maskormenacelogs | There must be a future that we can choose

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There must be a future that we can choose

WHO: Tetsuo and YOU
WHERE: Nonah
WHEN: Plot Pull Plot
WHAT: Open Log for said plot
WARNINGS: Spoilers

[Those who know Tetsuo typically know him as a young man with black hair, typically dyed white with blue-frosted tips these days. Large forehead, very intense eyes when focused.

The kid wandering around now, lost and more than a little dazed, is most of these things. He's the exact same (entirely unchanged) height, if a little more muscular. He's also a silvery blue all over.

And he seems a lot more vacant than before, distracted by the weirdest things. Sometimes, he'll catch sight of his hand, and clench it closer to his body. Sometimes, he'll seem to just watch someone, most likely Kaneda, with a more mature kind of sadness than he should know how to feel. Sometimes he'll forget stuff about eating just because it's been a while since he had his body. His mind's just as easily miles away as it is in the moment. When he talks, he sounds humbler than he does even after death.

And when he first gets here.. he probably won't have clothing, so he'll need to borrow stuff.]

a; Wandering in a park.

[Light and life press down on him, overwhelming compared to the vast quiet. This isn't Neo Tokyo- too green, too friendly, and yet it feels so jarringly dissonant that it's impossible to not immediately tell this is somewhere he's not supposed to be. Tetsuo stands still, a statue despite his small stature, marveling at the sensation of cold wind wrapping around him.

It's been a long time since he felt cold. He doesn't seem to care, reaching one hand up to catch a branch through his fingers - he has FINGERS now - eyeing a new leaf on it.

He can't see it now, but his head knows there's patterns there, intricate shapes woven together deeper and deeper through this leaf. He can't see it now, but the wind blowing it out of his grasp holds infinite possibilities, uncountable variables... but just one path it can ever take. He can't see any of this now, the way he's come to understand a world. And that's normal, he figures, this is how he should feel. No one's supposed to know what this tree is, anymore than the rocks or the sky.

He lets his hand drop, head tilted upwards to watch clouds drift lazily in scattered patches across a stretch of blue.

It's not enough, somehow.]

America... huh?

b; Nonah 05

[He's around less than usual, but Tetsuo's still claimed his spot here. If he's not sightseeing, he could be anything from lying on the couch with his eyes half-closed, mind a million miles away, curiously poking around as if he's never been here before, lying down in the back yard, or checking over his bike all over again for the novelty of it. Or messing around with rocks in the yard, levitating them in weird patterns for Tetsuo reasons.

One thing he's not doing is playing video games, or poking around at his comm. Actually, has he even touched his comm? Is he aware of how it works?]

c; Exploring

[Compared to so many other revelations in his life, this one barely seems weird. He's human. He's got a form. He can act again on a planet, instead of be. And you might find this weirdly spacey blue kid wandering the streets, checking into businesses just to see what they are.

Or you might see him getting waylaid by extremely interested natives with a million questions, or comments, and doing his best to get rid of the flock of people. Pushing through them doesn't seem to work. Telling them he's not interested also doesn't. Telling them off in harsher tones ALSO does nothing. Walking away ... nah. Taking off only gets phones trained on him.

He lands on a roof, or over the building to duck into the first place he sees just to be left alone.]

WILDCARD - feel free to throw up more starters or ask for a specific one.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Oh.

There's things she can acknowledge, distantly. The little bit of surprise when he moves forward to meet her—the way his skin feels soft under her hands, regardless of the hue. Soft and new, unmarked by long-healed bruises and the faded patterns of a life rough lived.

Small things. Far away things, almost, compared to how the sound of his heartbeat fills her inner world to overflowing. His sound ripples across the infinite scale in notes made of light and possibility, shifting impressions of chimes made from the heart of crystals and chords plucked with the breath of stars.

It's . . . vast.

Meeting Komasan hadn't really prepared her for this. But it's because of him she has a place to start; the smallest frame of reference for why the person in front of her seems so very boundless. A single word, a title, one that leaves a reverent edge to the ache coiling around her heart.

Because, even then, he was still Tetsuo-kun, wasn't he? Even if 'kun' probably wasn't the right choice anymore.

So very immense and yet . . . not, somehow, right now. And his cheeks are like ice under her hands, skin chilled through . . . she fans her fingers out, warming what she can. ]

Tetsuo-kun . . .

[ It's been eleven seconds, now, that they've stood like this. She knows that. But from the quiet of her voice, the way she has to remember how words work, it could have been much, much longer. ]

. . . how long have you been out in the cold?

['Tetsuo-kun' again... It's been a long time since he was called that. The others never bothered with titles, but if they did that one may be least accurate. But most comforting...

He might even have been tempted to correct her, back before his exile put any perspective on things. Now... it's being allowed to be a human again for a while. To not have to be anything. And with that, there's even a large part of him that welcomes the honorific. No more distance for now. No more than he has to have...

Tetsuo inhales quickly at the question, letting air out slower than he should. She doesn't know how accurate a question it is, does she...? Because while she may be referring to the here, and now... The immediate, like that, barely even registers anymore.

He breaks eye contact first, eyes sliding almost closed.]

Forever... I lost track of time.

[From anyone else, forever would be hyperbole. Not a closest possible estimate to 'as long as cold existed'. But it's a normal answer, if she doesn't inspect it.

And possibly more jarring, his voice sounds exactly the same as ever.]

[ It's not, though. Not jarring, and not . . .

. . . from anyone else, to anyone else, it would have been a simple question. A simple answer. But it's Tetsuo and she's spent months, now, listening to the meanings behind his words. Looking for the places where her language and his could intersect, broken translations and sharp boundaries giving way, in that one small sentence, to the most open and honest thing he's said since he told her he used to fly.

(He could now, couldn't he? On wings so large she had no hope of seeing them, the barest tip of a pinion enough to fill the entire park.)

And yet his face is heavy in her hands, breath and eyes weighed down with more than the gentle pull of gravity. It's just him, just that familiar voice but it's resonant with tones that pour and pool in her chest, tightening into a feeling at the back of her throat.

It takes her three hours to lose a second. It would be thirty years before she lost an entire day, and that was just her. How long . . . how long would it have to be, to lose track of everything? What kind of sky would be so . . .

. . . so . . . empty?

Her thumbs brush his cheeks, her balance shifting forward and she . . . she doesn't . . . know what to do, with this. It's so much of everything, achingly beautiful and just aching, her chest hurts and faint within his melodies is the the lingering feeling that something's still wrong, somehow.

Twenty three seconds. She still hasn't let go. ]

. . . but you don't even like the cold . . .

It doesn't matter what I like.

[There would have been acid to those words, a long time ago. It almost sounds like there should be now. But anger is hard to hold on to, and even the most stubborn fires fade to ashes eventually. All stars fade, all nebulas disperse or coalesce, and any righteous fury he'd have had burned away into a lonely, lost sadness. Does that count as slowly losing himself? He wouldn't be able to answer that.

With one look, he could see every corner of her mind, but it's nice for once to not know. She could mean out here. Which... it barely registers, despite his body being keenly aware. In which case, he's not making sense.

If he did look, he could give her the answer to questions she didn't ask; a sky so vast that it's considered an ocean again. Somewhere one could fall for ten thousand years without encountering anything. Cold is inevitable as it all spaces apart. Somewhere so vast that a human mind can't comprehend it... and it's cruelty to make one try. Smarter people than him have gone insane trying. But he wasn't all that mentally well off to start with, and isn't human anymore, is he? No matter how hard he'd want to cling to his species.

One that may not exist yet in his universe. Not outside of voices, thoughts that exist outside of distance or noise.

He doesn't like being alone, either. But he never got anything he ever wanted. Maybe he thought he did, for a while...

Time continues to pass. Either Tetsuo's lost all sense of it, or he's unwilling to lose the moment no matter how long it stretches. Maybe both.]

That's how it is.

[ Her eyes drop, finally, gaze hovering somewhere above his chest. She's . . . a little awkward at this, not really sure . . . it's been a long time since she reached out to someone. She'd stopped, somewhere along the way . . . at some point she couldn't remember, early enough that it was just habit, now, not to impose if she wasn't invited.

Even with her team. Even with Ikki . . . Ikki was tiny now though, it was different. Tetsuo was different too, just . . . not really in a way that made this easier at all. It was almost the opposite, really, but . . .

Komasan liked having his ears touched, didn't he? And his head pet, and . . . and maybe . . . 'sacred' didn't always have to mean separate.

Her fingers curl light against the side of his jaw, and her hand drops, wrapping in the fabric of his sleeve instead. ]

Hey . . .

[ She inhales, not really realizing she's holding her breath as she moves. She has to step forward a bit, and stand up on her toes—he's not that much taller than her, but it's still enough that she has to stretch a little to match his chin to her shoulder, and hers to his. Her other hand slips forward and back, fingers combing through the short hairs at the back of his neck . . . and the lightest hint of pressure wordlessly asks if he'd like to lean down. ]

[It's not the first time he's been held since he ... reformed. But it's always strange. Hands on skin, something far more gentle than memories of his last time around. A grounding feeling of being wanted... belonging might be a stretch. His head ducks down into the shoulder of this familiar stranger, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions over it all.

He could be gone the next second. All of this lost in a flash of pain and panic, all over again. While that feeling hasn't returned yet, there's no losing the memory of it. It happened, and he's lost his ability to deny it anymore...

She's soft, and warmer than he is. So gentle that it hurts, in the kind of pain that time only crystallized into a deep ache. It's been too long since he was able to act on feelings, the raw potential overwhelming him. For a moment, it could even feel like it was someone else, gentle and helpless in his grasp...

Even now, his hands are dangerously close to making contact with her. He actually has to fight the impulse to pull her close and cling.

It's even worse that he can sense, in every fiber of his being, that this isn't that someone else. It's just a girl who, by a cruel twist of fate, is a familiar kind of gentle. There's a dark feeling of confirmation to it; by the reminder that he's not really alone right now...

He should back away.

He may be a god now, but the way his shoulders shake is a very human thing. As is the way he bends further at her silent request, dangerously close to just giving up and letting someone else support his weight for a while.]

[ It's not what she'd been expecting.

She's not exactly sure what she had been expecting; part of her was braced, still, for the tense muscles and subtle vibrations of a body that didn't want this, that wanted to move away. Any sign that she should gently disengage, should go back to when the gulf separating them had been one of physical distance, instead of just . . . they were different now, weren't they? Her and him. Much more different than they had been.

He's not trying to move away, though. He's terrified, and aching, and trembling under the weight of walls far too fragile to stand up to the gentle pull of her hands—she can hear him crumbling, and it . . . hurts. Bodies were honest, always, and even under layers of clothing his hides nothing at all. Old pains, scars that have nothing to do with tissue and bone, things that had healed wrong when they'd healed at all . . .

The breath she'd been holding slips out in soft words, burning at the corners of her eyes. ]

You're here now.

[ He wasn't yesterday, he might not be tomorrow, but . . . her next breath catches in her throat, and she reaches up in the way he can't seem to, letting go of his sleeve to wrap her other arm around his shoulders, fingers curling in the back of his shirt. ]

And it . . . matters here, so . . .

[ It matters, he matters, even the way his ear is icy against the warmth of her neck matters. Most of these things she can't put into words; they're lost or carried in the way she presses her face into his shoulder, the way she's still wrapped in the sound of him, in how she's grieving a loss she has no knowledge to name.

There is one thing, though, that fits into letters and syllables. One important thing, and whether it's actual or metaphor or . . . something else entirely doesn't really matter right now.

He's cold. ]

. . . at least wear a scarf.

[She's right. There's plenty of people who aren't, even more that never are going to be again. Sometimes, it felt like he was both, drifting as a nebulous concept unbound by anything.

Right now, he's here. Locked to one place, at one time.

His hands hesitantly move, awkward in his attempt to make contact, but not too much. There's a delicate balance he needs to find, but Tetsuo's never known how to be delicate. He ends up awkwardly pressing one hand to her side, the other trying to figure out if it wants to be on her back or hanging at his side.

This is beyond awkward, but he can't make himself care.]

...

I don't have one.

[That he knows of.]

[ She's patient, though. She's . . . always patient with him, waiting for him to fumble toward his own answers and work things out. He can do it if he tries.

. . . and if she has reasons for why this kind of thing is hard for her, he surely does too . . .

It's okay. Even if she shivers as his hand finds her waist, the contact making her awareness of him even more inescapable (not that she's trying to escape it), and there's the errant thought there, always, under everything else, of just how much clothing gets in the way . . . it's not bad. This is okay. ]

You do.

You probably . . . have a lot of things right now you don't know anything about. But they're still yours.

[He shakes his head. On that, he's actually not sure at all - are the other versions of him still him? The Kaneda here feels like his Kaneda. He remembers the things Tetsuo does, despite knowing this other version. So while he speaks with a bleak certainty, he doesn't feel certain at all.

Existence is so confusing.]

Someone like me might have stuff like that. I'm not the same person.

[That Tetsuo has a place here. He doesn't have to leave, and maybe he doesn't have to wait for it to all repeat all over again. The Tetsuo here has had a friend eight months, he's heard.

He can't claim he was keeping track of time in Neo Tokyo too closely, but it wasn't longer than three months there. So maybe, that Tetsuo is older than Tetsuo ever got back when he was still... ]

Edited 2016-04-06 04:25 (UTC)

How do you know?

[ It's honestly curious. She knows what her own senses say, but it's . . . not like time travel and alternate dimensions are really her field. Maybe he's not . . . ?

It doesn't feel right, though, somehow. ]

[He doesn't.]

This place... it didn't happen.

["I just know", he might have said.]

I've..

[But there's confusion there. Familiarity winds around the unfamiliar, blending them into a confused jumble in his head. There's just too much to try to keep track of. Maybe somewhere in there, a boy named Tetsuo existed here.

It's not all unfamiliar enough. And that's where the creeping uncertainty clouds his thoughts with growing doubt. Not all of this can be accounted for...]

I wouldn't forget stuff like this.

[ She sighs, shoulders falling in a way he can feel. She didn't . . . spend a lot of time thinking about this, normally, or even really acknowledging it . . . she probably should, at some point.

Maybe now. It's kind of important, right now. ]

. . . I don't . . . really think it's something we get to remember. Not if we're sent back. This world, and the people here . . . and all the things that happen, and that we've done. People who've left, and come back . . . they say they forget. Sometimes they come back and they don't even remember they had something to forget.

[ Slowly, thoughtfully, she lets go of his shirt, spreading her hand across his shoulder blade instead. ]

Even if it's like that, you aren't . . . really acting like I'm a stranger, right now.

You're not.

[He says it quietly, before he's had time to think about it. It's true; she doesn't feel like one. It's also true that he'd know if any of this took place - memories aren't things you just lose. They're there somewhere.

...

But all this feels familiar. And you don't lose memories, he'd already learned that. So - how? How could someone like him forget this? Especially someone like him, locked in a realm with people who didn't speak with words anymore, reading the hearts and minds of the others exiled. If he didn't find this place, they would have.

At least Tetsuo now recognizes when he's trapped in a loop of conflicting truths instead of blaming it all the world for confusing him. He can be content with only blaming it some, now.]

I can't explain it. I thought I got it all back, everything I'd locked up... was I wrong?

[But his other hand finally curls around onto her back, pulling her closer to him, head bowed to her shoulder. That's proof enough that something inside him wants to do this. Or needs to...]

But I know you...

[ Another half step forward, and it's familiar, this feeling . . . the way he relaxes, finally, the last of . . . something falling away. There's no folds of wool under her fingers this time, no frost edging her thoughts, and the soft chorus of crystal bells is so delicate under all the walls he keeps between himself and the world. ]

I'm glad.

[ Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it really was okay just to be here now. Even if they all forgot each other later, as long as there was chance something would still be there if they met again, wasn't that enough?

Wasn't it more than enough?]

I know you too. This sound . . . no matter how different, it's still Tetsuo-kun.

I wondered...

[Some deep instinct whispers to him - if anyone besides Kaneda would know immediately, it would be the girl he's got in his arms for reasons he can't explain or begin to understand. Maybe he doesn't really need those reasons, or he knows them somewhere and just can't get them yet... Enlightenment is one hell of a drug.

As long as everyone can tell who he is, after all that's happened... he knew who he was. But affirmation from sources that aren't in him or part of his mindscape is important.]

If it's still me, I can live with it.

[He'll have to either way. Possibly forever. There's a thought he doesn't want to dwell on right now...]

It is. At least . . . it is to me.

[ She'd closed her eyes at some point, just listening . . . holding bits and pieces of his melody in her mind. A scattering of notes, as single chord . . . ]

Even if the difference is like . . . the kind of final form that only gets released in the Ultimate Edition, and you need to play through the whole game twice to see.

Edited 2016-04-12 03:37 (UTC)

[All of Tetsuo's experience with games don't come with saves, or even endings, let alone edition rereleases and New Game+ options. No amount of celestial familiarity could prepare him for an analogy that convoluted; this time, it's him that feels lost, without context.

Is that a reference to something?]

...Ultimate Edition of... what?

[He tried. At the least, it's a brief escape from the topic just a few seconds ago. Something confusing instead of something depressing or difficult for him to wrap his mind around anymore.]

[ Oh. Oh no. That . . .

Her laughter at his too-familiar confusion is brief and light, fingers bunching in his shirt again, grip tight and she just can't help it, she really can't. If there'd been any doubt at all . . . but no. He's definitely the same. ]

Ahh, sorry, I . . . it's too early for that isn't it? Or too late . . .

[ Some last, lingering tension uncurls as she settles again. Her eyes aren't burning any more, and if her cheeks are a bit wet—she shifts a bit to scrub at them—it was only laughter. Wasn't it? ]

Games. Video games. They're played on TVs, or cellphones, or computers . . . I don't know much about them either, but . . . people I've known do.

I just meant . . . you're incredible. That's all.

It's good to hear laughter. He doesn't even care that he's its source - if there's any flicker of anxiety or defensiveness, that remembered scrap of who he was is gone in the next instant, faded away into bemusement. He still isn't completely clear, but he does know video games. They exist as a dedicated machine to run that specific arcade machine.

Either way, she's got it. The way she describes them, they're something that may be techically beyond what his world before knew.

Maybe it's in a future with gates that shut him out sometime in his past. Too early,and way too late... or he could just have no idea.]

Mmm... maybe, I could be.

[Words he would have said all along mean something so different now. It's not a proud boast, or determined mantra. It's a fact, one looking to the future. It's even a humble one, if accurate - he's nothing compared to what he is in that other place.]

Who knows...

[There's no way he can stay like this and he knows damn well that's the case. But, maybe.. he doesn't have to say that right now.]

It's okay. It's not . . .

[ No, that's not right.

She lifts her hand from his head, fingers smoothing the spikes of his hair as she rests it down on the nape of his neck instead. ]

. . . I'm not . . . someone you need explain it to. Not unless you want to.

[ She and Tetsuo she'd known . . . they didn't really have that kind of relationship, after all. Not that she really knew what kind they did have . . . but he'd know even less right now, wouldn't he? If he really only had impressions of the past she knew, and echoes of a future she hadn't lived yet . . . ]

Should I introduce myself again?

[Good. Because there's no words that could explain. It's not something that should be attempted too hard.]

Yeah. You should.

[He can't say he doesn't remember her, nor does he want to. This may not even be the most awkward thing he could be part of right now, all things considered. It's not nearly awkward enough to want to pull back from her fingers rearranging his hair - hell if he knows what it looks like, probably not great - or NOT have this contact.

She's not Kaori, but that's not her fault. She's someone who also feels important.

Maybe it'd be expected of him to apologize for that, but he wouldn't. Things like that aren't used lightly, and missing a name from another universe doesn't begin to count.]

Kururu.

[ It doesn't sound like she expects an apology. If anything, she'd almost have expected him to forget; between timelines and transcendence and the whims of the Porters, the only surprising thing is how he's kept any impression of her at all. ]

Kururu Sumeragi, but you . . .

I'd like it, if you'd still call me Kururu.

Okay, Kururu.

[He finally makes himself let go, and move back just enough to break contact. With a name, she's got more permanence. Or maybe it finally sunk in beyond his fears and insecurities that holding onto someone he didn't have the name of was a little weird.

It just didn't seem that way.]

You already know my name.

[And there's no alteration made. How she says it is fine.

...

What else is there to say? There SHOULD be something...]

[ It's no weirder for her than any of the other times they've spent together, as varied as those have been . . . but she's never been that conscious of how other people see her, either. And this is America, where all the rules were different anyway . . .

She lets go easily as he pulls back, taking just a moment to adjust to the sound of her heart beating alone instead of in time with his, to the chill feel of the air on her front. It's not that cold, at least; nothing at all compared to the shock of last time. ]

Tetsuo-kun.

. . . we met in your house, the first time. I've been staying there. And on a battleship between New Zealand and Antarctica, the second . . . you were worn out after a fight.

I learned your name the third time.

There must be a future that we can choose

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