She was screaming on the inside. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she bring herself to speak? It was like her voice was lodged in her throat and refused to resurface. This should not have been this difficult. And yet, every time she opened her mouth, her brain froze.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she let out a soft hiccup. Concern overcame Roxas and he knelt down to get a better look at her. Naminé felt like a child lost in the supermarket. She was too ashamed to look at the stranger any longer and turned on her heel, walking as fast as she could and hoping the boy would save himself the headache and leave.

Roxas was taken aback for a moment. She just walked away from him without saying a word. And was she... crying? The majority probably would have taken the hint and headed for the hills, but Roxas didn't fit in that category. Not when he sensed that something was severely wrong. "Hey, wait up!"

Naminé didn't respond nor did she stop walking. She figured he would give up eventually. All she cared about was getting home and putting this shoddy day to an end. She didn't know where to go but as long as she could get away from this situation, she could put herself at ease.

Roxas caught up to her and walked backwards in an attempt to get a good look at her and casually stuck his hands in his pockets. "So, where we goin'?"

Naminé's eyes almost bulged out of her sockets but thankfully her bangs kept her eyes hidden from the stranger. What was that supposed to mean? Maybe this guy wasn't so nice and was just some creep looking to take advantage of her. After all, it was getting dark out. Naminé paced faster but the boy was able to keep up.

"I get the feeling that I may not be wanted here," Roxas said with a nervous chuckle. "Well, too bad. You don't have to trust me, but I don't exactly feel comfortable letting you walk around by yourself this late at night. You'll just have to forgive my persistence, I suppose."

Naminé didn't respond. She wasn't sure if he was trustworthy or not, but there wasn't much she could do about him following her. It wasn't like she had anything that could act as self-defense on her. But he was starting to become a nuisance.

"Stimulating conversation, by the way," Roxas quipped. She didn't spare him a glance, making his smirk slowly faded away. How long was she going to keep up the tough girl act? He was also getting tired of walking. He stepped in front of her path, forcing her to stop. Naminé recoiled timidly and her breathing picked up noticeably, her forehead became humid, and sweat began to—

"Hey." Roxas gently placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch making her shiver. "You're okay. Relax."

Slowly but surely, Naminé's breathing gradually came down to a more steady pace, but her brain was still a complete jumbled mess. She could barely look him in the eye, but it helped that her vision was blurred.

"I get it, this is new territory for you. You're a little nervous. But I'm not letting you walk around here alone when there's a party full of intoxicated people less than a block from here, okay?" After a moment of silence, the girl nodded. Roxas carefully released her. "You know, I have a car parked a few yards from here. I can take you wherever you need to go. You're with Kairi?" Again, he only received a nod and no vocal response. "It's 2000 Alexandros Street, right? I can take you there. You don't have to say anything if it makes you uncomfortable."

He sounded sincere but Naminé wasn't sure if she was a good judge of character. But perhaps that was irrelevant, considering she wanted to get home and had zero clue where to go. Did she really have a choice? Her voice seemed to be failing her. Her phone was dead. She didn't even know how to get back to the party to find out where Kairi was. She had no munny. No idea where she was. She just had to hope this guy was as genuine as he seemed. She nodded in response to his inquiry.

Roxas sighed with relief. The last thing he wanted was for this girl to get chewed up by some lurker. Destiny Islands was a fairly peaceful paradise but it wasn't immune to its fair share of creeps. He noticed she was still soaking wet thanks to Selphie, which probably wasn't very comfortable in the midst of this cool evening weather. He removed his bomber jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She protested at first through nervous hand gestures and facial expressions, but he just laughed before insisting. "Take it."

Naminé decided not to argue with him and accepted the offer.

Full link to the chapter if anyone is interested! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12902260/1/Memories-of-You

#kingdom hearts #rokunami #roxas #naminè #sokai #kh fanfiction #kh fic #snippet

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knuxfan24 · 4 years

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Sonic ‘06 - Greenflower Zone Mod Technical Write Up

On April 27th of 2020 I released the Version 1.1 update for my Greenflower Zone mod for Sonic ‘06, a few days before release, I got the idea to do a technical write up on the process that I went through making this mod, as it is a strange one that has morphed over the span of almost a year, evolving and growing with the ‘06 Modding Scene itself.

Original Proof of Concept

youtube

Back in May of 2019, I started toying around with some old Sonic ‘06 tools, thanks to my interest in modding the game rising following improvements in Xenia which made the game more playable within it. As I’d previously done Greenflower Zone Act 1 for Shadow The Hedgehog in February of the same year, I decided to use it as an experiment for importing stage terrain into ‘06; as I already knew the rough process for converting a model to an XNO thanks to me trying to put one of my Sonic Forces Avatars over Sonic. However, we didn’t have a way to do collision at this point, so my initial plan was to use the common_stopplayercollision object to kind of fake the collision so I would at least be able to walk around it. Unfortunately, the character doesn’t treat that object as ground, so they just float above it. Yet I still decided to place some objects around by manually typing in coordinates based off the object placements I’d previously done for the Shadow port.

Initial Collision Experiments

Shortly afterwards, Melpontro offered to convert a collision mesh for me, while we didn’t have surface tags on it, it was a good enough job to let me experiment more with the stage, which I did by continuing to copy and paste object coordinates from the Shadow port, again, all in plain text XML files. As a result, objects weren’t rotated correctly due to Quaternion Rotation being literal satan and I would have to check an object in game to even see if it was close to being correct.

SonicGLVL

At some point, I hit upon the idea of using SonicGLVL (the Sonic Generations Level Editor) to visualise the object placements. This mostly came about due to me remembering that object rotations in Generations SET Files are also Quaternions, so I could copy and paste their values to get the rotations correct. While I was still hand typing everything, this made it easier to determine object placements, especially considering Shadow The Hedgehog could spawn multiple Rings from one Ring object, a feature ‘06 lacks, as a result, I had to guess the right coordinates for the other Rings with no way to visually check it without booting up the game.

Surface Properties and Sticky Walls

A few days after I’d done more SET work, I sent Melpontro a version of the collision with various meshes tagged by type, allowing him to create collision with various Surface Properties, resulting in proper footstep sounds for surfaces. However, this also led to an issue caused by ‘06′s unusual tagging system for collision meshes.

Walls in ‘06 need to be tagged as such, resulting in quite a bit of trial and error until we got it mostly working. With Act 1 done to a good enough state for a proper work in progress, it was time to move on to Act 2.

WinForms and HedgeLib

Around the time of working on Act 2, I decided to start cobbling together various small C# programs using HedgeLib to try and help me with the process, while I was roughly familiar with bits and pieces of the ‘06 SET Format thanks to my previous work on the Sonic ‘06 Randomiser there was still a lot of things I didn’t know.

One of the first things I wrote was something that would load a SET File and allow me to see all the parameter values of the objects within the SET. This allowed me to document what I thought the parameters for certain objects do (while also discovering a frustrating quirk in HedgeLib). As time passed, work continued on Act 2, while I also started creating an original layout for Shadow, designed under the mindset of playing the stage backwards. Before I got sidetracked working on something else.

The Mod Manager’s early beginnings

Over time, I gradually became frustrated with having multiple copies of ‘06 and accidentally cross contaminating them with various mods thanks to me copying them to the wrong install. While Hyper had a GitHub page for a Sonic ‘06 Mod Manager, it didn’t actually work, leading to me to write a small C# Command Line application to copy and remove the Greenflower files for me. This eventually led to me creating a small GUI for it with the ability to load multiple mods together, which would soon be expanded upon.

Around the same time, I also experimented with Melpontro’s old Emerald Coast stage mod, managing to get it running on Xenia, while also figuring out how ‘06 handles volume objects such as camera volumes. I also brought back a joke Sonic Forces mod at this point, Chair The Sonic, which would evolve into Furniture Adventure 3 before I killed the joke thanks to it going far enough to become unfunny.

Greenflower did take a backseat at this point, only really being used to test Vertex Colours for underwater colouring, as well as experimentation with the game’s dynamic lighting system. Though it would soon be used as a testing ground for something.

The GLVL Converter

On the 2nd of June, I posted this image to my Twitter, based on the wording of my tweet, it sounded like I already had a system in place to convert Generations objects to ‘06. However, I would have still had to do all the parameters manually in an XML. This process seeked to change that, with me manually creating GLVL Templates for objects as I needed them and writing code to auto convert them (shamelessly ripping off the GensToForcesSETConverter in the process). At a future point, I wrote a tool that would autogenerate the templates for me, although the object parameters were just labelled as Parameter1, Parameter2 and so on.

Throughout the process of experimenting with and understanding objects, Greenflower was used as my test bed, as I was too lazy to make a proper test stage for myself at the time and didn’t really have easy access to the unused test level recreations.

The Mod Manager and Tropical Jungle Extra

While working on the SET Conversion experiments, I continued to work on my Mod Manager alongside it before creating a new experiment to mess around with the DLC system and the converter. I started creating a layout for the third section of Tropical Jungle for Sonic, as he does not normally visit that segment of the stage.

Greenflower took a massive backseat at this point, as most of the focus went into Tropical Jungle Extra, before me and Hyper teamed up to create a better Mod Manager out of both of our work. After releasing Tropical Jungle Extra, I worked on a similar concept for Silver and the first section of Dusty Desert, although this never saw the light of day, nor did my short lived attempt at creating a DLC episode for Knuckles.

Lost in Translation and Camera Experiments

At some point in July, I started tinkering with Greenflower again, rebuilding the SET files from the ground up with our new templates and the GLVL Converter, while also experimenting with using dynamic cameras for some parts, at some point I also inserted the music thanks to our XMA workarounds. However, thanks to me having no ability to experiment with the collision, I drifted away from it again and started working on a new project, messing around with Google Translate’s API. This project became Sonic The Hedgehog: Lost in Translation.

I was still working on the Randomiser at this point, so my attention was very divided, with Greenflower slipping down the priority list. At this point, I was also aware of SRB2 2.2′s intent to redesign the zone from the ground up, which pushed it even further down while I waited for it.

The Collision Converter

Towards the end of the month, I remembered Sajid’s previous attempt to write a Collision Converter for me using LibS06, after requesting that code, Skyth provided me with the line to make it work, which I tested on a shoddy import of the Sonic Adventure 2 version of Green Hill Zone Act 1.

With a Collision Converter in hand, I started experimenting with other stages, creating a version of Westopolis for ‘06, as well as some other experiments that didn’t go very far. Before eventually jumping back into and finishing Lost in Translation.

At this point, Greenflower was still on the backburner, with me only really using it to see how the Sonic Adventure HUD mod would look with it and also putting it into the ‘06 demo for the hell of it.

More focus was placed into the Mod Manager around this time, with us rewriting it (leading to the creation of the Aldi Mod Manager jokes).

Mortar Canyon

For some silly reason, I started messing around with Mortar Canyon from Sonic Forces, there isn’t really much to say about it, other than the fact that I needed to use the Switch terrain, as the PC terrain behaved unusually.

SRB2 Version 2.2

Following the release of Sonic Robo Blast 2 Version 2.2, I tested opening and exporting the Greenflower Act 1 terrain for it from Zone Builder to see if it still worked, and it did. As a result, I started messing with it again, although my priority at the time was on my Tropical Jungle mod for Sonic Forces. Issues with the Zone Builder export also lowered my motivation to work on it, although I continued to experiment in the background, trying to find fixes.

About a week later, I toyed around with the Zone Builder source code, finally managing to correct the issue, which was caused by Zone Builder’s OBJ exporter “optimising” the exported terrain by throwing out certain vertices.

With the source for Zone Builder, I also experimented with having 100% accurate object placement, writing a small hack to export the Thing Placement into a text file which I could then use to write into a SET file with HedgeLib. However, object heights are handled incorrectly in Zone Builder, requiring me to fix certain objects manually.

As I finished up work on Tropical Jungle for Forces, I started working more on Greenflower in the background, while also experimenting with some dumb jokes. However, I soon hit another motivational block, The water and grass edges...

Nonami the Material God

Thanks to poor documentation of the XNO format, we had no clue how to make transparent objects look good or how to make translucent objects at all. As a result, I kinda trailed off for a while. However, on the 2nd of March, Nonami showed an image on the Lost Legacy Discord server of translucent water in their Emerald Coast mod and also told us the byte to hex edit to enable it. A quick test later, and I had translucent water

I soon moved the level over to the Kingdom Valley slot, as I wanted to use the breakable wall object that stage has, which meant I needed that slot for the sound, before following up with creating Vertex Colours for the underwater terrain.

Hyper later took over some work on the Skybox and Grass Edges, experimenting with hex edits and texture upscaling to help smooth out the transparent edges while I worked on creating the SET files for the other characters He also worked on fixing up the fence collision for me, as the way it exported from Zone Builder caused Sonic to be able to fairly easily clip through them.

Eventually, I decided (with very little thought behind it) to make various elements of the stage grindable, before following it up with (incredibly tedious to make) Light Dash splines. Eventually, me and Hyper screwed around with it in Multiplayer late into the night, giving us the inspiration to start trying to create a Prop Hunt gamemode for ‘06 too.

With most of the motivational stumbles out of the way, I decided to tackle the flowers and trees by recycling models from Sonic Lost World and Sonic Generations, a process which proved extremely tedious, as the XNO Converter we use only allows for one model at a time. A fact which didn’t help when I needed to export every single flower and tree one by one.

The Act 1 Release

On the 18th of March 2020, I decided to FINALLY release a version of Greenflower, with it soon being updated to correct a few small issues I’d overlooked. After a small break, I started working on Act 2. Thanks to my workflow developed for Act 1, Act 2 went fairly smoothly at first, as I already knew what I needed to do to make the grass edges and water look good. I could also copy the Skybox from Act 1 with no problems, which was nice.

The Act 2 Retargeting Whack-a-Mole

When it comes to level layouts for ‘06, easily the biggest annoyance comes from objects such as Springs. In ‘06, Springs can target other objects by their IDs, which is a really nice feature. However, if the object IDs get changed around, then the target will no longer match up, as a result, I had multiple points where I had to comb over the act to make sure every Spring still targeted the correct object. This was an issue that was much more pronounced in Act 2, due to there being many more Springs in it.

To make matters worse, the object IDs shown in SonicGLVL seem random, so to get the ID of the object I wanted to target, I’d have to convert the SET and look for the object there to get the correct ID. Towards the end of development, I hacked something together that would make the GLVL IDs match the converted ones, making it much easier to handle, if still tedious. My insistence on deleting unneeded objects in the various other character SETs is the primary reason for this headache.

Another problem I noticed a lot in Act 2 were seams in the terrain where Zone Builder didn’t export the terrain correctly, while these were (mostly) easy to fix, it was tedious every time. As it involved the following process.

-Remove the Skin Modifer -Edit the affected meshes so they’d join up correctly -Reapply the Skin Modifier -Export the edited meshes -Import them one at a time -Edit the collision -Export the collision -Convert the collision

Not hard, just tedious, as with a lot of the work that needed to be done on this project.

Specular Mapping

At some point, I toyed with the idea of adding a small specular map on the windows and roofs of the various houses scattered around the zone. After multiple attempts which blew up in my face, Nonami pointed me to a shader that would do what I wanted, creating this nice, actually fairly subtle effect which was also added to Act 1 for consistencies sake.

However, attempting to add this trick to the water did not go well at all...

Developer Time Trial

At some point when working on Version 1.0 of Greenflower, I changed the text for the Hard Mode selection on the stage select to Not This One. Thanks to me not bothering to make a Hard Mode SET thanks to me finding them to be a waste of time.

In Version 1.01, I did sneak a small SET in that would be loaded if you selected the option, but it otherwise served no purpose.

While messing with the Town Mission timer for Prop Hunt, I realised I could use it to create a Developer Time Trial mode, by simply recording my best time and setting it as the Timer’s value. Originally I intended to record runs for all nine characters, but a limitation of the DLC system prevented me from neatly adding them for the amigo characters, so it was cut down to just Sonic, Shadow and Silver.

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These also use slightly modified SETs, mostly to remove the Bronze Medals, Starposts and Voice Triggers.

Bronze Medals

When initially importing the SETs, I decided it would be a cute idea to replace the Emblem and Emerald Tokens in SRB2 with the very underused Bronze Medals. As it turns out, ‘06 actually has a counter for these medals that goes unused in the final game, activating the counter was a simple as adding OpenMedal(_ARG_0_, 15) to the main event in the stage’s Lua file. While the medals serve no purpose in Greenflower, I felt like enabling the counter just to show an unused piece of ‘06 off while also encouraging exploration in the form of Medal Hunting.

Closing Words

While it may not seem like too much on the surface, I personally am actually quite happy with how Greenflower has turned out. Its long development time and various restarts have given it the chance to fully take advantage of our advancements in the Sonic ‘06 modding scene. While there is still a lot left for us to learn, I’m content with this project’s release state and am ready to move on to something new in the future.

Greenflower for ‘06 has being nearly a year in the making, and I’m glad to have been able to see it through. A special thanks goes to the people who helped me in this mod’s creation, it wouldn’t look as good as it does without Nonami’s XNO research and it may not even have gotten finished if Hyper hadn’t helped me test it and thrown some ideas my way.

Here’s hoping we can do some more quality ‘06 mods in the future and realise some of the potential this game never got to show (and maybe do some silly stuff along the way too!).

#the knux rambles #technical write up #modding #sonic '06 #development notes

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indomitablemegnolia · 5 years

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It was edging onto the noon hour, eleven-thirty-six am to be exact, but you couldn’t tell by the light of the sun; Gods, it was as if Fenrir the wolf had jumped out of a Norse legend into the sky to swallow the sun; I had already been at the airport for five and a half hours; my red eye was cancelled, and I had been bounced from gate to gate to gate, to wait to wait to wait, only to be told nothing was happening; they always stressed the word yet, but what they really meant was, ever. It was really not a huge surprise, I had watched the weather report while listening to my neighbor get lucky; the animal noises and obvious gymnastics required to make such a ruckus would have left me exhausted for weeks, but here they go again, well, at least someone is getting some. I was surprised there wasn’t cracks and holes in which to watch in that shoddy, tiny, airport motel room, just barely a step above an S.R.O., but it was a bed and damn I was tired this was a trip doomed from the word go, giving me little glimpses of the movie ‘Fight Club’ after the first hour of meetings, suddenly I was Jack’s complete lack of surprise. My agenda, my plan… my hope, now dead, dead as dreams, it began full of such potential; that was zapped away within seconds, so why should it end any easier, really? What did I expect traveling to a place called Port Chester, New York? God, it sounds like the setting for a soap opera, but truly, in retrospect more like an episode of supernatural, including a vengeful spirit.

Speaking of vengeful spirits, the dark icy clouds encased the airport in a swaddle of gloom, like the foreboding storm from poltergeist; anyone who can read the sky could see that the weather was only going to get worse. Those dark clouds only served as an ominous warning, a foreboding that should have come as a warning, or possibly in the form of a question. getting blacker, rain already turning to solid ice as it fell from the heavens; Shangri-La this was not, it had congealed into a complete and total ice storm. Usually, storms brought a certain sort of odd comfort to me, though today, not so much; most likely due to the fact I was so far from my home; as if cued perfectly on time the song ‘Can’t find my way home’ played in my ears. I choked on my snarky laugh as I trudged to my next expected gate, lamenting the fact that I felt nine hundred and ninety years old today. No matter what direction I looked I saw that long dark sky had the look of hard wet sleeting ice in the nearness of the future. I wish I was home with a tall cuppa joe and a nice big book on my lap, with some good soft music cuddling me under a heavy blanket. Turning the corner that I wish could have been to my kitchen with its pretty little red potholders. I stop short, before me sat the largest conglomeration of unhappy people I ever remember encountering, all of them choosing seats at or near the ticket agents booth; the far wall and its bank of windows showing a clear view of a very Poe dark and dreary as well as the show inside, was beautifully vacant. I walk amongst the revelers, noticing the complete discontent on every face I passed.

Oh, the universe had such a sense of humour, didn’t it? I shake my head, suddenly I felt I needed a drink; nah, maybe I just needed a lot of life insurance; god, I knew I needed a vacation; or maybe I needed a home in the country; or more than likely a full once over by a qualified psychiatrist; though mostly I needed to figure out where this Phillip Marlow-esque monologue was coming from, but on second thought that drink sounded lovely. I snickered to myself, the morning I was leaving Mom and I sat at the kitchen table, enjoying our morning coffee, or so I had thought; as with all morning rituals there was a vast amount of time allotted for silent contemplation staring into that vast unknown.

“What’s wrong?” Mom had asked, worry evident on her face.

Taken aback, I snickered, possibly the coldest most patronizing snicker I had ever snickered; as if the woes of the world and the things that weighed on my mind could be delineated down to utterable words, instead of answering I shrugged, “nothing really, why?” I tried to sound light and unbothered.

Mom huffed, “I don’t know, you look like something is bothering you,” she took a huffing breath, “actually you look like you are seriously contemplating smoking or becoming an alcoholic.”

Damn, she just dropped that in my lap, I laughed a real laugh, “It’s not that it hasn’t crossed my mind,” I took a drag, “To tell you, yes, of late I have partaken of much more libation than I ever have before, but you know exactly how limp my lungs are, too limp for smoking and I don’t quite have the intestinal fortitude to become a full-fledged alcoholic, I think you actually need a stomach to tie a good one on. So, no worries mom, it is just the world today and the way it’s working that just bugs the hell out of me.” Good god, am I that easy to read? Good times, right? “I am just tired of the feeling of a nine thousand gorilla standing on my neck.”

She reached over patting my hand… Ah, mom she always had the ability to knock me sideways, but then make it all ok. I pulled my fakieciggy out, (an e-cigarette that had long since been empty of all nicotine, but still had the light flavour of vanilla; hell, it lights up; the motion alone was as satisfying in form and function. Taking the time to sigh, reset my Qi, was enough, really, just an idiosyncratic mnemonic device.) put it to my lips and took a long drag; “Freaking bat country.” I mumbled under my breath, batting at the invisible bats, wishing to hell I had my flask, but there was no way I was going to try to take that through TSA, hell they were already way too frisky for my tastes. Really, I am a two-date minimum to get to second base kind of girl; who the hell was I kidding, my threshold was much wider for the whole idea of bases, I really was tempted to yell, RAPE! So, I had to make due with what I had. What I had was a coat, a hat, and a gun; oh, god I wish; what I really had was a headache, my huge black messenger bag, my oversized dark purple purse that served as a computer bag, my WWI aviator cap, a Pea coat and my knee-length waterproof leather boots. I saw a seat near the window, with a perfect reflection of the passersby, so, I pulled my sweater sleeves up over my elbow and went out to stake my claim, sadly sober as a judge.

Taking a people watching post, sitting in the fourth seat in, perching on the edge of the chair, I push my messenger bag and purse under my chair, lay my coat across my lap, leaning my shoulder into the back of the chair, I watch. I watched the rapacious soul eating mob move and ebb and flow as they would. Rock Hudson and Doris Day style husbands and wives in deep serious whispered fights, staring daggers at each other; a Calvin and Hobbes, pair of college students mumbling amongst themselves whether or not they had asked anyone to feed their bong water fish, which I highly doubted that the fish was ever alive; Mothers with children looking like the perfect advertisement for birth control, faces bleak, eyes sallow, looking at the world with a ‘someone kill me now’ appeal, my heart ached for them. Then like a ray of light a tiny toddling head went past, not screaming, not crying, he toddled on, chasing a large red and white ball. His tresses shorn close on the sides, the middle left long, his tiny Native American feet trotting to a mix of a babies walk and a fancy dance in his borrowed handmade mucklucks, like a Sherman Alexie character brought to life; he chased that ball, hunkering in the fashion that only a beautiful child can, accidentally nudging the ball, chasing and hunkering again. His simple, beautiful, innocence was unmistakable, I wish I could capture that image to hold on to forever, but like anything and everything miraculous, possibly once in a life time, it could only be seen, witnessed, never captured for reproduction, no picture can be taken, no beckoning for others to see. I watched him play, until mom noticed how far he had traveled, she motioned for him to come back, with a shriek of a laugh he finally captured the ball, it balanced awkward in his tiny hands as he scampered back to mom, I reveled in his beauty for as long as I could.

A shadow passed, a series of people walked into my vision, I watched a very rich woman, head to toe designer gear; from diamonds to Manolo’s, the cheapest thing on her could have been the down payment on a home, basically Marie Antionette circa 2017. I don’t know why, but I liked her, she was blonde; in fact, she was a blonde, to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window, you know the type, beautiful, petite with a touch of sad, the kind you know any of fifty men would commit a felony for, start a war for, but she was not the kind that could eat people alive, her money was new and she wore it like a crown. Sadly, there she was trying almost desperately to gain the attention of her Louis XIV, his must be very new money, there is a comfort that comes from old money that he utterly lacks, with old money there is nothing really to prove; this man wore his wealth, including his wife, as if it were a status symbol requirement, his BMW keyring dangling from his Burberry coat pocket, his hands soft, totally without callouses, nails perfectly manicured, his hair coiffed with gallons of product; by all counts he was a useless man. Despite Marie’s attempts for his attention, it was focused like a laser on his newest game, he chased a bedazzlingly big busted, slim-fit skirt, again you know the type all tits and flash. I saw Drusilla, Louis’s game, meet his chase; she was also blonde, not nearly as pretty; she reeked of five thousand an ounce perfume, cheap sex in a motel room, and cigarettes, it all came along with a none too subtle ‘I would suck your dick just to kill time’ look about her, but her attitude left way too much to be desired. She must have felt my eyes watching them, she gave me a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of my back. I watched the movements of these people, friends worse than enemies; lovers as adversaries; families at war and at peace; and lonesome strangers all lost in this Dante’s inferno morass, helpless, stuck, stranded. In this place, full of people there was only about a handful of humans. Poor Marie, she doesn’t know that down mean streets, on these streets a person must travel; a human who is not themselves mean, but can be; who must be neither tarnished nor afraid; they must be the hero in this story. She must have been looking for a man whose lips tasted of faerie tales, and mistook the frog for the prince. Oh, but she is a peach, there may yet be hope for her, they walked on. Then as ships pass in the distance my eyes moved from them to another.

This other; this long, tall, dark cloud drifted past stealing my vision; he was head and shoulders taller than Louis; he walked to the agent desk, handing the agent his ticket, there was something about him that usurped every atom of air around me. His dark licorice coloured, supple leather jacket hugged him tightly, dark wash jeans detailed the rest, tight enough to highlight the merchandise, but loose enough to leave bits and pieces for the imagination; Goddamn, taking in the entirety of his goliath frame was breathtaking, my god, he was lovely. The desk agent said something and motioned for him to find a seat; he spun deliciously on his heel, with ceremonious attitude reserved for royalty; he walked away, sliding his sunglasses down to rest on his nose. He moved like water, luscious, cool, delicious water flowing over smooth stones; I literally leaned foreword and watched that walk, it was magnificent. God, he was about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake; no reverse that he was the angel wings on devil’s food; he was like a prowling lone wolf looking… for what? I am not sure, but the way he moved over the crowd, not through it, it was almost enrapturing. I mean, look at me, I was amongst these adders, trying to make my presence small, wanting literally to disappear, but I felt their lies and hate sticking to me like hot molasses, but him, he, seemed to be coated with a repellent, a Teflon, not a thing stuck to him.

He was as honest as you can expect a man to be in this world where it was going fast out of style. Not only did he move above them and through them without a spot of tarnish, he walked with that sultry panache. He was a complete man, very complete, my eyes slid to the lightly bagging rear pockets; they showed enough definition, but not the detail; good god I can’t believe my mind went there; he was a common man, although, there was not a thing common about him, he was as unusual a man as could ever be found. He, to use a rather weathered phrase, an unutterable phrase, was a man of honor. Possibly, by a natural instinct, look at those shoulders he could support the world; maybe by inevitability, by the sheer thought that someone had to be so he was more than happy to pick up the mantle, without thought of it, and certainly without ever saying it; or maybe he wasn’t, I was none too sure about my instincts these days. Oh, but the delicious stride of his foot sure and while in his gaze no man faltered, even Louis straightened his head when this wolf was on prowl. He seemed a man whose story was a manly adventure in search of a hidden truth, oh and goddam by the looks of him he was fit for adventure; oh, to be part of that adventure. Christ, my mind and oddly enough my body reacted to the idea of what kinds of adventure he would be up for. It would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure, and I have had enough of those not fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in… he was the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world; he would be something of a marvel in every world. No, no, he probably wasn’t, look at me running wild with a though; he was probably just a man who dressed a part, stuck in an airport, with a walk… I let him slowly move from my sight, he was already driving me to distraction.

I look out on the desolate grey landscape, the ice creeping up the window panes; maybe it was Marie, maybe it was that godly walk, maybe I was in mourning for the loss of his visage or just the self-destructive nature of the human condition, but it was something that not even those chubby little hands clutching at that giant rubble ball could chase away; I don’t know what or why, and frankly I don’t really care, it just was; I suddenly feel ages, years heaping onto my shoulders. To lean heavily of Dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, mostly it was just times; really it always does seem like we are on the edge of evolutions end; though always like on the TV shows the countdown stops at 1, although this time is feels to be on negative numbers. I remember not too long ago, it seemed we were in an age of wisdom of invention and growth; now it is an age of foolishness, it is the epoch of disbelief, it is the epoch of incredulity; I miss the season of Light, for this is a damn season of Darkness, from which it seems there will never again be a spring, no hope, it is a winter of discontent, of despair. I remember the last day when we still had everything before us, though now in retrospect we really had nothing before us, we thought we were all going directly to heaven or maybe we were already there, we are all actually in a freefall directly the other way. I look at my world and succumb to the dark, dreary letting the weary days soak my soul. The world floods my brain, once upon a time not actually all that long ago.

Oh, it was the leanest of times, those times where those I love sat before my eyes and macabrely joke about which of us will be the first we all should eat; obviously my brother as his meat would be soft and sweet and succulent; you know, those jokes that bring a forced laugh, for fear that if we didn’t laugh we would have to run in terror from the reality of these thoughts; in those horror times we were packing, cleaning, locking away the remnants of a fantasy, a dream that we held in our hands while it died a cold and horrible death. An ancient card from the times when we were convinced it couldn’t be worse than that but we knew that if we just hang on one more day… the card fell from our hands and fell open; springing from this card comes the vivacious voice of one Gloria Gaynor; Our hips lost the battle of staying locked, tears began to fall as our lungs let free a laugh that was not at all forced; that was the moment that pedantic break up song from the bygone disco era became our salvation and a battle cry to send Schrodinger back into the shadows. From there light began to shine and there was air to breathe, but again Fate slammed that door. DAMN HER AND HOPE

There no such thing as beauty anymore, all colours fade from vivid to dead gray. It really is an amazing thing when you think you have reached that horrible craggy earthen bottom, Hope, the vicious bitch that she is, shows you exactly how wrong you can be. For a second I reach back in memory to long ago, remembering giggles and birthdays and handmade cakes with half the necessary fixings. I let myself float, a few weeks ago, in that warm pool of possibility, red wines flavour haunting my taste buds. Gods, she showed me a brief glimpse of lovely, of that haven, I actually, almost felt that sun on my face. I still almost feel that smile on my face, doused in tears. Ice cracked in my chest at the memory of that instant my heart had defrosted. I knew better, I fought, I tried to resist, I didn’t believe, but then I wanted to, I needed to, then I did… We drove for hours, maybe it was days, time begins to lose its continuity when the radio is playing great music really loud, sunglasses fitting just perfectly and the speedometer reads 85 mph steady and true. There is something about it that made my heartbeat strong and true. We laughed and sang along, and it was the first time since I can’t really remember when that mom smiled, she laughed, without letting that haunted look come back to her eyes.

We would stop for burgers and laugh about something from eons ago. Then we’d hop right back into the car and drive; my foot getting heavier as we went. I don’t know what we were running from, or maybe running to, or maybe just it was the idea of the freedom that neither of us thought about a damn thing… yeah. All I really knew it was no stop until… it felt right. So, we drove and we drove, miles ticking off the rented odometer; states flying by, for once we weren’t simply standing in one place, trying to make traction on a treadmill, for years we were running at full bore and never getting anywhere, literally, figuratively, however the hell you want to say. Philosophers and scientists like speaking of continuity, but those who are stuck in the spin cycle, too close to the damn agitator, pieces of life, of spirit, of heart, of dreams, of happiness, being mangled, breaking off falling to the ground. Then one day I stopped, I just stopped running; my soul too tired to continue, I stopped. I stopped trying to make everything fine, everyone happy I understood finally that I was on a fool’s errand. I took mom’s hand in mine and she stopped running too, we stooped to pick up the broken scattered pieces, but fate showed us that it was like trying to grab on to Jell-O with your hands and hold tight. So, we let them drop, leaving them to wait for the chalk outline of their tragic death.

The Pacific came into view over the rural cattle covered hills, the radio suddenly silenced. My eyes misted over and I turned on the wipers as the chill October rain drizzled from the heavens. I take that right and head north on HWY 1 knowing where we were going. Childhood memories haunted behind unshed tears, living has taken on a new definition in the dozen years since last, I smelled that organic salty home. I would stop and relive bowls of chowder and giggling splashing icy surf on naked tender feet, but now, it showed in stark relief to what living now meant, those laughing giggles echoing in our hearts. My hand dropped from the gear shift and mom laced her fingers through mine, we took a moment to mourn this breathing cadaver we had become. I pull over and park, it took a hot second before I grabbed my small bag from the back seat, I clamber out, walking around I helped mom from the car. Walking as quickly as tear filled eyes and our beleaguered bodies would allow us, we made our way to the beach; and we sit listening to the surf, dropping my bag off my shoulder and we walk down to an old drift log. I made sure mom was comfortable, stepping out of my sneakers and socks using only my feet I walked to the rushing surf. I stooped pulling my pant legs up as the waves began licking at my toes. The oceans icy tongue sliding softly over my skin. I wanted to keep walking, walking till It was over my head, but I stood still when the waves kissed up my legs to behind my knees. I breathe letting my eyes roll closed, the wind ran its fingers through my hair as it kissed my face. Mom is suddenly there, holding my hand, both of us knee deep in the surf, we giggle and smile at each other as if we were children with a secret, oh and that secret…

I turn from the wind’s loving kisses, mom’s hand snaking into mine; we stood LIVING, for these seconds we lived; we walk hand in hand back to that driftwood stump, mom sits, I pull out the bottle of red wine from my bag, pulled the cork and took a long drink. Passing the bottle to mom; I noticed that those unshed tears were no longer abiding behind their dam. I don’t know when they had started sliding down my face, but I look a damn state now. Mom passes the bottle back and I take a long drink, looking up at that dark gray cloudy sky. I know it should have looked sad, foreboding even dower, but to me, it looked like a hug from an old friend. The crash roared so loud I couldn’t hear my own breath. It was perfect, the screaming person who has been occupying my mind suddenly shut up and I could breathe.

At its most benevolent this life has, one sweet single unattended moment, set aside for each of us. One single moment in and out of time. We took this moment, this little heaven inside this Dante’s nightmare we have called living, we take our little moment out of time and we take a shelter in it. Stealing away from all the shocks are horrors that this too long, far, far, too long life is heir to. This definition of living and its toll that it has taken on our souls. Our distraction fit, and I watch as we both take a deep breath and bury our toes in the cool sand like an oyster taking shelter. We close our eyes, breathe deep, we became high on this freedom, away we float. Beauty like lost dust moat in a shaft of sunlight, wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning in the snow, or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply so intense that it is not heard at all, that fabulous unsound, but while that glorious music lasts.

Oh, and while it lasts.

One by one I watched those sorrows, the angst and pain the uncertainty melt from our shoulders, the time to hesitate is through, and sometimes the best fight is not fighting at all. I look to mom and pass the bottle, and we speak in silent words, we always knew that the possibility of an impossible fight would come, though yet I would glove up and take my hits, but it would be a heartless battle; all of my hits soulless. There is a freedom in acceptance; as a song says, freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose; the knowledge that losing a bout isn’t everything, but we both knew we were going to lose this one would take everything from both of us. There was a release; we both felt it, we collapsed into it, death would come and we would fall into his arms. Her eyes lead me, in their depths in a moment of ecstatic joy, with no expectations, not from THIS ONE MOMENT. A beautiful, simple moment of being.

No wants, no needs no worries. God, mom had always made broken look beautiful, strong look invincible; She walked with the gorgeous universe on her shoulders. When she shrugged that heaped heaven gracefully, making that pain and strife look like wings. In this moment of communion between us. That toll was gone, peace found us as we held hands like always. mother and daughter and we wanted nothing more than this peace. We took it, we loved it. Yes, we both knew this was just our moment and the treatments and pain would return and lost, lonely, broken, we would have to drive back home… eventually. Though, in that long stretched moment, we were infinite… Mom corked the bottle and we walked carefully back to the car, we got in again and I drove for more and more hours finally finding a beautiful hidden paradise amongst the redwood trees.

The bed, it was comfortable, lovely and clean, luxurious and the room had an eighth story window seat that still didn’t look down on those trees. We sat in the early morning feeling the air, smelling of earthy redwoods, kiss our skin and our lips with warm, delicious, coffee. The water from the tap tasted sweet and fresh, like a childhood memory poured from a second or even third-hand crystal pitcher. Late morning, the bathtub was large and deep. This was a paradise, this heaven was perfect, as if god understood that I had just acquiesced to his summons and decided to send me an extended heaven, or possibly on that curving mountain road I had missed a turn and we had both passed those pearly gates… In this paradise, there was a grand restaurant that required reservations. We ordered three rounds of drinks called the golden eagle, that tasted like buttered sunshine with a citrus hint and a float of Chambord. I ordered the lobster and she the steak, sharing the asparagus and potatoes…everything was perfect. We laughed and walked the long way around and danced and smiled at the smell of the beautiful trees. We walked among the ancients and there is something to be said for being less than drunk, more than lucid and still infinite among the kings of the Earth.

A tiny pearl of a treasure I tuck into that little box lined with black velvet that I keep all my most precious things of beautiful in. Stupidly I believed, stupidly I let the want the will pull my hand out… Ages told me that it was a mistake, that hope would be the thing that kills me, but I let my hand reach out, I almost touched it, but then there was nothing; now I lay bleeding out. Nothing, but air that my fingers slid through and I fell, I fell a million miles. One shining second in horror years, I trusted that idea of hope, the bitch, and now one eon wiser I woke this morning my eyes rioting at the idea of waking to this world, my brain screaming its recalcitrance at the idea of still dragging air into my lungs and begrudging the world for letting the sun to continue shining. I will never again trust to hope, I can never lift my eyes from the motion of my feet in this broken trudge, all marching to that horrible monotone beat because the living will never come to any good.

A buzzing distracts my mind from this drudgery and I look at my stupid phone. A text from my momma: “Happy Birthday Angel, text me when you are on your way or if you will be on your way. I hope you are wearing your smile and your lipstick, you never know who will fall in love with you today.” An ironic chuckle escaped my throat and a wry smile pulled the corners of my lips. In 37 years, no one had ever fallen in love with my damn lipstick or smile for that matter, I doubted today was any different today from any other day. Although, yes, I had put on my lipstick before departing for the airport today… dumb ass. Suddenly, the landscape was replaced by the rushing crowds passing behind me, superimposed, reflected on the glass in vivid colour. Oh, and the din of the people began to enter and drive away my own private hell; I let the relief wash over me. There was an odd surety to the idea that life goes on, it goes on whether or not one would wants it to; I started watching the people, along with the storm raging outside the windows, but the activity made my mind move from that cold place. I felt like an idiot to let myself bask in that much self-pity.

A gust of air hit me as someone sits a few seats down, I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t take the time to look, I would be leaving this section soon anyways, as soon as they tell us all that there will be no motion. It is the real human smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, grows brave by reflection. My brain reeled, shook from my own morass by a simple stupid misquote. Jesus, apparently, this birthday is getting to me; I know so many try to convince that it is not the aging that bothers them, but for me it is truth; oh, the passing of time, when I start counting is like a pall on my soul, but to just despise it would be terribly ungrateful, to hate adding to the tally of years lived when one is already well and past expectations. I don’t care what number of years I have lived, I really don’t mind the few hairs on my head that have transitioned from this dullard nondescript brown to a tinsel silver, the crinkles next to my eyes are every one of my laughs counted out for me. I do mind, however, is that so much time keeps passing, days mark themselves in memory and unwanted thoughts surface, I mind marking how much I haven’t done. I do mind is that not once has this journey been anything other than an upward climb, fingers gripping, bleeding, over the roughest terrain. I decided, enough pain… I was never one to just revel in misery, I am not the kind of woman who breaks into pieces under the blows of abandonment and absence, I am not the one who goes mad, who dies; though I know I will, possibly quite soon. Unlike Marie, I know I am the hero of this story, it is my responsibility to make it good. Surveying myself I saw that the few fragments that had splintered off were pieces that always are supposed to be sloughed due to living and learning. For the rest, I was… well, I was, just me. I was whole, whole I would remain. Thusly being stuck in an airport for a birthday is just one of those things that just happen, and yes, mostly to me.

Their reflections, with the gales of wind blowing ice and snow pelting the large bank of windows. Ah, its time to face the truth, nothing will be flying in this mess; hell, the smart people stayed home and didn’t even bother. I sigh, I never could have been accused of being one of the smart people, I watch the strangers pass behind me, all of them seemingly stressed and kinetic, like little white rats in a closed maze; frantic to get to where they were going, none willing to admit that no one was going anywhere anytime soon. I scanned all he miserable faces, yes, we are all in a way trapped, foreword motion was impossible, but always there is someone who seems to take it so much worse than everyone else, making that small claustrophobic feeling a teensy bit worse. Most just accept that, yes, in this world not much seems to go the way we all plan, there is always that one total jerk who thinks that god and all that’s holy and unholy alike should bow to his will. With that thought my mind decided to switch to the politics network; I literally shuddered, became nauseous and pulled it back front and center.

This jerk yelled and bellowed as I watched apparently, the Scandinavian Bruce Willis had decided that handing a helpless gate agent her own head on a platter was the best use of his time. He was demanding everything under the sun. From the loud whining and bluster, I gathered that he was supposed to be traveling to Maui, but he wasn’t going to be there in time and would lose the large deposit he placed on his room, most likely a common hazard for travel like that. As if that was anything the gate agent could do anything about, it was really his own stupid gullibility. Yes, I would much rather be in Maui too, in fact I think the ticket agent wishes she was in Maui with a Chi-Chi in hand, but its not where we are, nor where I was traveling to. Finally, the mans blustering hit a fevered pitch, his face turned purple, I thought he was about to stroke out, but his wife finally stepped in. I had already lost interest in the whole show about half a tirade ago, he was an overgrown child with the stupid notion that the world owed him something.

I shake my head softly and roll my eyes, a soft, rolling, deep chuckle moves through my ears, and movement catches my eye. I let my eyes be pulled expecting to see disapproval in the reflected face. I all saw was a man; my breath shuddered, not just a man, but that man, the wolf with the godly walk, that gust of air was him sitting, that man. Well, honestly simply man is an insufficient term, but one I would use for the long-legged monolith a few chairs to my right. He seemed to be elsewhere, with more than a single dose of “I don’t give a shit” attitude, all I could see was crossed arms and Ray Bans, so I let my eyes peruse. He was long, tall, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, those legs alone reached at least 5 foot from the edge of the chair. He was thick; legs like tree trunks, but his shoulders alone took the space of two seats. I pitied the person who was seated next to him, hopefully, he wasn’t the middle seat, talk about crowding. He wore a thin, white tee shirt, dark washed jeans. I let the smile pull the edge of my lips, apparently, he didn’t look at the weather before heading out today, poor fool. He sat trying to tuck his thick licorice coloured leather around himself tighter.

His opaque dark Ray-bans hid most of his face, ear buds tucked into his ears. His thick brows curved gracefully over the rims, his lips beautifully arched with a light pout to his bottom lip, a set of the most beautifully kissable lips to possibly exist. A day’s growth of scruff along his gorgeously chiseled jaw, god he was a beautiful man. He couldn’t have been reacting to my derision, maybe he was chuckling at something on his earbuds. So, I swallowed my ruffled feathers and I just enjoyed the view of the reflection. His dark brown hair, blonde and ginger highlights deliciously sparkled, in what was once a deliciously close cut style, now grown out two months too long; the length silky enough to run soft fingers through, letting the long ends curl around fingertips.

I settle back, catching little glimpses, filing his form away for something fun in one of my writing exercises, I watched the ice creep along the glass of the window and the passing of the people while listening to my own ear buds, hitting repeat on some riotous punk. Social Distortion peps me up, I feel the beautiful sweeping warmth of eyes on me, I look up all I can see is the dyspeptic travelers and the airline ticket agents looking as if people had taken bats to them, circulating handing out food and hotel vouchers to make up for the surprise ice storm. Curiosity draws my eyes back to his mostly obscured face, I wonder what colour his eyes are; statistically, they were most likely brown, but something told me they were some beautiful exotic colour. Seriously, look at the man, he is something made of myth and mists, he could never actually be real, like a unicorn or the truth. As with everything, the gods compensate, a man that graceful, that beautiful, with that luscious of a walk, there really must be something maybe just some single thing wrong with him, somewhere. Maybe he has a temper or maybe he is just stupid. A loud cacophony of uproarious yelling, uh oh, the natives are getting restless.

God, how the hell do they expect airlines to circumvent nature and still get them to their destination safely, you know they would be the first filing suit in the case of an accident, and seriously how the hell an ICE storm can be so surprising, but low and behold, here we all are stuck. I tuck my vouchers in my book and keep watching the people reflected in the window, like an interactive ultra-widescreen TV. A Latin woman reminding me heavily of Anne Bancroft goes huffing by consigning herself with a beautiful grace to the fate we all in the airport now share, a night at the on a crummy airport motel mattress and airport food. Again, that warm pass of eyes, perusing the faces, I assume it’s just another people watcher or a passerby. A move in my peripheral vision drew my eye back to him; dammit girl, the cardinal rule of people watching is NO STARING, I chided myself.

@pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose

@keeper0fthestars @sweetfairy1

@fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 @bilbo-baggins-middle-finger

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beardrabbles · 6 years

Text

OBLIVIOUS

rating: t ( swearing )

words: 2,918

characters: tony stark ( iron man ), reader

notes: ( ao3 request; I was wondering if I could make a request? Maybe one where the reader is Tony's childhood friend and she hasn't realized he's been trying to ask her out for years now... :3c ) I’m a sucker for this trope, so here’s an attempt!

tags: none!

You sat there at your favorite table, legs crossed at the knees and foot bouncing with noticeable eagerness. Your chin was pressed to your palm while light fingertips drummed against your cheek. A pair of designer sunglasses tinted your view of the window to your right, turning everything on the street from a deep and dark violet to a soft, sunset pink. Around you, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and tea mingled into something pungent but comforting. It was warm inside that little cafe, a fact you appreciated now that the weather had taken a sudden, downward nose-dive into freezing temperatures.

All you needed now was something to drink, but a certain someone was taking his sweet time at the counter.

“Probably flirting with the barista. . .” You grumbled to yourself. There were many that could claim they knew Tony Stark, but there were so few that could claim that as loudly as you could. Although, you acknowledged that his flirting antics and womanizing ways were known world ‘round. No one, you especially, would be surprised to find him chatting up the pretty brunette scribbling his name on his coffee cup.

“Or,” began the billionaire in his signature smooth yet infuriating tone, “I’m making sure I get your order right.”

You lifted your head and took the cup offered to you, eyes narrowing behind the ombré lenses of the shades he had loaned you. “It’s not that difficult to remember, and you’ve never screwed it up before.”

“No, but why start now?” He threw you a cocksure smile and winked. Tony took the seat across from you, then motioned vaguely with his hands. You were in the middle of sip when you stopped and stared. What? “Sunglasses. Give.”

“Fine.” You pulled them from your face and handed them over. The were promptly fitted over his eyes, sat on the bridge of his nose for two seconds, then slid down just so he could peer at you over the rose-gold frames.

“Did’ja like ‘em?”

You shrugged and swallowed down more of your choice drink. “They’re alright. Pretty, but too pricey.”

“Just like me. Damn. What the hell am I supposed to get you as a gift once the holidays roll around, hmm? Do you like anything?” He wondered. You had to use every ounce of your control not to roll your eyes at his exaggeration. You liked plenty of things, but you had never once owned a piece of clothing or technology that cost more than two years worth of rent. It didn’t feel right, not to mention you had never been suited for Tony’s luxury lifestyle. No matter how far the two of you went back, no matter how close you might be, there was still a giant wall that separated the two of you. He was the genius philanthropist that put on shows of bravado and cockiness for his audience, and you were the normal one. Quiet, content with what you had yet still willing to work hard for the things you wanted.

Which was why, after thinking of something witty to say in return, you stopped yourself short. You, was what you wanted to say. You, was what you always thought. Liking Tony wasn’t easy, yet it seemed so simple at the same time. Dating and looking around had its perks, but there would never be another man like him. Smart, confident, experienced and still a little soft on the inside. You had fallen hard as a teenager, and the feelings had multiplied since then. His heroic side had done you in, and it didn’t help now that he would come to you when some of the lighter anxiety attacks struck. You reckoned that he didn’t really need you when he had a world of people he could turn to, but it meant so much that you were the one he needed when his own mind rebelled against him.

“You don’t have to get me anything, Tony.” You flicked your leg out and poked at his shin playfully with the toe of your shoe. A single, dark brow rose on his forehead, but you motioned for him to stop long before he started. “Seriously, you don’t have to. You’ve been my friend for now long?”

“Too long.” He jumped when you gave him an honest kick under the table. “Ow!”

“Ass.”

“( Y/N ), I don’t see what our many, many, many years together has to do with me getting you a gift.” He ignored the insult, seeing as how it was so often given to him by various people for a multitude of reasons.

“That’s exactly it! That is my gift, you dolt. You’ve been my friend, Tony, when no one else has. I know we don’t get to see each other often, but I love when it’s just the two of us. When you can be yourself and not worry about being Iron Man, or even being the other Tony Stark. This is all I need. It’s all I want. Besides,” you paused to shrug and hoped it would hide some of the color rising to your cheeks, “you’ve taken me here how many times? I don’t even remember telling you that this was my go-to spot.”

Tony, caught off guard by your sudden and emotional ramblings, had to clear his throat before he spoke.

“Thanks for the rousing speech there, but you know you can’t hide anything from me. Wasn’t all that hard to figure out where you go when you make posts about it online.” He smirked at the triple wash of red that touched your face.

“Oh, right. . . Still, thanks for taking me.”

“Don’t mention it. Felt as good a place to take you out on a date as any.” He spoke so casually, so effortlessly, that you nearly missed that word. You were in the middle of another gulp, ready to finish off half of your drink, when it clicked. You coughed, sputtering into your cup and losing your breath all at once.

He, on the other hand, simply watched you as confusion set in. He was in no rush to ask if you were alright, nor did he elaborate on his own. Tony needed prompting, as it was the only way he could tease you before he was forced to explain.

“Take me out on a what-now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I mumble? A date, ( Y/N ). You know, when two people spend time with each other because they’re attracted——”

“I know what I date is, Tony, and we’ve never been on one!” You dragged a napkin across your lips and your shirt, making sure none of your drink had stained.

“Gee, wonder why that is. . .” Brooded the hero.

You stopped your clean-up and glared. “What?”

“Hmm?” Tony blinked up at you innocently, but you knew better than to fall for that ruse.

“Don’t hmm me. It almost sounds like you were blaming me for something.” You balled up your napkin and tossed it onto the table. Fortunately for the both of you, the cafe was a small, hole-in-the-wall joint that few occupied. You had the corner to yourself, and you were glad for the fact seeing as how you planned on thoroughly grilling Tony.

“I am.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What am I being blamed for exactly?” Your irritation was bubbling but remain well under the surface of full-on temper. Tony sighed an exasperated sigh as he pushed his sunglasses up into his mess of brown hair.

“The fact that we haven’t gone on a single date the entire time we’ve known each other.” He stated flatly. “Which you made me point out has been a very long time.”

“Wh—What? How is that my fault? You’ve never asked me!” You squeaked indignantly. Your memory wasn’t shoddy, but you were sure you’d remember if he had asked you out on a date. You were also sure that if he had, it was exclusive to your many daydreams. But because you were sure that, for once, he was wrong, you felt oddly cocky. Sitting upright, spine straight and chin a little high, you huffed. “I’d know if you did. And you definitely never did.”

“My sixteenth birthday.” The statement was sudden and took you aback, that cockiness waning.

“What?”

“My sixteenth birthday, my first day at MIT, the day I graduated MIT, that night before I went to give that speech in Bern, uh. . .” He paused and snapped his fingers, as if that would ignite and make clear some foggy memory he was desperate to recall.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“After I got back from Afghanistan, after the press conference. That one day when we were twelve, and my nanny thought she caught us in the middle of making out. You remember that? That’s not not every instance, and they’re not in order, but — I’ve asked, at least five times.”

You stammered, mouth opening and closing. He had bludgeoned you with feeble, paper-thin proof of his advances, and all you could do was gawk. Tony smiled. “You good? I’ll give you a minute.”

“You — You never asked. That wasn’t asking! I do remember that birthday party, but you didn’t ask me on a date. You said——”

“I said, ‘Let’s get out of here and grab something to eat.’ How is that not asking?” It was his turn to look offended now.

“It’s just not! Friends ask friends that all the time. And if I remember, we did go out to eat. . . with the rest of the people at the party. It’s not a date if there are more than fourteen people sittin’ at one diner.” You argued. Tony made to snap back, but stopped just as he pointed at you.

“Alright, you’ve got a point. Bad example. But I asked you to celebrate with me after I graduated, and no one else heard that.” He countered. You couldn’t deny that. The memory was a haze of color and sound, but there was one moment of that afternoon that had stuck with you.

There had been so many people gathered around him at the school grounds; friends, fellow students, colleagues, professors, potential co-workers, future employees and family, all of them distant. A hundred hands had clasped at him, squeezing his shoulders and frantically shaking his hand. You remembered being softer than that, giving his arms a harmless tug as you pulled him away from the sea of grey, red and black gowns. He needed the space, needed the time to process that he had done it. He knew he could without a speck of a doubt, but it still needed to sink in that he had graduated. He had been flushed and wild-eyed, hands grasping so tight at yours that it made your heart beat a mile a minute.

You remembered that feeling well because it was the first time you acknowledged that you cared for him. That ready-to-take-on-the-world look had you promising him a thousand times over that you’d always be there for him, that he could count on you no matter what. That promise still remained wholly intact, but you couldn’t remember him asking anything of you after that.

“Tony, all I remember is me makin’ the horrible mistake of telling you that you were stuck with me.”

“You’ve got the memory of a goldfish, my God.” Tony rubbed at his faintly wrinkled brow. “You dragged me away, we were standing near my parents’ car. You said something mushy like you always do. I leaned in. . .”

He reenacted the memory, leaning over the tiny table separating you. His elbow sat propped on the tabletop, the backs of his knuckles pressing at his cheek. Your cheeks flared hotly, eyes darting away from his. Without his sunglasses to mask them, you were liable to lose yourself in their boyish, mischievous glimmer.

You had looked away, but he continued to speak around his slowly spreading smile.

“You wouldn’t look at me back then, either. I got closer, and you let out this weirdly adorable giggle. I distinctly remember asking you out then. I told you that I was going to start working right away, and I wanted you to come with me. I told you I’d fly you anywhere, give you everything you wanted, as long as you stuck to that dumb promise you made me.” His expression softened despite your eyes being elsewhere.

Shifting, you gave your shoulders a little shrug.

“That still doesn’t count. Asking me to follow you around isn’t a date.” You murmured.

“There’s no pleasing you! And people think I’m demanding.” He flung himself back in his seat, the corner of his lips pulling up into a lopsided frown. You finally turned your gaze back to him, fingers toying with the lid of your cup. His attention didn’t falter. It remained trained on you, the intensity behind it clenching at your chest.

The idea that he had tried once before baffled you. Tony Stark, the man that could have anyone he wanted, had attempted to date you in the past. You were both floored and giddy thinking about it, but you still couldn’t grasp that it was true.

“So you’ve been trying this whole time?” You wondered aloud.

“Mhmm. Honestly, I couldn’t tell if you were rejecting me or stringing me along. Kind of thought it was the latter option for a while there. Was kind of a turn-on, actually. You know, chasing after you. Thought you were playing me this whole time but it looks like you were just being your usual, oblivious self.” The sigh he emitted this time was softer and held a touch of sincere disappointment. He rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted his shoulders awkwardly, head hanging a fraction.

Suddenly, you felt a blanket of guilt settle over you. He wasn't joking. He wasn’t saying this to embarrass you. Okay, some of it was meant to embarrass you, but not all of it.

“You wanted to ask me out?” You felt like a broken record, but you had to be sure.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re younger than me, but I think we’re going to have to start getting you a hearing aid. I can hook you up. Make you a little something.” This time, the kick you delivered to his leg brought out a beaming grin.

“Still an ass.” You shot him a look and wrinkled your nose.

“I’ve been told that, yes. Been told that I have a great ass too.” He sniffed and adjusted in his seat. You shook your head and hid your wobbly smile behind your cup. One last drink, and you’d finished it. And with that last bit of warmth came a lightning-quick flash of courage.

“Ask me again.”

Tony lifted his head sharply, eyes finding yours again. He saw that you didn’t look away, but it only made him narrow his own eyes suspiciously.

“Why? What’s in it for me?”

“Tony. . .” You were about to take back your request when he grabbed your hand. His rough, calloused and marginally darker fingers wrapped around yours. Your heart skipped and started it’s usual tattoo against your ribcage. His thumb swept across your knuckles in a gentle gesture that was so rare from him.

“( Y/N ), would you do me the honor of. . . looking good next to me?”

“Wow. I should have expected that.” You snatched your hand away, but he was quick. He caught it, yanked it forward, then laid a chaste kiss against your fingers. You were frozen, stunned into utter speechlessness.

“I’m only gonna ask you once, so don’t screw it up. Will you go out on a date with me?” He spoke slowly and softly, razor-sharp goatee tickling your skin. Immediately, you felt an iron-like weight in your stomach. Years of keeping your feelings quiet hadn’t ruined your chances it seemed.

You gnawed at your lower lip and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Do I get to pick the place?” You asked. Tony tilted his head and hummed deeply, then nodded.

“I think you can handle that, as long as we end up back at my place by the end of the night.” He purred. Your shoulders slumped under the weight of his relentless, shameless pervertedness. You toed the line between being extremely fond of him and loving him, but nowhere did it say that you were required to indulge him in his lewd behavior.

“Not gonna happen.”

“That’s fine.” He nipped at your knuckles and growled before releasing your hand. “I’m flexible. Literally and figuratively. I can do it anywhere——”

“Oh, stop. Stop. Stooop.” The chair under you squealed as you pushed away from the table. Your drink was empty and your mind was frazzled, and you needed time to think about what had just happened. Tony, however, remained at his seat as you stormed towards the door.

“We never picked a date, snookums! Honey-bunches! Come on!” He shouted after you. Hand on the door, you paused. A moment of quiet consideration passed, and you finally peered to him again.

“Pick me up tomorrow at eight. Don’t wear anything fancy. If we’re gonna go on a proper date and I’m in charge of picking where we go, there won’t be tons of booze or parties. Got it?”

Tony groaned. “You’re going to be a boring date.”

“Good.” You smiled, and so did he. “Can’t wait.”

Tony, feeling that same iron-ball sensation that you had felt earlier, passed one last wink. “Me either.”

#tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #fluff

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