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

[discarding]

[Midousuji arrives shortly after Ishigaki, rattling on his antiquated bicycle down the cobblestone; he’s become more used to riding this shitty heavy frame on Aefenglom’s shitty chunky roads, though once he perfects teleportation and levitation, he might forego it completely.

he slows down as he spots Ishigaki, and lifts his head, teeth parted beneath his mask, his gaze vacant but focused on Ishigaki’s profile as he wheels closer. then, slowly, Midousuji comes to a stop in front of Ishigaki, tilting sideways by one hip to scuff the bottom of his shoe against the stone path.

what he feels is. unusual. indescribable. nostalgia, maybe, Midousuji thinks. he hadn’t ever expected to meet someone he knew in this place, though he’s seen it happen with others; he’d never even humored the possibility, leaving himself uncharacteristically unprepared.

he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at Ishigaki, his voice rolling out in an airy, slow cadence, drawn out and condescending.]

Iiiiickygaki-kun…

Really, really, really…

[Midousuji pulls down his mask, and his expression becomes cruel—but in part, genuinely delighted.]

How gross. I thought you were a bit more dignified than to be so shameless.

[gamanyeah]

[Ishigaki is left staring unfocused at the ground, before he hears the familiar clicks of bicycle wheels, and purple shoes accompanying the sight of them. His eyes snake up an acquainted spidery figure, until they're met with sly and lightless ones.]

Midou... suji...?

[Out of all the people to see him so desperate... for friendship, no less.

But Ishigaki is quick to get over his own embarrassment, and he shoots up from the bench, with a smile much too wide- much to eager. Everything from Midousuji's features to the warming sound of his accent, despite how unwelcoming his presence typically is, fills him with a familiarity that's much needed.

How had it only been a week...?

When Ishigaki speaks, his tone is just as desperate as he looks.]

Midousuji! How- how long have you been here? In Aefenglom I mean!

[discarding]

[Midousuji leans back a little as Ishigaki suddenly stands, grimacing for the ill-prepared for proximity. which isn’t actually all that proximate; there’s still more than decent enough distance between the two of them. Ishigaki does tend to know better than to challenge Midousuji’s personal boundaries, and he’s appreciatively (ew) aware of that—but the instinct and reflex remains.

the eagerness is definitely gross, though.

but Ishigaki’s question draws Midousuji’s slow, slightly wicked smile right back in place. he tilts his head again, this time with less severity, voice all air, lilt, and drawling cadence. his expression looks almost curious.]

Oh, a while, a while. Since mid February. It took over a month for me to even believe this wasn’t some sort of indefinite, punishing nightmare from my subconscious, like the result from a coma or something like that.

How about you, Ishigaki-kun?

[Midousuji chuckles, a sound boyish and meanly amused.]

How’s your relationship with reality doing?

[Midousuji’s sure it’s probably surreal, but he suspects Ishigaki wouldn’t be so outright rejecting of this reality as compared to himself. but it’s fun to tease, anyway. and speaking of reality, it’s surreal to Midousuji that Ishigaki’s even here. anyone else from Kyoto, much less his Kyoto—much less anyone he knew, and much least of all, Ishigaki.

of all people.

this place really does have a horrific sense of humor.]

[gamanyeah]

[Ishigaki eyes Midousuji once over. There were no inhuman features accompanying him. Well, new to him, that is.

So a wizard, was it?

Ishigaki recalls something- somewhere, within the encyclopedic knowledge spewed at him, and that he remembered so little of- upon seeing Midousuji being all in one piece, and it clicks.]

Does that mean you... formed a bond? [Ishigaki asks, almost in disbelief.] Really?

[He coughs, clearing his throat as if to correct himself.] I'm sorry it's just- well, how you put it: a nightmare for someone like you. I'm surprised you're still alive!

[Ishigaki takes a moment to recollect their last conversation from home- one sided and still unsure if Midousuji retained any of it. It's almost funny, but if Midousuji is still standing, that means something had changed, hadn't it? His grin returns, and he continues.] Maybe that's the push you've needed. Not that it matters once you go home, though...

[When Midousuji is kind enough to ask of him, Ishigaki is desperate to entertain but... nothing's come to mind. Other than the average dissociation and mild panic attacks, of course.] Me? Well, the reality of whatever this is hasn't hit. So, I don't have any strong opinions yet.

[discarding]

[Midousuji reels back, then glances away in sheepish, irritable dodginess, not unlike the expression he took as a child when bullied by his peers but trying to stand up for himself.]

Bonds aren’t all that special, [Midousuji answers sharply, quietly. awkwardly.] Anyone can do it. There’s a ceremony, but it can be utilitarian; with a stranger.

[when Ishigaki says it’d be a nightmare for someone like Midousuji, his shoulders hike and his pupils pinprick, his hand furling in a tense claw against his mask, eyes widening. he isn’t wrong. it’s so uncomfortable being around someone who perceives him so clearly; Midousuji never liked it, but he’s less equipped to brace against it, having so foolishly not anticipated that he might run into such a person in this place.]

Shut up, [he sharply snaps to Ishigaki’s comment about Midousuji’s needed push, spat in a muffle against his mask, which has been bunched back up across his mouth. he’d just had the upper-hand. why was this happening?! he had to get his head back on right.]

Well, [Midousuji answers, coolly rolling his suddenly half-lid eyes to Ishigaki.] Try to not lose your mind too hard; Bonds are disorienting, too, you know.

[Midousuji takes a couple of stiff, jaunting strides towards Ishigaki—and launches a gloved hand forward, wrenching Ishigaki’s face up towards his. Midousuji looks unamused.]

You’re especially susceptible to losing yourself in other people. Bonds, you can feel the way another person feels—and they can feel how you feel, too. Sometimes, it’s even true with dreams. Memories.

[Midousuji’s eyes narrow with contempt.]

Someone like you… You’d get lost in it, without even seeing the danger. Asking gross randoms so brazenly to hang out with you with no fielding or vetting. Disgusting. So undiscerning. You really have no shame.

[his grip tightens.]

This place isn’t for someone who doesn’t know how to be alone just as much as it isn’t for someone who only knows how to be alone.

[gamanyeah]

Wah- hey! [Ishigaki stutters out sounds that match the way his face contorts- wincing. His eyebrows furrow, irritated, but as Midousuji continues, his features slowly soften in tune to the weight of his words, and he gets it. So, Ishigaki was right, in a way. This world was Midousuji's personal nightmare, and he feels in the wrong that he realized it so soon- Midousuji's erratic defense making it obviously so.]

I- I see you've thought about this a lot. [Ishigaki gifts Midousuji an awkward smile he didn't need, and raises his hands, as if to admit he's given up. That he's lost whatever arguement Midousuji wanted to start. Even if Ishigaki never received his point, the dark eyes he was forced to look into was enough to convince him to back off...] My bad, Midousuji.

[Ishigaki doesn't take Midousuji's insults to heart. Though they sting much like the fingers digging deeper in his cheeks, he's aware of, to some extent, how... damaged, Midousuji's point of view of the world is.

Connecting with others- bonding- is it really as dangerous as he says? Or was that Midousuji's warped perception of it...? His last comment echoes in his head as he questions that.

Only knows how to be alone...

Midousuji isn't trustful- far from it, but unknowingly Ishigaki feels that there's a truth in what he's preaching.

Still, he tries to throw out some defense, as to not look like a complete idiot.]

Well, if my life depends on things like bonding... is it that strange that I'd want to connect? It's not like I have a choice.

[Ishigaki waits for Midousuji to loosen his grip, but when nothing comes of it, his shoulders slump, defeated.] I guess you're right. I'm not sure what's going on... This feels like moving to Tokyo all over again.

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.