You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 REP POINTS FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE AND HERE RESPECTIVELY BY APRIL 29th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.
1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Shuusei Kagari | Psycho-Pass
one.
[You're in a prison. But there's something strange about it; inside the barred glass doors are children. Young children, some that appear to be as young as around five or six years old. Some of them rock in place on the bare cots of their sterile, empty rooms, others sob pitifully. They're inaudible, through the glass, but their distress is visible, palpable.
Among these cells is a boy of about seven, with pale brown hair and eyes that look a decade older than they are. Across from him, another child beckons challengingly with two fingers; lips reading as if to say, Let's play a game.
---
The 'boy' then told Kagari 'he' too would start playing a game of life and death.
"The games played with you were fun…"
"Wait."
"But it’s time. I’ve already been contacted, so I’m going to play my final game."
---
Days upon days passed, but he didn't get to see the 'boy' again. So he asked an officer one day if the kid was dead.
"Eh? But that room has always been empty from the start."]
two.
[Or: you're in a vast anechoic chamber. The light inside is bright and harsh, as opposed to the dimness of the basement outside. A young man with bright orange hair stumbles in, clutching a bleeding shoulder as he stares around in horror at the scene before him. There's an older man there, laughing and filming everything on his phone. He seems thrilled, while the younger man just continues to stare speechlessly.
"This...this is the true form of the Sibyl System! We don't even have to destroy this. If we make this public, it'll be the end of this country. And this time, real riots will occur."
The older man's gloating is interrupted by the sound of footsteps, clanking loudly on the metal. It's what appears to be an old woman, holding a strange, transforming weapon.
{Target's Threat Judgment has been updated.}
The older man fires his own weapon at the woman, but he's a second too late. His head swells and bursts, splattering the younger with blood, and the woman -- not flesh and blood at all, but machine -- turns the weapon on him. It transforms back automatically, Nonlethal Paralyzer, before something forcibly overrides and it transforms yet a third time. An iridescent green light starts to fill the room.
"Oh, give me a break...this bites."]
three.
[It's a kitchen, this time. There's a freshly made cheesecake on the counter, garnished with raspberries and chocolate sauce. The young man with the brightly orange hair stands nearby, a mixing bowl in his hand.
A petite brunette stands across from him, smiling cheerfully. "Huh, you're as good a cook as always, Kagari-kun."
"Heheh, yeah I guess."
"It might be not my place to ask this, since I've also gorged myself on your handmade food before, but still: doesn't the calorie count go through the roof if you cook your meals by hand?"
He shrugs, continuing to mix the bowl. "So what if it does? All humans will die regardless of what they eat. Perfect food, perfect healthcare... No matter how perfect those things are, everybody will still die eventually."
She seems vaguely stunned at that reaction; all she manages is a small "oh."
"What's important is the process, Akane-chan. I spend my time and efforts on cooking because I want to enjoy my journey through life while I'm still alive. You can call me the Cooking Idol!"
"I'm not calling you that."]
un
What is this place?
[This question he asks the surrounding dimness, casting his eyes about in search of someone who might answer. His voice, at first hollowed out by his horror, fills now with his compassion.]
Why are these children here, locked up like convicts? Who could do this to innocent souls?
no subject
He's easily recognizable up close, what with the messy, spiky orange hair, but he's different, too. The casually irreverent air to him is absent; he looks more shell than man until, quite abruptly, he starts chuckling. The sound has a distinctly unnatural tang to it.]
This place?
[His voice is pitchy, strained; a few more of those vaguely unhinged chuckles leak out. This was a bad cosmic joke, is what it was. Were the Natha giving him some sort of hint, about what he had here? A reminder to help out at the next kidnapping??]
Oh, this is where you go when you're born wrong. Welcome to hell, ojisan.
no subject
There is none born wrong. We are born with original sin, it is true, but God made man good.
[His voice is quiet but hardy, like a seed that must try to germinate in the meanest of environs. His gaze leaves its firm perch on Kagari to seek the child behind the nearest lattice of bars, and he finds himself mired in that miserable image. The child bears the look of one has tired of everything, one who wishes neither to see more nor hear nor feel, for all senses have been eroded by misfortune.]
no subject
It's a pleasure that's shot through with despair and self-loathing all the same, but there's a satisfying rush of power to it, in having borne this horror and survived. There's a reason he almost never talks about this in pleasant conversation; to do so would be to invoke pity, but instead, he can wield it as weapon against the frustratingly idealistic, the incorrigible optimists.
Even now, there are details he can share or withhold--the mandatory therapy and the stress care medicine administered despite already having been classified as 0% possibility for rehabilitation--but instead, he just laughs again, and this time it sounds meaner, more focused. Like he's actually laughing at Valjean now.]
No. If there's any kind of god out there, we were the reject pile.
[Valjean's perception of him is correct; where before, there was only a whisper of unpleasantness around the edges, now he all but seems to embody it. His eyes aren't unlike that child's inside, but alongside that profound emptiness there's also anger. A dark and swirling abyss of it, enough for a man to drown in if they didn't take care to struggle against the current constantly.]
Technology goes a long way between your time and mine, ojisan. A long, long way.
[He smirks, cruelly.]
Did you know it's possible for science to determine exactly how likely you are to commit a crime at some point?
no subject
I did not say that men were incorruptible.
[He has beheld man at his most corrupt. Yet they have a capacity for good equal to their capacity for wickedness. In his experience, men are corrupted by the acts of society and purified by the acts of individuals.
As Kagari teeters into cruelty, that last refuge of a man abandoned by society, Jean Valjean holds his words steady and his manner patient, even as he brow furrows for what he sees and hears. From that one question, he can patch together the larger picture.]
So from such a young age, one might be accused of a crime he has not yet committed. A crime he may never commit, but possibility is as punishable as guilt. Is that truly so?
cw: ableism, reference to suicidal thoughts
[There's no laughter this time, but instead something distant and tinny to his voice as he repeats the propaganda he's heard all his life. That his suffering was necessary for the maintenance of order and stability, the perpetuation of the perfect society. He's always resented the so-called healthy citizens for it, for their complacent, comfortable lives supported by the very trash they threw away.
At the same time, he's always wondered just what was so wrong with him, what made him so worthless and dangerous. He's always hated himself for it, almost as much as he's spent his life hating the world outside.]
See, some of us really are damaged goods right from the start. Psycho-Hazards.
[The danger posed by any individual latent criminal was only part of the story, after all. Everyone was just as concerned about their potential effect on others' crime coefficients.]
If we're lucky, we might be judged useful enough to clean up the other garbage off the streets and get moved into a bigger cage. Those who aren't will die in a facility like this, someday. Young, hopefully.
[He spent fifteen years in this hell. Most of them, without wanting to see another one.]
no subject
Let me ask you this: do you truly believe you are defective? That is, do you believe the judgment of the law?
[The law had judged him a dangerous man, all for the fact that he had been armed when he broke the window to take the loaf of bread. A dangerous man, for trying only to feed seven children! Even when he was freed from the galleys, when he thought those nineteen winters of misery unrelenting were behind him, he soon found that it was not freedom he had earned but a lifelong sentence. The yellow passport that he was compelled to disclose wherever he went branded him as an ex-convict, a dangerous man. Because of it innkeepers refused him service and foremen paid him a fraction of what other workers earned for the same hours.
How impossible it is to make your way as an honest man when none will trust you and none will respect you. So too, it seems to Jean Valjean that the children confined to this prison are crippled from the start, like seeds trampled before they might sprout. For how can a child so discarded grow to prove his virtue, his diligence, his intelligence? How can he help but develop the very qualities that society had hoped to stamp out?]
no subject
His self-image is a warped, twisted thing--society saw in him nothing but a hunting dog, a beast to collar and set to work until it died or needed to be put down, and Kagari had no reason not to embrace it; it served as both outlet for his anger and the closest thing to freedom he would've ever known, had it not been for the Storm. Goodness and morality were for people who had a life and a future; he dismissed those things as irrelevant a long time ago.
Kagari's quiet a long time at the question. To the point where it seems maybe he won't respond at all. When he finally does respond, there's a strange quality about it. Lacking those same vicious overtones, the effort to stick the knife in and twist it as deeply as possible. The thing is, as tough as he acts, his heart isn't inured to true compassion. He's been trying to avoid it, trying to ignore how distinctly Valjean's attitude reminded him of Akane, but he's slowly starting to understand that that's what this is. This old man is one of those idiots that stubbornly keeps giving a shit, even when they have no reason to. It's frustrating.]
...The Sybil System is shit. That doesn't mean it doesn't work. I heard in the old days, people used to lock their doors to avoid robberies or getting murdered in their sleep or whatever. Most doors don't even have locks anymore.
[But that's not really what Valjean asked, is it. He turns away from the cell and the image of his younger self, starting to instead pace up and down that section of hall.]
There's a difference between me and actually good people, yeah. But there's plenty of people who aren't latent criminals who are just as garbage as I am. All they need is the right excuse.
[People, in general, are garbage. The ones that aren't, like Akane? Like this man? They're exceptions. And even more miserably, they think they're the rule.]
no subject
I think that locking one's door is but a small price to pay if it means that these children are given a fair chance to make their own destiny. Perhaps it is true that the system protects society by preventing robbery, murder, and a dozen other crimes, but so too does it rob society of countless men and women who have the potential to do good. All because they have the smallest potential to do evil...
[Under such a system, he too would have been locked away as a boy, all that he might be predetermined from his genesis. How unfair he had thought it to be enslaved for the minor offense of thieving a mouthful of bread as a man - and how much heavier an injustice it would be to receive punishment for no offense but for the probability of one as a boy! The great roiling sea of hatred that had claimed him in the galleys would thrash a child more violently and drown him more swiftly.
And who would be there to reach out their hand to him as the bishop had done?]
no subject
Nobody has ever really thought about his potential to do good. Or perhaps more accurately, nobody has thought of him as someone capable of doing good in the first place. He was a latent criminal, a dangerous beast, a hunting dog at best.]
Nobody cares about that.
[It's unclear if the agitation in his voice is directed at Valjean or that ambiguous "nobody". Maybe both.]
Keeping us locked away means their lives get to stay safe and comfortable. Why should they give a shit about some random kid, right?
[That manic edge is creeping back into his voice. There's a war that's constantly raging in Shuusei Kagari--one betweeen the misery he suffered and the unfairness that the peace and safety of society was maintained by people like him, and his honest belief in that statement. There's no reason for anyone to care about his suffering.]
Hell, my parents didn't even try to fight it.
[So why should anyone else value a worthless person like him?]
no subject
You are free here, are you not? You have been granted a second chance. Perhaps in the past you have been judged as wicked, but here you have a choice to make: will you allow others to determine who you are, or will you allow yourself to choose?
[Perhaps it is difficult to remember such a thing as the future exists when one is quite literally imprisoned in the shadows of the past.
no subject
It's as if he'd almost forgotten where he really was, with their surroundings bringing him back to that dark and lonely pit of despair from his early childhood. Valjean's words seem to settle him, a little. He remembers how he felt in that first ride down to the planet, the pure exhilaration of realizing he was free, really free -- and his eyes get a little less wild, the glassy unfocused haze to them starting to lift somewhat. He sounds calmer when he finally answers.]
You're almost right. But I'm really not a good person. I'm never going to be. Not like you or Akane-chan.
[That's not meant in a self-effacing way. It's just the honest truth, as he perceives it. He just doesn't care in the same way. He'd die or kill for his friends, without a thought, but it doesn't extend past that. He's too selfish, and he doesn't feel particularly motivated to change that about himself.]
I mean look at you, dude. You keep on being fucking nice to me, even when I'm an asshole back.
[He doesn't deserve Valjean's kindness, and yet the old man keeps offering it, over and over. That's the difference between them, and it's a gap he knows he can never bridge.]
no subject
It is because we are brothers.
[A mystifying answer, perhaps, to one who has known only scorn, to one who has grown hard of heart in defense. He remembers how powerfully shaken he himself had been when the bishop called him brother, having been so long treated like dirt that he had forgotten how it felt to be treated as an equal.]
What reason have I to withhold kindness, especially from one who has been kind to me in the past?
[He does not, at least for the moment, comment on Kagari's claims that he is not a good person. He has no wish to pry the boy open and uproot everything, only to nudge some seeds into the soil of his thoughts.]
no subject
Back in Japan, that certainly wasn't true even for non-latent criminals. All it took was one video of a person being beaten to death in public, and the presence of the helmets that could allow a person to bypass the scanners, in order for an entire city to erupt into riots. It had been satisfying, honestly -- to watch the very people who'd dismissed him as nothing but a beast to be caged descend into animalistic savagery themselves.
Once again, Valjean makes himself an exception. Someone who truly believes all people are meant to be good to each other.]
Tch, don't give me that. You went outta your way to help me the first time we ever met.
[To Kagari's perception, any kindness he showed after that was merely evening the scales.]
no subject
It was hardly out of my way.
[Jean Valjean turns his gaze about the chamber once more, lingering over each child he can see through the lattice of metal that separates them from an ordinary life. He knows that there is naught he can do, because what he sees is but a memory, already set in stone, but he might at least remember these poor creatures forgotten by their own parents.]
Well, let us find a way out of here. We have spent long enough here, wouldn't you say?
[And in the present he might help the young man that that child has become. Jean Valjean indicates that Kagari should follow as he continues along the corridor to seek the exit.]
no subject
[That's his honest belief; perhaps he can be forgiven his cynicism, considering the state of his society. But he finds it puzzling and frustrating both that Valjean continues to think it was nothing.
Nonetheless, he follows silently behind Valjean, looking around at the walls that had once trapped him and now do so again, a universe away. There's some officers shuffling about, bringing new children in, or bringing them out to the infirmary or for one of the mandatory therapy sessions. On the way, they pass by an unmarked door with a mounted speaker on it. Kagari pauses in his walk, squinting at it.]
Huh, I don't remember this being here.
un
seeing children, tortured and abandon, makes her skin crawl and her heart burn with anger. worse is being in a figment of memory, a play that cannot be stopped, no matter how she detests it. )
Why is this happening? ( it's asked with full awareness there likely will never be an answer that pleases her. there is no excuse for the ugliness she's being forced to witness. )
no subject
Nobody in Japan ever questioned why. Not even kind, gentle Akane-chan, who treated Enforcers like people rather than beasts, who deferred to their experience and used her authority to let them go outside for reasons beyond purely business, who sometimes forgot entirely about some of the rules binding them.
Why went without saying. Sybil's judgment was absolute. Potential threats to society had to be removed.]
Oh, y'know. To build a perfect society. No big deal.
[His voice sounds thin, frayed. Like he's one tiny push from having a meltdown right here in front of this stranger he's never met before, much as he's trying to put on his usual face of detached, casual irreverence. There's something wild and unfocused in his gaze, almost manic.]
no subject
she turns to the voice that responded, another figure that does not seem to blend into the memory. a passenger more than a participant, though perhaps it is more accurate to say no longer an active participant. there's awareness and recognition and fear painted in his eyes, hinting that this memory was far more personal for him. his answer says much the same.
It is a big deal. There is no excuses for this. ( despite his attempts to distance himself, Diana refuses to. )