video - un: ishiyan

[gamanyeah]

Name: Ishigaki Koutarou
Date: 07/11
Format: Video

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[Ishigaki is stuck nervously fidgeting with the unruly strands of hair that hang down on his forehead in his reflection, before he takes note of the sound of static coming from his wrist.]

Oh. It's already recording.

[His wrist lifts a little too close to his face-- an awkward angel, giving the viewer too much detail of his nostrils.]

Ah, so. Hey! This town is a lot to take in, to say the least. I'm new, obviously. I've been here a week or so.

So, uh, let's see... About myself? Well, I'm a cyclist! And I'm from Japan. Not that it... matters much in this world. My world is nothing like here, though, so I'm a bit homesick. I'm sure that's normal for... Mirrorbound, right?

[His face softens, and there's a pause long enough to the point of wondering if he'll continue. There was a lot of information to take in this past week- and since he's thought this was all a very lucid, convincing fever dream, he didn't retain as much information as he should have.]

Apparently I'm a monster too-- well, will be. I don't know what yet. So, that's worrying... It'd be nice to talk to anyone who's been through it, or new to it like I am. Oh, but witches are nice too. I need a bond  eventually, right?

[It's odd to say it out loud. Hearing himself is almost convincing him this is real. Almost. He chooses to play along, and continues, because by god if he isn't lonely.]

Where do people... meet here? Are there social events? What I'm saying is... Friends. I'd like to make friends.

 

 

 

Comments

i swear to god this foreshadowing was UNINTENTIONAL

[discarding]

No. Just try to be somewhat discerning. [Midousuji withdraws his hand, letting his hand dangle by its limp wrist near his collar, rolling his head back as he rolls his eyes in tandem, tongue loosely unfurling against the side of his jaw.]

You weren’t trying to talk to people because you’re trying to find a Bond. Your solicitation wasn’t even tactfully driven.

[Midousuji’s posture, almost inhumanly quick, snaps back to Ishigaki—his finger is hooked on his furled mask, other arm dangling, head tilted as his eyes widen, lightless and boring through. his gaze is unsympathetic, and absolutely critical—but at the very root of it, there’s actually some concern. Midousuji wouldn’t be caught dead expressing it, but…Ishigaki’s role in the totem has changed, recently.]

You haven’t even been here for long, and you’re so desperate? Disgusting. [Midousuji narrows his eyes, and gives Ishigaki a sharp, mean poke in the collarbone.] Hideous. So gross. Have some self respect, Ishigaki-kun.

[he straightens up again.]

Of course…

[Midousuji rolls his eyes away, straightening his gloves.]

I’m not stupid enough to think that our models are at aaaaall similar by design… It’s natural for you to want friends. Make connections. All that standard, fluffy distraction. And this is the place to indulge those distractions—within critical reason. Even for standard models.

[Midousuji glances at Ishigaki through the corner of his eyes.]

This place is more Hell than you could imagine compared to University in some other city within our country.

[therefor, after that harsh berating, as his most indirect gesture of what he wouldn’t dare describe as kindness,] So, I’ll tell you anything you need to know. Whenever. By aaaaall means, Ishigaki-kun, and I mean this sincerely: [Midousuji rolls his eyes away again, and just as before, his tongue flops out.] be a pain in my neck.

[his posture rights again, and he looks at Ishigaki properly.]

I’m a leader. I can shepard you easily.

[gamanyeah]

[Ishigaki is struck dumb at his own personal callout, opening his mouth on and off to interrupt and say something-- anything-- in his defence, but all that comes out is a stutter or nothing at all. How embarrassing-- to be read so easily by a kohai, someone he's so desperate to shepherd. Though, it's not like Ishigaki's humilation, or Midousuji's rough edges on the subject, come to either of their surprise.

At the very least, Midousuji admits to his own ridiculousness, even, by calling Ishigaki a 'standard model,' and Ishigaki clings to that. So, Ishigaki was the normal one here after all, wasn't he? Though meant to be the lowest insult there is to him- there's some relief to that, at the very least. But still, he pleads guilty, because Midousuji is kind enough to offer his concerns.]

Jeez, okay, I get it! [Ishigaki pouts.] If you care so much about my safety, I'll be careful.

[He does, however, perk right back up at the slightest hint of positivity.]

Eh? Shepherd? [Ishigaki repeats, Midousuji's offer catching him off gaurd. It takes time for it to register into his head that yes, Midousuji is offering help after his backlash, but it does, eventually, click-- and when it does, Ishigaki grins stupidly.] Really? You'd do that?

[Cocking his head to the side, he hums. Yes, his head has been swimming with questions since he's arrived, but right now, he really only wants to focus on what's infront of him.] Well... Why don't you tell me about your experience coming here?

[Folding his hands behind his back, Ishigaki takes a step forward and twitches his head in a motion indicating that they should move along somewhere else. The crowd of bizarre faces walking by was still an overstimulating sight, to say the least.] You had to have felt awful too, right? With nothing being familiar and all.

[discarding]

[Midousuji reels back at the narrow small of his back, squinting in a manner absolutely affronted by the implication he cares. his thin, bony fingers, clad beneath the dark of his gloves, fan out across his collar bones, eyebrows raised as he gives Ishigaki a low, sour scowl.]

Watch it, [is all he rumbles out. he straightens (by his own standard of posture, anyway), then looks away, large shoulders caging forward as he looks exasperated and weary, glancing away from Ishigaki.

it’s less about caring, and more about lassoing and correcting the people on your team so that the unit doesn’t collapse. not that Midousuji is reliant on Ishigaki in such a manner, nor are they any longer part of the same unit—team, whatever. it hasn’t been that way for nearly a year.

but all the same—Ishigaki is an assist almost by his design to whomever. Midousuji maybe just wants to keep that for himself—for Ishigaki’s sake primarily, but it’s utilitarian for Midousuji as well. Ishigaki knows how to be useful to him. Ishigaki knows him; knows how to serve him.

right?

that’s all it is.

to Ishigaki’s question, Midousuji blinks, then squints at him again.]

I would, [he answers plainly, in a way that’s accusatory enough to maybe belay his confusion somewhat. all he’s ever done is drag Kyoto Fushimi around by his own design so that they’d be less incompetent, after all. the parameters were different, but it was the same offer. or, again, so he tells himself, anyway.

Ishigaki’s follow up question makes Midousuji’s eyes open back to their standard too-wideness, and to anyone but Ishigaki, it’d be hard to read; but Midousuji is curious, and he tilts his head in accordance to it. he follows Ishigaki’s gesture, and begins to walk his bike.]

Of course.

Familiar is one thing—sure, the culture shock is terrible, [Midousuji explains, eyes rolling away from Ishigaki.] What’s worse is the survival. And the ejection from purpose. No matter where you come from, I feel this place most certainly removes you from your goals; it’s a different world, after all.

[no national road racing to champion. no Tour de France finish line to carry grief over. no family shrine, unpopulated in its lonely surname, to meditate and calibrate over. the same droning comfortable drone of cicadas and crickets in the Summer, the same nothing else. even the bike that rattles over the cobble stones, rumbling Midousuji’s clenched hands over its handles, is an approximation of his own world. off brand. mocking him.]

Nothing really means anything, in this place. Who you were, what your goals were, what you carry—it dissolves.

The Bonding is the worst.

And there’s no escape, either; people come as randomly as they leave. Death isn’t even an option.