Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Caught up! I think this captures the essence of Gensokyo's day to day.
Forest Mix [a Touhou OC quest]
- Thread starter KChasm
- Start date
- Location
- California Conservation Corps
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yep. Christie is genuinely the only OC I've seen in a Touhou fan work that genuinely feels like they fit in Gensokyo. She's odd enough to not feel like some sort of wish-fulfillment SI, the individuals she gets along with (and just as important don't get along with) are not straightforward and thus feel organic, and overall she's a rather complicated character living a rather simple life in Gensokyo.
I could genuinely see Reimu and Marisa fighting her as a Stage 1 Boss, upset that they just blasted Rumia for no reason (who was the Stage 1 Miniboss). As for why I'd have Christie as the boss? Neither Marisa nor Reimu would be able to figure out why the random outsider is mad at them until after the fight when they finally figure out it's due to them blasting Rumia for no reason. Because Christie.
Nottheunmaker
Altman be praised
- Location
- USG Ishimura
Well she doesn't have a hat or a hairdec, but that's not as much of a thing anymore.
Though her relationships to other notable residents are interesting. Off the top of my head:
Rumia: Wants to eat Christie. Possibly Christie's best friend here.
Rinnosuke: Christie's host, and maybe something more?
Marisa: Have punched each other in the face. I'd describe them as having cool relations.
Reimu: Another pain in her ass.
Margatroid: A human Outsider that somehow isn't dead, and talks to her Dolls.
Shanghai: Holds a low option of Christie and is happy to share it. This is in spite of her being a mindless puppet that is incapable of communication.
Byakuren: Seems to like Christie, though hasn't had to put up with her for all that long.
Keine: Polite, but doesn't particularly like. Really doesn't seem to like Christie telling Rinnosuke about the Outside.
Cirno: Holds a grudge over a misunderstanding.
Mokou: Beat up Cirno for Christie. Doesn't seem to care otherwise.
Aya: Christie left an impression on her. That might not be good for Christie, if she's held on to that.
And those are just the names I remember. There was the poltergeist that got blasted, that girl with the tank, the scientist she inspired. Christie meets a lot of people and for better or worse, leaves a strong impression. People always have a more interesting day when Christie is involved.
Though her relationships to other notable residents are interesting. Off the top of my head:
Rumia: Wants to eat Christie. Possibly Christie's best friend here.
Rinnosuke: Christie's host, and maybe something more?
Marisa: Have punched each other in the face. I'd describe them as having cool relations.
Reimu: Another pain in her ass.
Margatroid: A human Outsider that somehow isn't dead, and talks to her Dolls.
Shanghai: Holds a low option of Christie and is happy to share it. This is in spite of her being a mindless puppet that is incapable of communication.
Byakuren: Seems to like Christie, though hasn't had to put up with her for all that long.
Keine: Polite, but doesn't particularly like. Really doesn't seem to like Christie telling Rinnosuke about the Outside.
Cirno: Holds a grudge over a misunderstanding.
Mokou: Beat up Cirno for Christie. Doesn't seem to care otherwise.
Aya: Christie left an impression on her. That might not be good for Christie, if she's held on to that.
And those are just the names I remember. There was the poltergeist that got blasted, that girl with the tank, the scientist she inspired. Christie meets a lot of people and for better or worse, leaves a strong impression. People always have a more interesting day when Christie is involved.
Vanargand
So tired.....
Knowing Marisa that makes them best friends
A bit late on my part, but it's nice to see that this story is alive. Been here since the beginning back in the other site, and it's still a blast after every reread.
Good stuff. Keep up the great work.
Good stuff. Keep up the great work.
Threadmark 1
KChasm
I apologize for the inconvenience.
Apparently, all that snow stuff you've been gettin' a free front-row watchalong at was just the practice flurries, 'cause it isn't long at all (ya don't even get a fortnight) before Jack Frost decides just nose-nippin' is old hat and moves onto something more Rumia's dig. What used to be a half-hearted encroachin' at the front stoop turns into The Mystery of the Disappearing Stairs, and ya don't need to get to the denouement to know the butler did it.
The butler is winter. If winter can be a general, it can prolly also do buttlage. You're not gonna tell winter what job it's got; that's not you.
Anyways, it's the kinda development that raises a cromulent amount of concern, what with the understandin' that a secure shut-in-ness is basically the one thing keepin' you from clockin' a hypothermia speedrun (not that keepin' the door shut alone'd guarantee hittin' spring; ask Laura Ingalls Wilder), but, once again, luckily, Rinnosuke.
Specifically, Rinnosuke breakin' out the space heater, which apparently is a thing he's just got lyin' in the back and also, more importantly, workin'? Which raises the question of how he gets the fuel, but you're thankful enough for the heatin' thatcha don't raise any asks till a handfulla days've passed and you're at least mostly sure you're outta danger of future Gensokyo generations diggin' out your freeze-dried corpse alongside the mastodons (the woolly kind, natch). Turns out: Rinnosuke knows a dude who supplies 'im with fuel in return for gettin' the occasional pickin' through his shop. Who 'zactly this dude is is something Rinnosuke's real noticeably light on, practically skimmin' over the subject like a Mackinac Island champ, which normally you'd get all investigative into 'bout...
But it's cold. And part of you—the part of you that's takin' full on into account the local cosmology this whole vicinity's plugged into—that part of you's got it pegged square in the realm of it's-possible-ness that even just lookin' at a miracle too hard might make it go poof. If you're gonna get inquisitive over what's keepin' your bloodflow, you're gonna do it once the thaw sets in.
Sayin' that, though—Rinnosuke does eventually drop the plan on his own re: if a real bad day sets the pad heaterless all of a sudden: "If necessary," Rinnosuke says, stressin' the "if," and also the "necessary," "we should be able to resort to less modern methods of keeping ourselves warm. Being half-youkai, I should be able to contend with cold weather longer than a human being would, which means I should be able to collect whatever fuel we would need to feed a fire."
Ya curl yourself inwardser, clutchin' tight the heap of blanketness you've got set up heaped up all up upon ya. "Mac, if that jinxes us, I'm gonna end up a Christie-Christoferson-flavored generic ice pop snack," ya say. And also: "I can't believe generations of dudes survived this."
"It's difficult for me to believe," Rinnosuke mutters. He's not scooched up at heater (like what you're doin'), but also it doesn't take you alotta brainwork to catch how he's got his Rinnosukeness angled in just the right way to evenly soak up some of that heat output.
You dunno how the transition from usin'-a-heater to not-usin'-a-heater went, but you're suspectin' it was a one-way street.
---
The days go by, the space heater heatin' space with Rinnosuke fiddlin' on the reg. Ya never see Rinnosuke actually fill up the thing, but ya can't say for sure he doesn't—with the pad thoroughly snowed in, ya spend most of your free time with your nose in a book or just plain nappin'. Ya can't chew up all the hours with recreation, though, or even with recreation and an uptakin' of the chores (willin', even), so ya end up spendin' a real significant amount of time in your own head, thinkin' of—well, stuff, generally. Like whether there dudes in the village who've got space heaters of their own. And what counts as something gettin' "forgotten." And how many heaters Rinnosuke mighta found in his stockhuntin'. And whatcha might get if ya multiplied that by how long Rinnosuke's been stockhuntin' in general. And also, related, how old Rinnosuke is. And where did he come from? Did he just sorta phase in outta the ether? Ya don't know he doesn't have family. You've got family.
Does your family think you're dead?
Your mom wouldn't cry. She'd just get mad. Your brother wouldn't cry. He'd just get quiet. Your dad...your dad would prolly cry.
Ya don't like spendin' time in your head. You're against it, at the mo. Still, ya do get the occasional thought spinoff that sets ya off on a quest outside your head, which is how ya get to askin' Rinnosuke real close and careful after how many days've passed, 'zactly, since the last time ya asked how many days passed. A buncha scribblage with a pad and pencil, Rinnosuke-supplied, plus the aforementioned dude double-checkin' your math, and whatcha get is a conclusion that you'd qualify as "pretty definite."
Plus also, "a bummer." Which is itself a bummer, since ya did all that tally-markin' to get away from the bummerage (though at least ya got some decent chronocide outta this): "it's Christmas," ya lament, Rinnosukewards.
"I don't know what that is," Rinnosuke says, before his brows start squichin'. "Though—it does sound familiar. Some kind of event?"
Ya turn 'round your pad, showin' Rinnosuke your buncha outworkin'. You'ven't 'splictly written "Hey, turns out it's the evenin' of December the twenty-fourth," on it, but the conclusion's basically starin' ya straight in the mug. Well, straight in Rinnosuke's mug, now, 'cause of the turnin'. "It's a holiday," ya 'splain. "One of the big ones. Like, we're talkin' spacetime-curvin' levels of cultural weight here."
Rinnosuke hums, comin' over closer. He sits himself real ponderous, makin' his space near to you—not sidehug-zone near, 'zactly, though he isn't goin' full on out onto the opposite side, either. (He's on the same half as you solid, but if ya measured out angle you-space-heater-Rinnosuke, it'd be real obviously obtuse.) That ponderousness keeps on for what feels like a full mo Bedean style, and ya watch Rinnosuke through it all, as his considerin' mug twists and flutters and words start growin' out from behind his teeth.
Finally, he goes, "Why don't you explain it to me—if you want to."
And ya know what? Ya do want to.
[ ] Go religious
[ ] Go ritualistic
[ ] Go personal
[ ]
The butler is winter. If winter can be a general, it can prolly also do buttlage. You're not gonna tell winter what job it's got; that's not you.
Anyways, it's the kinda development that raises a cromulent amount of concern, what with the understandin' that a secure shut-in-ness is basically the one thing keepin' you from clockin' a hypothermia speedrun (not that keepin' the door shut alone'd guarantee hittin' spring; ask Laura Ingalls Wilder), but, once again, luckily, Rinnosuke.
Specifically, Rinnosuke breakin' out the space heater, which apparently is a thing he's just got lyin' in the back and also, more importantly, workin'? Which raises the question of how he gets the fuel, but you're thankful enough for the heatin' thatcha don't raise any asks till a handfulla days've passed and you're at least mostly sure you're outta danger of future Gensokyo generations diggin' out your freeze-dried corpse alongside the mastodons (the woolly kind, natch). Turns out: Rinnosuke knows a dude who supplies 'im with fuel in return for gettin' the occasional pickin' through his shop. Who 'zactly this dude is is something Rinnosuke's real noticeably light on, practically skimmin' over the subject like a Mackinac Island champ, which normally you'd get all investigative into 'bout...
But it's cold. And part of you—the part of you that's takin' full on into account the local cosmology this whole vicinity's plugged into—that part of you's got it pegged square in the realm of it's-possible-ness that even just lookin' at a miracle too hard might make it go poof. If you're gonna get inquisitive over what's keepin' your bloodflow, you're gonna do it once the thaw sets in.
Sayin' that, though—Rinnosuke does eventually drop the plan on his own re: if a real bad day sets the pad heaterless all of a sudden: "If necessary," Rinnosuke says, stressin' the "if," and also the "necessary," "we should be able to resort to less modern methods of keeping ourselves warm. Being half-youkai, I should be able to contend with cold weather longer than a human being would, which means I should be able to collect whatever fuel we would need to feed a fire."
Ya curl yourself inwardser, clutchin' tight the heap of blanketness you've got set up heaped up all up upon ya. "Mac, if that jinxes us, I'm gonna end up a Christie-Christoferson-flavored generic ice pop snack," ya say. And also: "I can't believe generations of dudes survived this."
"It's difficult for me to believe," Rinnosuke mutters. He's not scooched up at heater (like what you're doin'), but also it doesn't take you alotta brainwork to catch how he's got his Rinnosukeness angled in just the right way to evenly soak up some of that heat output.
You dunno how the transition from usin'-a-heater to not-usin'-a-heater went, but you're suspectin' it was a one-way street.
---
The days go by, the space heater heatin' space with Rinnosuke fiddlin' on the reg. Ya never see Rinnosuke actually fill up the thing, but ya can't say for sure he doesn't—with the pad thoroughly snowed in, ya spend most of your free time with your nose in a book or just plain nappin'. Ya can't chew up all the hours with recreation, though, or even with recreation and an uptakin' of the chores (willin', even), so ya end up spendin' a real significant amount of time in your own head, thinkin' of—well, stuff, generally. Like whether there dudes in the village who've got space heaters of their own. And what counts as something gettin' "forgotten." And how many heaters Rinnosuke mighta found in his stockhuntin'. And whatcha might get if ya multiplied that by how long Rinnosuke's been stockhuntin' in general. And also, related, how old Rinnosuke is. And where did he come from? Did he just sorta phase in outta the ether? Ya don't know he doesn't have family. You've got family.
Does your family think you're dead?
Your mom wouldn't cry. She'd just get mad. Your brother wouldn't cry. He'd just get quiet. Your dad...your dad would prolly cry.
Ya don't like spendin' time in your head. You're against it, at the mo. Still, ya do get the occasional thought spinoff that sets ya off on a quest outside your head, which is how ya get to askin' Rinnosuke real close and careful after how many days've passed, 'zactly, since the last time ya asked how many days passed. A buncha scribblage with a pad and pencil, Rinnosuke-supplied, plus the aforementioned dude double-checkin' your math, and whatcha get is a conclusion that you'd qualify as "pretty definite."
Plus also, "a bummer." Which is itself a bummer, since ya did all that tally-markin' to get away from the bummerage (though at least ya got some decent chronocide outta this): "it's Christmas," ya lament, Rinnosukewards.
"I don't know what that is," Rinnosuke says, before his brows start squichin'. "Though—it does sound familiar. Some kind of event?"
Ya turn 'round your pad, showin' Rinnosuke your buncha outworkin'. You'ven't 'splictly written "Hey, turns out it's the evenin' of December the twenty-fourth," on it, but the conclusion's basically starin' ya straight in the mug. Well, straight in Rinnosuke's mug, now, 'cause of the turnin'. "It's a holiday," ya 'splain. "One of the big ones. Like, we're talkin' spacetime-curvin' levels of cultural weight here."
Rinnosuke hums, comin' over closer. He sits himself real ponderous, makin' his space near to you—not sidehug-zone near, 'zactly, though he isn't goin' full on out onto the opposite side, either. (He's on the same half as you solid, but if ya measured out angle you-space-heater-Rinnosuke, it'd be real obviously obtuse.) That ponderousness keeps on for what feels like a full mo Bedean style, and ya watch Rinnosuke through it all, as his considerin' mug twists and flutters and words start growin' out from behind his teeth.
Finally, he goes, "Why don't you explain it to me—if you want to."
And ya know what? Ya do want to.
[ ] Go religious
[ ] Go ritualistic
[ ] Go personal
[ ]
Nottheunmaker
Altman be praised
- Location
- USG Ishimura
Ah yes, another blast of Christie to the face. No matter how many times it happens, I'm always caught off gaurd.
[X] Go ritualistic
Going personal is just a trip to bummerville, population Christie. Religious is fine, but I'd prefer getting into the doing.
[X] Go ritualistic
Going personal is just a trip to bummerville, population Christie. Religious is fine, but I'd prefer getting into the doing.
Hammerheadcruiser
Eagle-1 my beloved
- Location
- Anaxes
[X] Go personal
Xmas is about people! Without that it's just another day, another hot, summer day. Imagine not having an xmas BBQ, madness I say!
Xmas is about people! Without that it's just another day, another hot, summer day. Imagine not having an xmas BBQ, madness I say!
- Pronouns
- Winter
[X] Go personal
I personally do not celebrate christmas myself, but i know for some people it's one of the happiest day of the year, considering what we currently know about her family i know Christie has a lot of fun stories to tell!
I personally do not celebrate christmas myself, but i know for some people it's one of the happiest day of the year, considering what we currently know about her family i know Christie has a lot of fun stories to tell!
I.....think this is the first time she lamented about how her family is doing after her disappearance, IIRC every time she talked about her family before has only ever been to describe them to someone else.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Go personal
Christie's thinking about her family, I wanna see more of it! Plus I'm not sure how much Rinnosuke knows about Christie's family too.
Christie's thinking about her family, I wanna see more of it! Plus I'm not sure how much Rinnosuke knows about Christie's family too.
ScorpioBot
Is this thing on?
- Location
- Freezy Breezy Lemon Squeezy
[X] Go ritualistic
For all that it might be interesting to learn more about Christie's family, I'm most interested in seeing Rinnosuke's interpretation of the procedures of Christmas.
I wonder what Rumia would give as a gift?
For all that it might be interesting to learn more about Christie's family, I'm most interested in seeing Rinnosuke's interpretation of the procedures of Christmas.
I wonder what Rumia would give as a gift?
[X] Go ritualistic
Christmas in July~!
Christmas in July~!
- Location
- Most likely California
[X] Go ritualistic
I want to see shenanigans, and seeing a bunch of youkai misunderstand Christmas sounds fun.
I want to see shenanigans, and seeing a bunch of youkai misunderstand Christmas sounds fun.
Crusader Jerome
Subsisting on Supplication
- Location
- My home away from Rome
[X] Go religious
I'd say religious first, then ritualistic, but given that Christie's probably not a practicing Catholic, a single sentence will cover the religious part before we get to the part about mad shopping bonanzas.
I'd say religious first, then ritualistic, but given that Christie's probably not a practicing Catholic, a single sentence will cover the religious part before we get to the part about mad shopping bonanzas.
- Location
- United States
[X] Go personal
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
[X] Go personal
KvAT
Gender Bender Connoisseur
- Location
- Karaton Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat
Ayy another update. It's been a while since we got a proper choosery.
[X] Go personal
Christie's been thinking about her family, she wouldn't be able to get that brain worm out of her head that easily. It would be extra proper for her to do it "ritualistic"-esque, but more of Christofer-family family ritual instead of the red-white fat bloke ritual or the holy baby bloke ritual.
[X] Go personal
Christie's been thinking about her family, she wouldn't be able to get that brain worm out of her head that easily. It would be extra proper for her to do it "ritualistic"-esque, but more of Christofer-family family ritual instead of the red-white fat bloke ritual or the holy baby bloke ritual.
[ X] Go ritualistic
While the lines between these options blur in a cultural sense, I think focusing on the ritual will get them out of the bummeriness, focus on something interesting to them, and may push an rpisode with Christie trying to get Rinnosuke a gift when she effectively owns nothing.
While the lines between these options blur in a cultural sense, I think focusing on the ritual will get them out of the bummeriness, focus on something interesting to them, and may push an rpisode with Christie trying to get Rinnosuke a gift when she effectively owns nothing.
- Location
- Georgia
[x] Go Personal
Finally some more insight into the Christie Clan.
Finally some more insight into the Christie Clan.
Threadmark 2
KChasm
I apologize for the inconvenience.
[X] Go personal
And if he wants ya to, too—or if he's okay with it, at least—
Ya sit there, chin in your hand for a heavy handfulla secs, tryin' to work through the concept of Christmas. Rinnosuke, bein' the real insightful dude he is, must sense ya puttin' it all together in your brain, 'cause he doesn't switch off to another subject, or even interrupt—just lets ya ride the silence while the work goes on on the other side of the skullplate. And it is a whole deal that needs headwork to put the right words on. 'Cause—what's the right way of 'splainin' Christmas from first principles?
Maybe ya don't.
"Christmas is a religious holiday, technically," ya start off, "but it's the sorta religious holiday a dude doesn't hafta celebrate without puttin' the religion front and center. I mean, some do, though, but—"
Thing is, ya can't tell Rinnosuke how every Christmas gets Christmased. There's a whole lotta kindsa Christmases out there, not to mention the Christmases that any given dude might not be Christmasin' at all (it'sn't a compulsory holiday, though ya dig how a dude—not necessarily the same aforementioned dude, but not necessarily not the same dude, either—might believe otherwise, seein' all the decorations up nationwide a month-plus in advance).
Yeah, no. If you're gonna give Rinnosuke an upsummin' of Christmastime—
"If I'm gonna tell ya how a dude celebrates Christmas, the only deets I can getcha with is how we celebrate Christmas."
Rinnosuke lifts his chin, leanin' a little. "'We'?" he asks. "You mean—Outsiders who live in the same area as you?"
"Ensmallen the population, Mac. I mean how me and the fam do it."
Rinnosuke leans in a bit leanier. You can sense 'im puttin' pen to paper, 'cept the pen and paper's in his head and also a metaphor. "So the way you and your family celebrate Christmas—" and he pronounces "Christmas" with way more vowels than there oughta be, but he's tryin' his best, "—is different than how most people from your area celebrate Christmas?"
"Most dudes don't have a dude in the fam with way too much money who runs a crazy yearly Christmas bonanza yearly," ya 'splain. "That definitely puts my 'speriences into outlieriness."
And that's the jottin' stoppin'. "You're rich?" says Rinnosuke.
"I'm not rich," you correct 'im. "My dad's dad's brother's the rich dude. That's how he can run a crazy yearly Christmas bonanza and invite literally everyone who's direct in the fam plus plus-ones." Ya gesture, wide and sweepy, tryin' to motion out how utterly ridic the annual shebang actually is, 'cept course that doesn't actually 'splain the aforementioned shebang in any way so ya go back to movin' your jaw instead. "Imagine steppin' through the front door and every room's boughdecked between the paintings. Ya can't take a walkthrough without duckin' mistletoe. Ya get to the garden and there's a grand-spankin' Christmas tree standin' there with the statues, stuck on with lights and the whole box of ornaments. The barroom's heaped fulla presents, and ya know they're all gonna get handed out before the whole pad empties out. And then ya hit the dinin' room, and it's a smorgasbord that's been set up across the place. We're talkin' chicken. We're talkin' roast beast. We're talkin' salad croquettes dunked with hollandaise. Kielbasa linkage, succotash gazpacho in the side bowl, a whole center stage kovsh of eggnog—"
"These are...foods? You're just naming foods now."
You're just namin' foods now. And ya haven't been droolin', but it feels like a near thing enough ya wipe at your gob with your handmeat anyways. "Yeah, sorry, Mac," ya say. "I just miss it, ya dig? All the stuff I used to eat. Not that I don't totally appreciate what you've been servin' all up out at me," ya add, quick, "but when ya get relocated, it's like—suddenly, that one time ya don't even remember was the last time ya ever got to fill yourself with something specific, and ya didn't even know, and maybe you're never gonna get that in front of you again. Ya dig that feel, right, Mac?"
Rinnosuke gets a real complicated sitch all up his mug. Like maybe he's rollin' the concept over up there. Or maybe he's appraisin' it as hinky but doesn't wanna be 'splicit with his disagreement. One of those.
"Like," ya maintain, "didntcha ever have something as a kid? Something that made ya be all—'everything's alright.'"
"No," says Rinnosuke. "I didn't."
Ya wince. Ya don't think he sees it. He's lookin', but he's not lookin', and that's prolly your bad big time.
Not cool. Whaddya gonna do now? Shove off from the comestables; that's a start. "So, 'cause the family tree's got multitudes, and my dad's dad's brother sends the invites to everyone, sometimes Christmastime's the only time of year I get to see alotta dudes. I don't wanna brag, Mac, but most of my relatives're pretty awesome. And half of it's Japanese, so prolly you'd have some dudes to gab with, if I brought ya over as my plus-one. Just maybe avoid my dad's mom's sister's son, 'cause I think he's in a cult, and not one of those fun cults, but one of the ones where my dad's dad's brother's gotta set apart the dude his own meal, else he starts gettin' real passive-aggressive. And also my dad's mom's other sister—there's something real hinky 'bout the dude. I don't think I've ever seen her eat. If ya don't eat, you'ren't livin'."
"That's..." Rinnosuke's tracin' compressed figures in front of him, "a cousin—no, a cousin removed?"
"Yeah, I'm kinda failin' sellin' these dudes. Ya know who ya oughta hang with? My mom's mom's sister's husband's mom's brother's son's son's son. His direct fam was a buncha recluse types, so he gets all agog 'bout modern tech. You and him can gog together!"
"Is there even a word for a relationship that far apart?"
Ya keep on with the 'splainin' of Christmas—or your Christmas, anyways. At some point, ya notice thatcha stopped talkin' 'bout the Christmas bonanza as much as you're talkin' 'bout the at-Christmas-bonanza fam, but Rinnosuke seems to have his ears aimed atcha either way (still leanin', leavin' comments), so ya don't stop. Not even when your voice starts goin' creaky from wantin' sleep, or when ya start proppin' yourself back against the nearest upstandable so ya don't just end up straight out straight out. Not even when...
---
And then ya jerk, your chin comin' offa your chest so hard ya nearly send yourself rollin' over backwards, which is definitely a shock, seein' as ya had that whatever-it-was in the back of you specifically to keep this sorta deal from occurrin'. The only thing that saves ya is—again—Rinnosuke, this time comin' in with the clutch with the literal clutch, his grip at your forearm slowin' your fall just enough thatcha manage to catch yourself before the back of your skull can get real interestin' in the phrenologic sense.
Ya tilt your head up once you're sure the only tiltin' ya do is gonna be voluntary, and Rinnosuke's right there—starin' ya up up close, his mug and yours separated by maybe the space of a fist. Not that you'd put a fist between ya. 'Specially not with that 'spression that that mug of his is makin', full on concern up out his pores.
"You alright, Mac?" ya ask.
Rinnosuke blinks down at you. His concern stays concerny. "Rather than 'you alright'—" he starts up, then shakes that off with a quick sharp jerk shake of the head. "You're the one that nearly fell," he goes with.
"Yeah, but ya caught me, didntcha?" ya say back. Ya bring yourself up, real careful—ya prolly didn't spend that long sleepin' sittin', else your legs'd feel a lot worse. Ya bounce a coupla times on 'em anyways, just in case there's any stiffness that's there thatcha don't feel that needs outshakin'.
And then ya stop bouncin', not necessarily 'cause you're satisfied at gettin' limber, but more 'cause there's something wrong. Wrong 'bout the locale you're in under at the sec, if you've gotta be specific, which you've prolly gotta. 'Cause when ya compare what you're seein' now to whatcha saw before ya nodded off into Nod...
It's dim, and that's the same. It's laid over with crates and knickknacks and tchotchkes and bric and also brac, and that's the same, too. It's cramped—and that's where things get heavy discrepancyish, actually, 'cause yeah, Rinnosuke's pad was cramped, last ya checked—consequence of keepin' home and offsellables in the same spot—but it wasn't so cramped that leanin' literally any direction where ya last left off was gonna bring you in contact with the inventory, not like it is now.
Also, the space heater's gone.
What you're sayin' is: This isn't Rinnosuke's pad. Straight up. Or wait:
"Hey, ya didn't stick me in a closet the sec I fell asleep, didja?" ya ask.
"I fell asleep, too," says Rinnosuke. He looks away from ya, and it's dark enough thatcha can't tell what his mug's like when his mug's no longer in your mug. "And when I woke up—" Ya do catch the spreadin of the arms, though. The no-energy upflingin' of the hands that Rinnosuke enacts, like a dude reachin' out for something they don't think's gonna be there anyways.
"This isn't Kourindou," finishes Rinnosuke, and so yeah: This isn't Rinnosuke's pad.
Huh.
"Do ya know where this is?" ya ask.
"There's a door," Rinnosuke says. He nods towards it, and it is a door. Closed, with a thin rectangular outline of light shinin' in 'round the edges, indicatin' that there's something out there, or in there, or over there either way. "I thought about looking, but I didn't want to leave you on your own. It occurred to me—if we've been taken somewhere, it could happen to us again, while we're separated. I thought it better not to risk it."
"Didn't wanna leave me behind, huh? Thanks, Mac." Ya grin, and hope he sees.
"As I said, I didn't want to risk it." Rinnosuke looks offa you—full head tiltin' away, like to underline whatever avertin' of the eyes you're ninety-five percent sure is happenin' there is happenin' there. And then, like there's some sorta invisible, inaudible cue from nowhere pokin' into your brain and also Rinnosuke's brain, the two of you look off sideways simultaneous—at the doorway, and also at the door that's in it.
The choice hangs in the air between the three of you (four, countin' the door). But there's mostly just the big obvious one, right?
And so ya advance, takin' Rinnosuke's wrist in one hand (like he said, better oughtnta get split up) and ya take the door doorknob with the other (doorknob—and that's a diff, too, ya realize, all up occidental—) and ya out—
—into a hallway.
As in a hallway hallway. Tiled, and everything. With lights, and wainscottin', and the sorta unfunctional furniture that dudes who've got long hallways stick in long hallways to upbreak the monotony. A hallway, but also a Hallway with a capital H, basically.
And those lights ya mentioned, all lined up all intervally along the length of the place? Bulbed. As in electric. Or maybe gas, 'cause pumpin' firedamp into the household was a thing people did, at one point, but either way—it doesn't 'zactly match the late nineteenth century Japanese aesthetic you've been gettin' used to over the past three month, e.g., oil-fueled, lanternment, et cetera.
In fact, barrin' the sudden appearance of a phonograph 'round the corner, the vicinity looks straight up nowish.
"Hey, Man, ya know a pad like this?" ya say, just to be sure (your voice comin' out a lot more uneasier than ya meant it).
"I would guess somewhere like the Scarlet Devil Mansion first," muses Rinnosuke, "but for some reason, I'm not sure…" He trails off, doin' the same as you—lookin' 'bout the walls, tryin' to get an angle on the scene.
Angles, in your case. You're leanin' and circlin' in this hallway, hopin' the change in P.O.V. twigs something. Ya feel it oughta twig something. There's something 'bout the surroundings, now that you've gotten over that apparently-modren-conveniences speedbump. Also: "'Scarlet Devil Mansion'?"
"A mansion near to the Lake of Mist. It's said to be inhabited by vampires—it was the source of an incident that occurred about ten years ago, when Gensokyo was covered by a red mist that blocked out all sunlight."
"Hella metal, Mac. But also unsafe?" And just as you're putting some thoughts together re: that matter, i.e. potential bummerage visited all up on into the dudes doin' agriculture—
All of a sudden, that twiggin' you were hopin' for—it happens.
"Hey. Hey, Mac," ya say, interruptin' what it was Rinnosuke actually was sayin' 'bout mist, which ya feel some regret for, but maybe Rinnosuke notices something offa your voice and face 'cause he just looks atcha back, with the seriousness returned, as ya say: "I think I know this pad."
Rinnosuke's own mug goes 'round with confusion and the feelin' of something just off the edge of something deeper, or maybe the other way 'round. "You do?" he says.
"Maybe—this—" Ya stumble away midsentence, leavin' Rinnosuke hangin', which is your bad, but you've got a hypothesis here, only it's the sorta guess ya don't wanna even start puttin' stock in unless you're sure you're right (if ya don't say it, ya can't be wrong yet). There's a door down the hallway—there's a buncha doors, down the hallway, but only one at the end of it, and your hands feel numb as ya grab on the associated doorknob and turn—
And it's another hallway ya come out into the side of, but this hallway's different, sorta. The last one you were in had some high-dollar-lookin' trappings to it, but was sorta barebones, decorationwise. This hallway's brighter. The nonfunctional furnishing's got little vases and figurines and plants that look actually looked after. There's paintings.
Ya recognize the paintings, even if you've only ever seen 'em at most once a year.
"This is the place," ya say, tryin' to ignore your throat closin' up. Or maybe that's your chest. Something's makin' it tough to breathe. "This is my dad's dad's brother's pad."
Ya don't see Rinnosuke's mug (though ya hear 'im comin' up behind), but the tone he's talkin' with has all that appropriate confusion you're sure's there: "In the Outside World?" says him.
"In the Outside World, yeah, Mac," ya say. Your mouth is just runnin'. You're lookin' at a paintin' your dad's dad's brother commissioned of him half-smilin' dignifiedly into the distance while holdin' a snappin' frothin' dog in his arms. Your dad's dad's brother has never owned a dog. Ya dunno why he commissioned this paintin', and for some reason ya never got up to askin'. "In California," ya say.
"That's not possible," says Rinnosuke, and then, "No, that's not impossible—"
And again you're jettin' down another hallway, leavin' 'im behind, 'cause your brainwaves're gettin' mathematical, and the equation it's all up in on is goin' a little something like this: Christmas plus Dad's Dad's Brother Ned equals Dad's Dad's Brother Ned's Christmas Bonanza equals party people equals your hopes've now been fulfilled—
The dude comin' 'round the hallway corner is a dude ya recognize (your dad's mom's sister's daughter's son, the one with the gum-chewin' that'd drive Roald Dahl into rage paralysis), and that's confirmation. "Dude," ya greet.
Said dude—Archie, that's his name (ya don't know if it stands for anything)—ignores ya. Walks right past ya even with the grand-A man-am-I-happy-to-see-you you're exudin', mug down. Or maybe that's why he's pastwalkin'. Are you too happy for 'im? Was this dude a misanthrope? Ya can't remember. Which is totally reason; ya see 'im on average just over annual.
Ya cycle yourself backwards after 'im as he takes the hallway. "Hey—" ya jabber at 'im, "listen, do ya know my parents? Are my parents here? I've gotta talk to 'em. Ya might know my dad; you're his mom's sister's daughter's son which makes 'im your mom's mom's sister's son—anyways, it's seriously important I—hey—"
The dude still ignores ya, which at this point is both totally unreasonable and actually kinda impressive. Ya'ven't even caught 'im on a glance-over, even, which ya wouldn't 'spect when the glancee's someone seriously worth glancin' at, e.g. you.
Well—if the glance'sn't gonna go your way, you're gonna way yourself up into the glances. Ya boost yourself, just enough to get ahead of the dude, and then park yourself straight up in the center of his upcomin'. "Yo, dude—"
Dude walks through ya.
Which isn't sayin' that the dude barrels through ya, or pushes you aside actin' like you'ren't a deal to deal with, which'd be megalo-rude either way but still fillin' 'spectations. No—dude walks through ya. Like you're thin air—or not, 'cause even air's gotta get swept outta the way.
And you didn't get swept outta the way. Dude walked through ya, and every word in that sentence is literal literally. He walked in, and then he walked out, and the tick before he walked out he was in ya, and you were in him, and in a tick inside that tick there was a tick where ya had your eyeballs open while your eyeballs were inside his meat. Ya didn't like that.
Ya super, seriously, hella didn't like that.
Also what the hey.
Ya turn back lookin' after the dude, just catchin' it as he accidentally bumps Rinnosuke aside the side of Rinnosuke passin'. "Sorry," ya hear 'im say, (and barely looks—he better be in a rush).
"Ah," says Rinnosuke back—with the vagueness, maybe 'cause he doesn't know the English for "sumimasen," but prollier 'cause he's still processin' you and also what just happened at you, which is a totally cromulent response to you and also what just happened to you. His gaze's fixed. His eyes're wide.
(Archie's out a doorway. Ya barely notice.)
"Dude," ya say, lookin' down at your you.
"That," Rinnosuke starts, and then doesn't go any further. He wanders up to you like a dude might wander up to a glowin' canister surrounded by an even circle scorchmark and carefully tries his hand to your shoulder. When it connects—rests there, solid both ways, it's a breath of relief outta the both of you.
"Okay, but ya saw that happen, right, Mac?" ya say, as ya stand there together, grounded by the warmth of the business side of Rinnosuke's hand. Ya actually'd prefer two palms, just to be safe, but ya don't know how to ask that without it soundin' weird. "He phased through me. Like I was a ghost." Something occurs: "Wait, am I dead?"
"You aren't dead," Rinnosuke says.
"Yeah, but how wouldja know?" ya ask.
"Do you..." ya see Rinnosuke twist his lips, like he's tryin' to origami the right words together (and failin'). "Do you feel like you're dead?"
"What does bein' dead feel like?"
"I don't know," Rinnosuke admits, startin' to sound kinda ungrounded himself.
Ya turn your hands over and over under your eyesight, like if ya do it right (or maybe wrong), they'll go translucent and confirm, one way or the other. Or just the one way. Which is dead. And also a ghost. And also you've been all up thinkin' the fam thinks you're dead and it turns out the fam is right.
(Something moves—nearer to you. Ya sense it, from somewhere far off in your own brain. It moves, then hesitates.)
Ya can see the skin, 'cross your hands. Which means you're lookin' at skin cells. So does that mean these're dead skin cells? Are the actual dead skin cells somewhere else, wherever it is that your body that's also dead is? 'Cause maybe ya have a dead body. 'Cept it isn't yours anymore. It's just: A body. Empty. These're the ghosts of skin cells—
Rinnosuke's other hand (it's all hands lately) settles on your other shoulder—his palm curlin' loose over the curve of your skin. It's warm, like the first hand was, though it feels hotter, 'cause it's a new arrival and your body wasn't 'spectin' it. Warm-hotter enough that it starts ya outta that train of thought and onto a whole 'nother track.
'Cause ya realize something, all of a sudden. "Hold a tick, Mac," says you, "that dude saw ya."
"What?" says Rinnosuke. And then almost immediately follows, 'cause the dude's awesome like that. "No—yes—that's right. He bumped into me—"
"And then he apologized—"
"Which means that he saw me—"
"Which means you can tell the fam I'm alright!" ya conclude, reachin' up your own hands to grip at Rinnosuke's own arms—you grippin' him grippin' you grippin' 'im back in a oroborous of handsiness. 'Cept he's the one helpin' you again, and you're liftin' 'im up nada, and ya want desperate to give 'im something in exchange for this—give anything—
'Cept ya haven't got anything, so all you can offer is: "And I'll show ya all how we Christmas—you can ask me anything, Mac—and if this shindig's anything like last year's, I'll bet we can filch ya a while smorgasbord of foodstuffs thatcha never 'sperienced before!"
Which is a real subpar finish—this dude's helpin' ya deliver a message to the other dudes ya love, and all you can give 'im in the swap is some munchables—but instead of gettin' all irate proper that you're potentially stiffin' 'im for his bein' generous, he sorta...blinks down atcha, and then maybe you're seein' spots that'ren't there, but ya think maybe ya see his eyes quietly brighten or widen or maybe both—
("Brighden"? That's prolly not a word.)
And he says: "You'll tell me everything?"
And dude, words can't 'spress how fulla grate you are that, if ya had to end up hanginaroundin' someone's pad in a walled-off Japanese wonderland, it's Rinnosuke's ya got all housed up in at.
"I'll tell ya anything, Mac," ya tell 'im. "Just find me something to tell ya, first."
---
[ ] Ya just mentioned food—dinin' room's the first stop.
[ ] Cut through the garden—think Rinnosuke's gonna be up for aesthetics?
[ ] So what's the Japanese for "foyer"?
And if he wants ya to, too—or if he's okay with it, at least—
Ya sit there, chin in your hand for a heavy handfulla secs, tryin' to work through the concept of Christmas. Rinnosuke, bein' the real insightful dude he is, must sense ya puttin' it all together in your brain, 'cause he doesn't switch off to another subject, or even interrupt—just lets ya ride the silence while the work goes on on the other side of the skullplate. And it is a whole deal that needs headwork to put the right words on. 'Cause—what's the right way of 'splainin' Christmas from first principles?
Maybe ya don't.
"Christmas is a religious holiday, technically," ya start off, "but it's the sorta religious holiday a dude doesn't hafta celebrate without puttin' the religion front and center. I mean, some do, though, but—"
Thing is, ya can't tell Rinnosuke how every Christmas gets Christmased. There's a whole lotta kindsa Christmases out there, not to mention the Christmases that any given dude might not be Christmasin' at all (it'sn't a compulsory holiday, though ya dig how a dude—not necessarily the same aforementioned dude, but not necessarily not the same dude, either—might believe otherwise, seein' all the decorations up nationwide a month-plus in advance).
Yeah, no. If you're gonna give Rinnosuke an upsummin' of Christmastime—
"If I'm gonna tell ya how a dude celebrates Christmas, the only deets I can getcha with is how we celebrate Christmas."
Rinnosuke lifts his chin, leanin' a little. "'We'?" he asks. "You mean—Outsiders who live in the same area as you?"
"Ensmallen the population, Mac. I mean how me and the fam do it."
Rinnosuke leans in a bit leanier. You can sense 'im puttin' pen to paper, 'cept the pen and paper's in his head and also a metaphor. "So the way you and your family celebrate Christmas—" and he pronounces "Christmas" with way more vowels than there oughta be, but he's tryin' his best, "—is different than how most people from your area celebrate Christmas?"
"Most dudes don't have a dude in the fam with way too much money who runs a crazy yearly Christmas bonanza yearly," ya 'splain. "That definitely puts my 'speriences into outlieriness."
And that's the jottin' stoppin'. "You're rich?" says Rinnosuke.
"I'm not rich," you correct 'im. "My dad's dad's brother's the rich dude. That's how he can run a crazy yearly Christmas bonanza and invite literally everyone who's direct in the fam plus plus-ones." Ya gesture, wide and sweepy, tryin' to motion out how utterly ridic the annual shebang actually is, 'cept course that doesn't actually 'splain the aforementioned shebang in any way so ya go back to movin' your jaw instead. "Imagine steppin' through the front door and every room's boughdecked between the paintings. Ya can't take a walkthrough without duckin' mistletoe. Ya get to the garden and there's a grand-spankin' Christmas tree standin' there with the statues, stuck on with lights and the whole box of ornaments. The barroom's heaped fulla presents, and ya know they're all gonna get handed out before the whole pad empties out. And then ya hit the dinin' room, and it's a smorgasbord that's been set up across the place. We're talkin' chicken. We're talkin' roast beast. We're talkin' salad croquettes dunked with hollandaise. Kielbasa linkage, succotash gazpacho in the side bowl, a whole center stage kovsh of eggnog—"
"These are...foods? You're just naming foods now."
You're just namin' foods now. And ya haven't been droolin', but it feels like a near thing enough ya wipe at your gob with your handmeat anyways. "Yeah, sorry, Mac," ya say. "I just miss it, ya dig? All the stuff I used to eat. Not that I don't totally appreciate what you've been servin' all up out at me," ya add, quick, "but when ya get relocated, it's like—suddenly, that one time ya don't even remember was the last time ya ever got to fill yourself with something specific, and ya didn't even know, and maybe you're never gonna get that in front of you again. Ya dig that feel, right, Mac?"
Rinnosuke gets a real complicated sitch all up his mug. Like maybe he's rollin' the concept over up there. Or maybe he's appraisin' it as hinky but doesn't wanna be 'splicit with his disagreement. One of those.
"Like," ya maintain, "didntcha ever have something as a kid? Something that made ya be all—'everything's alright.'"
"No," says Rinnosuke. "I didn't."
Ya wince. Ya don't think he sees it. He's lookin', but he's not lookin', and that's prolly your bad big time.
Not cool. Whaddya gonna do now? Shove off from the comestables; that's a start. "So, 'cause the family tree's got multitudes, and my dad's dad's brother sends the invites to everyone, sometimes Christmastime's the only time of year I get to see alotta dudes. I don't wanna brag, Mac, but most of my relatives're pretty awesome. And half of it's Japanese, so prolly you'd have some dudes to gab with, if I brought ya over as my plus-one. Just maybe avoid my dad's mom's sister's son, 'cause I think he's in a cult, and not one of those fun cults, but one of the ones where my dad's dad's brother's gotta set apart the dude his own meal, else he starts gettin' real passive-aggressive. And also my dad's mom's other sister—there's something real hinky 'bout the dude. I don't think I've ever seen her eat. If ya don't eat, you'ren't livin'."
"That's..." Rinnosuke's tracin' compressed figures in front of him, "a cousin—no, a cousin removed?"
"Yeah, I'm kinda failin' sellin' these dudes. Ya know who ya oughta hang with? My mom's mom's sister's husband's mom's brother's son's son's son. His direct fam was a buncha recluse types, so he gets all agog 'bout modern tech. You and him can gog together!"
"Is there even a word for a relationship that far apart?"
Ya keep on with the 'splainin' of Christmas—or your Christmas, anyways. At some point, ya notice thatcha stopped talkin' 'bout the Christmas bonanza as much as you're talkin' 'bout the at-Christmas-bonanza fam, but Rinnosuke seems to have his ears aimed atcha either way (still leanin', leavin' comments), so ya don't stop. Not even when your voice starts goin' creaky from wantin' sleep, or when ya start proppin' yourself back against the nearest upstandable so ya don't just end up straight out straight out. Not even when...
---
And then ya jerk, your chin comin' offa your chest so hard ya nearly send yourself rollin' over backwards, which is definitely a shock, seein' as ya had that whatever-it-was in the back of you specifically to keep this sorta deal from occurrin'. The only thing that saves ya is—again—Rinnosuke, this time comin' in with the clutch with the literal clutch, his grip at your forearm slowin' your fall just enough thatcha manage to catch yourself before the back of your skull can get real interestin' in the phrenologic sense.
Ya tilt your head up once you're sure the only tiltin' ya do is gonna be voluntary, and Rinnosuke's right there—starin' ya up up close, his mug and yours separated by maybe the space of a fist. Not that you'd put a fist between ya. 'Specially not with that 'spression that that mug of his is makin', full on concern up out his pores.
"You alright, Mac?" ya ask.
Rinnosuke blinks down at you. His concern stays concerny. "Rather than 'you alright'—" he starts up, then shakes that off with a quick sharp jerk shake of the head. "You're the one that nearly fell," he goes with.
"Yeah, but ya caught me, didntcha?" ya say back. Ya bring yourself up, real careful—ya prolly didn't spend that long sleepin' sittin', else your legs'd feel a lot worse. Ya bounce a coupla times on 'em anyways, just in case there's any stiffness that's there thatcha don't feel that needs outshakin'.
And then ya stop bouncin', not necessarily 'cause you're satisfied at gettin' limber, but more 'cause there's something wrong. Wrong 'bout the locale you're in under at the sec, if you've gotta be specific, which you've prolly gotta. 'Cause when ya compare what you're seein' now to whatcha saw before ya nodded off into Nod...
It's dim, and that's the same. It's laid over with crates and knickknacks and tchotchkes and bric and also brac, and that's the same, too. It's cramped—and that's where things get heavy discrepancyish, actually, 'cause yeah, Rinnosuke's pad was cramped, last ya checked—consequence of keepin' home and offsellables in the same spot—but it wasn't so cramped that leanin' literally any direction where ya last left off was gonna bring you in contact with the inventory, not like it is now.
Also, the space heater's gone.
What you're sayin' is: This isn't Rinnosuke's pad. Straight up. Or wait:
"Hey, ya didn't stick me in a closet the sec I fell asleep, didja?" ya ask.
"I fell asleep, too," says Rinnosuke. He looks away from ya, and it's dark enough thatcha can't tell what his mug's like when his mug's no longer in your mug. "And when I woke up—" Ya do catch the spreadin of the arms, though. The no-energy upflingin' of the hands that Rinnosuke enacts, like a dude reachin' out for something they don't think's gonna be there anyways.
"This isn't Kourindou," finishes Rinnosuke, and so yeah: This isn't Rinnosuke's pad.
Huh.
"Do ya know where this is?" ya ask.
"There's a door," Rinnosuke says. He nods towards it, and it is a door. Closed, with a thin rectangular outline of light shinin' in 'round the edges, indicatin' that there's something out there, or in there, or over there either way. "I thought about looking, but I didn't want to leave you on your own. It occurred to me—if we've been taken somewhere, it could happen to us again, while we're separated. I thought it better not to risk it."
"Didn't wanna leave me behind, huh? Thanks, Mac." Ya grin, and hope he sees.
"As I said, I didn't want to risk it." Rinnosuke looks offa you—full head tiltin' away, like to underline whatever avertin' of the eyes you're ninety-five percent sure is happenin' there is happenin' there. And then, like there's some sorta invisible, inaudible cue from nowhere pokin' into your brain and also Rinnosuke's brain, the two of you look off sideways simultaneous—at the doorway, and also at the door that's in it.
The choice hangs in the air between the three of you (four, countin' the door). But there's mostly just the big obvious one, right?
And so ya advance, takin' Rinnosuke's wrist in one hand (like he said, better oughtnta get split up) and ya take the door doorknob with the other (doorknob—and that's a diff, too, ya realize, all up occidental—) and ya out—
—into a hallway.
As in a hallway hallway. Tiled, and everything. With lights, and wainscottin', and the sorta unfunctional furniture that dudes who've got long hallways stick in long hallways to upbreak the monotony. A hallway, but also a Hallway with a capital H, basically.
And those lights ya mentioned, all lined up all intervally along the length of the place? Bulbed. As in electric. Or maybe gas, 'cause pumpin' firedamp into the household was a thing people did, at one point, but either way—it doesn't 'zactly match the late nineteenth century Japanese aesthetic you've been gettin' used to over the past three month, e.g., oil-fueled, lanternment, et cetera.
In fact, barrin' the sudden appearance of a phonograph 'round the corner, the vicinity looks straight up nowish.
"Hey, Man, ya know a pad like this?" ya say, just to be sure (your voice comin' out a lot more uneasier than ya meant it).
"I would guess somewhere like the Scarlet Devil Mansion first," muses Rinnosuke, "but for some reason, I'm not sure…" He trails off, doin' the same as you—lookin' 'bout the walls, tryin' to get an angle on the scene.
Angles, in your case. You're leanin' and circlin' in this hallway, hopin' the change in P.O.V. twigs something. Ya feel it oughta twig something. There's something 'bout the surroundings, now that you've gotten over that apparently-modren-conveniences speedbump. Also: "'Scarlet Devil Mansion'?"
"A mansion near to the Lake of Mist. It's said to be inhabited by vampires—it was the source of an incident that occurred about ten years ago, when Gensokyo was covered by a red mist that blocked out all sunlight."
"Hella metal, Mac. But also unsafe?" And just as you're putting some thoughts together re: that matter, i.e. potential bummerage visited all up on into the dudes doin' agriculture—
All of a sudden, that twiggin' you were hopin' for—it happens.
"Hey. Hey, Mac," ya say, interruptin' what it was Rinnosuke actually was sayin' 'bout mist, which ya feel some regret for, but maybe Rinnosuke notices something offa your voice and face 'cause he just looks atcha back, with the seriousness returned, as ya say: "I think I know this pad."
Rinnosuke's own mug goes 'round with confusion and the feelin' of something just off the edge of something deeper, or maybe the other way 'round. "You do?" he says.
"Maybe—this—" Ya stumble away midsentence, leavin' Rinnosuke hangin', which is your bad, but you've got a hypothesis here, only it's the sorta guess ya don't wanna even start puttin' stock in unless you're sure you're right (if ya don't say it, ya can't be wrong yet). There's a door down the hallway—there's a buncha doors, down the hallway, but only one at the end of it, and your hands feel numb as ya grab on the associated doorknob and turn—
And it's another hallway ya come out into the side of, but this hallway's different, sorta. The last one you were in had some high-dollar-lookin' trappings to it, but was sorta barebones, decorationwise. This hallway's brighter. The nonfunctional furnishing's got little vases and figurines and plants that look actually looked after. There's paintings.
Ya recognize the paintings, even if you've only ever seen 'em at most once a year.
"This is the place," ya say, tryin' to ignore your throat closin' up. Or maybe that's your chest. Something's makin' it tough to breathe. "This is my dad's dad's brother's pad."
Ya don't see Rinnosuke's mug (though ya hear 'im comin' up behind), but the tone he's talkin' with has all that appropriate confusion you're sure's there: "In the Outside World?" says him.
"In the Outside World, yeah, Mac," ya say. Your mouth is just runnin'. You're lookin' at a paintin' your dad's dad's brother commissioned of him half-smilin' dignifiedly into the distance while holdin' a snappin' frothin' dog in his arms. Your dad's dad's brother has never owned a dog. Ya dunno why he commissioned this paintin', and for some reason ya never got up to askin'. "In California," ya say.
"That's not possible," says Rinnosuke, and then, "No, that's not impossible—"
And again you're jettin' down another hallway, leavin' 'im behind, 'cause your brainwaves're gettin' mathematical, and the equation it's all up in on is goin' a little something like this: Christmas plus Dad's Dad's Brother Ned equals Dad's Dad's Brother Ned's Christmas Bonanza equals party people equals your hopes've now been fulfilled—
The dude comin' 'round the hallway corner is a dude ya recognize (your dad's mom's sister's daughter's son, the one with the gum-chewin' that'd drive Roald Dahl into rage paralysis), and that's confirmation. "Dude," ya greet.
Said dude—Archie, that's his name (ya don't know if it stands for anything)—ignores ya. Walks right past ya even with the grand-A man-am-I-happy-to-see-you you're exudin', mug down. Or maybe that's why he's pastwalkin'. Are you too happy for 'im? Was this dude a misanthrope? Ya can't remember. Which is totally reason; ya see 'im on average just over annual.
Ya cycle yourself backwards after 'im as he takes the hallway. "Hey—" ya jabber at 'im, "listen, do ya know my parents? Are my parents here? I've gotta talk to 'em. Ya might know my dad; you're his mom's sister's daughter's son which makes 'im your mom's mom's sister's son—anyways, it's seriously important I—hey—"
The dude still ignores ya, which at this point is both totally unreasonable and actually kinda impressive. Ya'ven't even caught 'im on a glance-over, even, which ya wouldn't 'spect when the glancee's someone seriously worth glancin' at, e.g. you.
Well—if the glance'sn't gonna go your way, you're gonna way yourself up into the glances. Ya boost yourself, just enough to get ahead of the dude, and then park yourself straight up in the center of his upcomin'. "Yo, dude—"
Dude walks through ya.
Which isn't sayin' that the dude barrels through ya, or pushes you aside actin' like you'ren't a deal to deal with, which'd be megalo-rude either way but still fillin' 'spectations. No—dude walks through ya. Like you're thin air—or not, 'cause even air's gotta get swept outta the way.
And you didn't get swept outta the way. Dude walked through ya, and every word in that sentence is literal literally. He walked in, and then he walked out, and the tick before he walked out he was in ya, and you were in him, and in a tick inside that tick there was a tick where ya had your eyeballs open while your eyeballs were inside his meat. Ya didn't like that.
Ya super, seriously, hella didn't like that.
Also what the hey.
Ya turn back lookin' after the dude, just catchin' it as he accidentally bumps Rinnosuke aside the side of Rinnosuke passin'. "Sorry," ya hear 'im say, (and barely looks—he better be in a rush).
"Ah," says Rinnosuke back—with the vagueness, maybe 'cause he doesn't know the English for "sumimasen," but prollier 'cause he's still processin' you and also what just happened at you, which is a totally cromulent response to you and also what just happened to you. His gaze's fixed. His eyes're wide.
(Archie's out a doorway. Ya barely notice.)
"Dude," ya say, lookin' down at your you.
"That," Rinnosuke starts, and then doesn't go any further. He wanders up to you like a dude might wander up to a glowin' canister surrounded by an even circle scorchmark and carefully tries his hand to your shoulder. When it connects—rests there, solid both ways, it's a breath of relief outta the both of you.
"Okay, but ya saw that happen, right, Mac?" ya say, as ya stand there together, grounded by the warmth of the business side of Rinnosuke's hand. Ya actually'd prefer two palms, just to be safe, but ya don't know how to ask that without it soundin' weird. "He phased through me. Like I was a ghost." Something occurs: "Wait, am I dead?"
"You aren't dead," Rinnosuke says.
"Yeah, but how wouldja know?" ya ask.
"Do you..." ya see Rinnosuke twist his lips, like he's tryin' to origami the right words together (and failin'). "Do you feel like you're dead?"
"What does bein' dead feel like?"
"I don't know," Rinnosuke admits, startin' to sound kinda ungrounded himself.
Ya turn your hands over and over under your eyesight, like if ya do it right (or maybe wrong), they'll go translucent and confirm, one way or the other. Or just the one way. Which is dead. And also a ghost. And also you've been all up thinkin' the fam thinks you're dead and it turns out the fam is right.
(Something moves—nearer to you. Ya sense it, from somewhere far off in your own brain. It moves, then hesitates.)
Ya can see the skin, 'cross your hands. Which means you're lookin' at skin cells. So does that mean these're dead skin cells? Are the actual dead skin cells somewhere else, wherever it is that your body that's also dead is? 'Cause maybe ya have a dead body. 'Cept it isn't yours anymore. It's just: A body. Empty. These're the ghosts of skin cells—
Rinnosuke's other hand (it's all hands lately) settles on your other shoulder—his palm curlin' loose over the curve of your skin. It's warm, like the first hand was, though it feels hotter, 'cause it's a new arrival and your body wasn't 'spectin' it. Warm-hotter enough that it starts ya outta that train of thought and onto a whole 'nother track.
'Cause ya realize something, all of a sudden. "Hold a tick, Mac," says you, "that dude saw ya."
"What?" says Rinnosuke. And then almost immediately follows, 'cause the dude's awesome like that. "No—yes—that's right. He bumped into me—"
"And then he apologized—"
"Which means that he saw me—"
"Which means you can tell the fam I'm alright!" ya conclude, reachin' up your own hands to grip at Rinnosuke's own arms—you grippin' him grippin' you grippin' 'im back in a oroborous of handsiness. 'Cept he's the one helpin' you again, and you're liftin' 'im up nada, and ya want desperate to give 'im something in exchange for this—give anything—
'Cept ya haven't got anything, so all you can offer is: "And I'll show ya all how we Christmas—you can ask me anything, Mac—and if this shindig's anything like last year's, I'll bet we can filch ya a while smorgasbord of foodstuffs thatcha never 'sperienced before!"
Which is a real subpar finish—this dude's helpin' ya deliver a message to the other dudes ya love, and all you can give 'im in the swap is some munchables—but instead of gettin' all irate proper that you're potentially stiffin' 'im for his bein' generous, he sorta...blinks down atcha, and then maybe you're seein' spots that'ren't there, but ya think maybe ya see his eyes quietly brighten or widen or maybe both—
("Brighden"? That's prolly not a word.)
And he says: "You'll tell me everything?"
And dude, words can't 'spress how fulla grate you are that, if ya had to end up hanginaroundin' someone's pad in a walled-off Japanese wonderland, it's Rinnosuke's ya got all housed up in at.
"I'll tell ya anything, Mac," ya tell 'im. "Just find me something to tell ya, first."
---
[ ] Ya just mentioned food—dinin' room's the first stop.
[ ] Cut through the garden—think Rinnosuke's gonna be up for aesthetics?
[ ] So what's the Japanese for "foyer"?
- Pronouns
- Winter
Is this somekind of Yukari Shenanigans or perhaps something else i wonder?
Maybe even just a recreation of Christie's memories by a mischievous youkai. Either way, Rinnosuke better be ready for some Culture-ing!
[X] Cut through the garden—think Rinnosuke's gonna be up for aesthetics?
Also, glad to see this still updating, i've been following this story since the early days at the TouhouProject site, can't wait to see the next part!
Maybe even just a recreation of Christie's memories by a mischievous youkai. Either way, Rinnosuke better be ready for some Culture-ing!
[X] Cut through the garden—think Rinnosuke's gonna be up for aesthetics?
Also, glad to see this still updating, i've been following this story since the early days at the TouhouProject site, can't wait to see the next part!