3.14 Pie
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Well. You're never not up for the challenge.
Well, you think that, but you're pulling out fucking blanks at the moment – there's Mao but fuck you if you're gonna cook something for her. She's nice and all, butt you'd rather get the shit kicked out of you first. She'll never let you live it down. There's Kai, 'course, and Kai's good, yeah? That seems appropriate. You two have been working together for a while now, and more than that, you've been working well, and it wouldn't be awkward as all hell, and –
[Red Ribbon Activates!]
You feel a tingle – a tickling brush on the back of your neck, and you absently secure your loose ribbon back up. And she ain't gonna judge, you know that, however shit your cookin' might be – it would be a, well, it'd be a show of something, that you appreciate her and shit, that you think 'bout her and –
[Perk Activated: Partners.]
No. Fuck that noise – that mushy disgusting gross noise that only someone like Mao would spout, and so fuck Mao in particular for fillin' your head with this shit. You're just partners. Partners. Remember that. Partners. Sure, out there, in the field, you have her back, and she got yours – her life's in your hands, and yours in hers. You two… wouldn't die for each other, but she'd take a hit for you, as you would her.
[Endurance Check: Easy. Pass.]
And only because you can take it. You're a goddamn tank fortress. Hell yeah.
But that's common basic sense. It's just what it means to be partners, when you're out there on the field, where the success of the mission depends on either of you leaving the killing floor alive. The fucking point you're making is that you know shit all about her outside the Office, 'cept for some crap details like how her mom's a pretty bigshot Fixer, and she also don't know shit about you too outta the Office.
You ain't gonna be the first to fuck that shit up.
… That only leaves Sun. You glance to her, lock onto her brightly-shining eyes, her smile wide and beaming, encouraging you like she –
[Empathy Check: Hard. Pass.]
Like she cares. And she does. Genuinely. You can't deny that anymore – can't ignore the facts. You could be visiting her for any reason, or none at all, could just suddenly show up in front of her apartment out of the blue, and she'd open her apartment's door without a shred of hesitation, and slam herself into you. She might excuse it as loneliness, and it certainly helps, but that's not just it – that's just her. That's Sun.
Shit. You can't. It's just cooking, but this shit's somehow harder than livin'. Wait, hold up – a spark of sudden inspiration strikes you: who say it gotta be for others? Fuck, you're smart for once – if you ain't cooking for others, then the obvious answer is that you're cooking for yourself. That's common sense. Nodding to yourself, mind made up, you give Sun a smirk. "I've got it."
Sun nods back, almost beaming – and no, you ain't feeling guilt over this bullshit. Nope. Not a bit. And you're starving. Prep's already done, so you turn on the stove, and –
A hum.
You wake up to the sound of humming, and the smell of food. Blearily, with a groan, you roll off your mattress onto your belly, and turn towards the voice. Your lips curve as you watch her back. She looks over her shoulders, ***** patterned blouse swaying underneath her coat. She ***** back at you, ***** eyes curving gently, ****** hair reflecting the light.
"**** ******, ** ******."
You hum, bobbing your head. "*****, ***. ******** *******?"
She glances back to the stove, a ********** look on her face. "It's ****, * *****?"
You blink, then giggle.
*** pouts, before her lips melt into a *****.
Groaning, you climb up to your feet, and –
—and flinch as a giant fuck-off hammer slams into your brain. You blink, once, twice, and thrice. Sweat drips from your skin, heart thudding with adrenaline. You remember. Half-remember. Quarter-remember. Less than that. You can't remember more. Memories you had buried, memories better forgotten, locked away somewhere in the deep of your head, the key hidden in a place itself doesn't know –
[Insight Check. Impossible. Fail]
And I'm afraid, Lily, you've quite lost it.
[Melee Check. Hard. Fail.]
[Endurance Check. Hard. Pass!]
Yet the flesh remembers – it never forgets, however much it wishes it could. It refuses to forget. It cannot forget.
Your body, you, it, moves, guided by sheer instinct. It pushes you, and as your throat dries, you allow it to drive you. Flashes of something blitzing in the back of your eyes, digging deep into your meatspacebrain. It's a sickness, dredging up things better left alone. A poison. It's a parasite, recently planted – no, it has always been there. Recently awakened by your newest neighbor, Adil. It's a song – a tune – a lullaby. A hum. A string of one's favorite things melted together into a hotpot of supposed joy, and a string of one's hated things thrown into the trash. It repeats in your head, beat after beat, word after word: ****, ******, *****, *******, ******* – each and one gibberish, forgotten and scrubbed clean from your head. But the tune, it sticks, it latches – it's the same tune that has been haunting your dreams; that terrifying being which soothes the night-terrors away, and –
– waddle your way up to her. You foot touches the floor wrong, and a squeak leaps from your lips as the ground grows closer – only except, you don't even come close to it. *** hand holds you up, and you catch a glimpse of her ****** eyes before she ******** you close. "Geez," she sighs, muffled and reverberating. Warm. "I know you're excited, but be careful, ** ******."
You mumble, and grumble as you're shifted up, until your head rests on her shoulder. Strands of her hair tickle your nose, sending it twitching, yet the floral scent comforts you. "Mmhm. *****?"
"**'* out *******, ****," she answers you, chuckling. "***'* worry. **'** be **** before it's your *******. Now, come, it's done. Taste this."
You're twisted around in her ******, facing forward. One hand carries you, and the other on the stove. You stare at the content of the pan, suddenly filled with ****. A pair of chopsticks pick a chunk out, going towards you. It looks like ****, but you open your mouth.
It tastes like –
"Shit."
You stare into your pan, eyeing its content dubiously, cursing under your breath. Well that just fucking happened, didn't it? Flashes. Images. Memories. They speed through the back of your eyes, blitzing past them, and your head feels like someone had reached into your brain and fuck around with it like some kinda meat clay. But you remember. Not all, and maybe not even anything, and it makes you shiver in disgust. A longing, the pathetic desire for the less-than-quarter-remembered, best-forgotten past that makes you wanna pull your tongue out and choke in it to fucking death.
You snort, crossing your arms together as you take a step back. "Don't lie to me, Sun."
"… Maybe it'll taste good?" she tries again.
"Maybe," you acknowledge, even if Sun doesn't sound like she believes herself. "Well, nothing to it," you grumble, picking up a pair of chopsticks, and pinch a piece of black-covered slice of beef, the sauce almost a sludge, stretching like cheese as you pull it off the pan. Sun shivers. You plop it into your mouth. Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.
Yep.
Sun looks at you with a hopeful smile.
Snorting, you pluck out another piece of beef from the pan and dangle it over to Sun's face. Purple eyes go a little crosseyed, before locking back to yours. You don't say anything. She takes a deep breath, and chomps at the piece –
And promptly runs to the sink and spit it out the moment the meat touches her tongue, turning the water on, and practically lunging after the spout.
"It tastes like shit."
Turning the water off, Sun turns to you with a sad whimper, and equally sad look. "You're awful."
You flinch a little. "Yeah well," you mumble, picking the pan up from the stove. "That's what you get from trusting me too much."
Sun pouts.
You look away from her eyes with a shrug. She's not really sad, but even then, it's too much for you. Returning your attention back to the pan in your hand, you plop another piece of meat into your mouth. It really does taste like shit. All that good-quality ingredients: you have ruined it, utterly and completely so. It borders on inedible, and somehow, someway, is much worse than the actual rotten shit you would get from dumpster diving. You plop another piece in, and this time, it comes with an actual chunk of barely-edible piece of hard spice seed. It cracks, and becomes ground under your teeth, creating an overwhelming explosion of nose-searing aroma. If you had to describe its taste, it's like someone thrown a buncha shit and everything off the countertop into the food – which is exactly what you did.
Or to be more precise, it's exactly what she did.
"… You don't have to eat them all, you know – or any of it," Sun says, frowning, purple eyes shining in worry. "It's fine to throw them out."
"Nah," you say, continuing your feeding. "I'll sooner die 'fore I waste any food."
Sun blinks, then bursts into a sudden bout of giggling.
"Fucking what?"
"S-sorry," she shakes under your raised brow, beaming as her giggling dies down. "It's just –" she takes another breath. "Thanks, Lily."
[Empathy Check: Medium. Pass.]
For this. For all of this. She needs this far more than you realize.
[Empathy Check: Hard. Pass]
You could live alone. Sun couldn't. Not anymore.
[Insight Check: Hard. Fail.]
And you can't say why.
You look away, back towards the pan. "Whatever."
It's disgusting. It tastes like shit. You're only fucking hurting yourself, and not in the sense of fucking up your tongue. Deeper. But you can't fucking stop. This is what this thing has made you into: a pathetic fucking freak addict with a longing, deep-seated and desperate, reaching out for any shred, for anything close to a proof, to the confirmation, for the evidence of the past, of a time that once was. And it all, as you finish the food, it all boils down to a single pointless shitty and unanswerable question that ascends your little pathetic high, creating the mother of all crashes – pain and confusion and sorrow, and all those fucked up shit rising up to the surface:
[Endurance Check: Hard. Fail.]
I'm afraid… I'm afraid this is beyond us. We are an impenetrable fortress – yet what can a fortress do against that which attacks the mind? We are weak. A paper fortress.
[Repression Check: Very Hard. Fail.]
I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. This is what we've tried to protect us from; to spare us from this pain – but there's little we can do when we seek the past ourselves.
[Vision Check: Very Hard. Pass.]
Stand tall, and forge ever onward. Leave the past behind, for there is nothing there.
[Ego Check: Very Hard. Pass.]
No, don't. That's a lie. A lie. You know better. You can't leave the past behind, and you've forgotten so many things. Remember. Don't forget.
[Vision Check: Easy. Pass.]
No. You think there is something to learn behind that veil – but there's none. There lies only pain and suffering and misery and despair. Only a longing and a yearning for something that's already long gone.
[Repression Check: Easy. Pass.]
At least not in this past, sister.
[Ego Check: Hard. Pass.]
No, there's always something.
Your head thumps against itself – it hurts. You want to vomit. You close your eyes, and let out a shuddering breath, putting the pan down to the sink – your eyes fall towards the piece of beef Sun had spat out. It's a waste of food, and ain't as if it lasted long in Sun anyway, and 'sides, you've eaten dirtier stuff before. But no, you haven't fallen that low yet. Swallowing, shuddering, you tear your eyes away from it, and turn the sink on, letting the running water wash it away – and just like that, it begins to fade, that high, that longing, that yearning, like shit flushed down the toilet, leaving behind some measure of relief, and dread upon the dark stubborn stains sticking 'round the bowl that's just gonna be fucking impossible to clean without getting your elbow real deep into it.
You turn to Sun, blinking as she takes your spot on the stove. Purple eyes glint as she meets your look, her hands securing her apron.
You frown. "I thought I was the one doing the cookin'."
"Well," Sun mutters, chuckling. "I think you've got all the basics of stir-fry down, Lily – the seasoning could do some work, but the beef and veggies are all cooked perfectly, and the techniques were all fine," she nods, bobbing her head as she goes to the fridge – you catch a glimpse within, and it still makes you stop at how loaded it is. You don't point out the fact that she barely tasted the food. Then again, you sometimes don't need to inspect a corpse to know it's dead – maybe the same logic applies? The Eye of an Expert. In any case, looks like your experience as a foodie finally paid off – not that it hasn't already. You've been eating like a king lately. One day, you'll eat like a god . "And if it's just seasoning, then I can show you how it's done!" she puffs up at that, and your eyes bulge as she takes out a plastic bag of meat. She grunts as she grabs it with two hands – you take it off from her hand, slightly amazed at the weight, and drop it to the counter. Sun shoots you a thankful look. "And it'd be a waste not to use these after I've defrosted them for hours."
Your stomach begins grumbles, drool flowing. She's right. She got you there. It would be a waste – doubly so if you're taking rein and turn it to crap.
"O-okay," you mutter, nodding shakily. "I'll watch."
Sun hums, giggling as she arms herself with a knife. "I'm gonna make this for you, uh," she coughs, glancing away. "In mind."
You try not to think too much about that, and focus as she takes a deep breath, nod to herself, and starts working. It's the difference between night and day, how she acts normally and how she acts now, and how you were cooking and prepping to how she's doing it, relaxed and loose, yet focused. This is Sun in her natural enveeron—envron—place now, in control, just as how the field is your natural place.
You wonder what she looks like when she's at work.
It's a whole goddamn feast.
"… I might have gone a bit too carried away," Sun mumbles, clasping her fingers together, looking sheepish. "It's been a while."
She did get carried the fuck away, like holy shit – first it was the simple stir-fry, but as if a fuse got lit under her ass, Sun just went off into her own (very delicious) world. "Fuck off," you say simply, plopping your ass down. "I ain't complaining – in fact, I'm starving."
[Vision Check: Medium. Pass.]
And you're gonna pay her back – like hell you're taking charity. You ain't that no more, you've told yourself.
[Negotiation: Medium. Pass.]
But you probably shouldn't say that aloud.
Sun twitches, then smiles, sitting down. "I guess being a Fixer means that you need all the energy you can get," she muses.
"Damn straight," you grunt, before eyeing her critically. "And you don't eat enough."
Sun gasps. "I thought we were over this already!" cheeks flushing, she puffs up her cheeks. "I'll let you know that I've eaten more than enough after our last talk – I-I've even gained weight!" a look flashes over her face the moment she said that, and Sun deflates, lowering her head in disappointment: "I've gained weight."
Uh.
[Negotiation: Hard. Fail.]
Don't say –
"Never had that problem before," you tell her, shrugging, before pointing your chopsticks at her. Her eyes go cross-eyed a little, before recovering. "Maybe you should move more?"
Sun pouts, glaring at you. She opens her mouth, and then closes it. "Nngh," she grumbles.
Uh… "There's nothin' wrong with gainin' weight," you tell her… helpfully? "Means you're getting sturdier, 'cause you're pretty small, and uh, light, uh…"
Shit. It's not working.
… You should try changing the subject.
"So about that thing, with the cooking thing," you start, quickly, pointing your chopsticks at her. You grimace. Sun peers at you, eyebrows quirking in interest. "What's up with that?"
Sun blinks. "The love thing?"
You make a face. Ugh. "Yeah, that," you mutter, feeling a little sick. She didn't really explain it before, and you really don't wanna know, but if that's the key to good cooking… you're just gotta bite the fucking bullet. "What's up with that?"
"Oh," pink rises to her cheeks. "… Well," she fidgets, before letting out a breath, smiling lightly. "It's just… if you're cooking for someone, or really just for yourself, then, um, it makes sense to keep certain things in mind, right? What they like to eat, what they don't like to eat – what they can't eat… I want them to finish their meal happy, and satisfied," she turns her face fully to you, and her purples lock with your greens. "So I put my love, my heart into them, and when it pays off, it also makes me happy, and satisfied…" she lowers her eyes. "So that's why."
You stare at her quietly and glancing over the spread of food before you. "I see," somehow, you're not surprised.
"… It's ridiculous, isn't it?" she mumbles. "That's what everyone's been telling me. Even Moon said that."
It is. It is ridiculous. And naïve. And stupid. Idiotic, and plain suicidal. To love is to trust, and to trust is to leave yourself open. So to stake, to pin your own personal joy onto others' – onto practical strangers', to people who'd mug, or kill, or torture, and worse if you give them the chance… and not even strangers; but people you know, who you thought you could trust, who would in a dime turn on you – you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.
You can't find what you want in others – and expect that they'd give it to you without price, without risk.
But she knows that already, you think.
"… It's very you, I suppose," you mutter, and Sun jolts, looking at you in surprise. "I mean, not like I can't fucking complain, right?" you snort, gesturing at the table. "Wouldn't be here getting free food if you ain't all about that love and shit," you grumble. And that's the truth of it – and the further truth of it is that, even if you ain't aiming for it, you're probably gonna disappoint her in the long run. That's just how it is, really. "So you already got your claws in me, eh."
Sun blinks, then titters. "Yeah, I got my hooks on you, Lily."
You don't flinch, but it's very close – no, you ain't that little bitch shit who scrounged shit in trash anymore, who'd bend over backwards for food and money and scraps, who'd be looked down and can do nothing else but simmer in that steaming pile of shit. You're done with all that shit. You're a proper Fixer now, and on your way up and up.
And Sun's definitely no Landlord Lin.
You snort. Well aware that Sun's eyes have been on you, smiling, as you continue to dig through the food, shoveling into your mouth hole, and shivering in delight at the explosions of flavors, fat bursting through, coating your mouth with deliciousness. Despite having feasted on some luxurious shit in the last few weeks, this feels different – not as luxurious or extravagant, but… better, somehow.
Unfortunately, it all ends too soon.
You stare at the empty plates in sadness, before patting your stomach in satisfaction, leaning back from the table. "I'm stuffed."
"… I can't believe you ate them all," Sun mutters, shaking her head with a smile.
"Ain't gonna waste shit."
Sun hums, and you bask in the silence, sleepiness trying to claim you as you close your eyes in satisfaction. "Thanks, by the way," you say. "For the food."
"No," Sun responds, and you crack an eye open. She smiles. "Thank you – for coming here, I mean."
That's not – you fucking know what, you're even going to bother. "Sure. Whatever."
There's a pause. "Um," you recognize that tone, and you take a deep breath, opening your eyes back up, and face her. She fidgets. "… Has there been any news on Moon?"
"Nope," you answer simply – or rather: "I don't know," you shrug, frowning as you lean towards the table, eyeing her eyeing you. "That's more of Mao's thing – but considering that she hasn't said anything to me, he's probably not anywhere close. Maybe he's dead."
[Instinct Check: Medium. Pass.]
Somewhere, deep into the City, in District H, a man sits in a dark alley, crying and wailing and sobbing, and despairing – he blew it, he destroyed it, he screwed up. And he's lost. But then a voice whispers inside his ears.
"Oh," she mumbles. "… I hope he's not."
"Really," you drawl out. "After all that."
"I know," Sun says, smiling sheepishly. Guiltily. You grunt, glancing away. "I don't love him anymore, and I don't think I could ever look him in the eyes with a smile, but… we shared a lot of firsts together, you know? My first lover, my first roommate, my first kiss, my f-first time," she coughs.
First time?
[Insight check: Hard. Pass.]
It's sex. She means first sex. First Fucking. First bird and the first bees and the whole first shebang.
Oh.
You blanch. Gross. "R-right."
Sun coughs again, refusin' to meet your eyes. "A-and he taught me plenty of other things too – and those things mean something to me still; they have forever changed me, and I'm still carrying them close to my heart," she closes her eyes, pressing a hand over her chest. She smiles a melancholic smile. "It was nice, while it lasted. So just for that, at least, I don't want him to die."
You stare at her, before clicking your tongue, shoving your hands deep into your pockets. You're not even surprised anymore. She was, after all, the one who requested to not kill him when given the chance. "You know that if he comes again, we might not have that choice anymore."
Sun's gaze lowers deep. "… I know," she pauses, taking a deep breath. She looks around the room, eyes staying on the shelves – you remember it being a lot fuller before. "I tried to get rid of them, you know," she continues. "But no matter how much I threw out, I still see them there, the memories we had, the times we've spent, like a… That's why I'm planning to move out."
You stare at her, waiting, digging your hands deeper.
"… It's not just about the memories, trying to escape them," she mumbles. "But it's also the danger – Moon's still out there, and he knows where I live – which path I take to go to work and go to home. It's also the expenses," she sighs, closing her eyes, and you wonder who it is she's trying to convince. "… This place is supposed to fit for two people – I could afford it for a few months, but after that, I would be cutting it pretty close, and um," she opens her eyes again, eyeing the table, before then up to you. She smiles, hesitant and tentative. "It might be a nice change of pace."
Your lips twitch. "Why're ya tellin' me this?"
"Just a heads-up," she smiles. You glare. She fidgets, looking away. "… It's far, the place I've found – that Chief Vale found, I mean," she corrects herself. "And it's going to be harder for us to meet. We might not…" she trails off, eyes almost pleading as she refuses to finish that sentence.
You exhale with a grunt, pulling your hands out of your pockets, and cross them together. She's not the only one – or rather, you're not the only trying to escape. "… Dunno what you want me to say," you point out, and Sun looks away. "Until Moon's taken care of, it's definitely safer that way, and…" you trail off. It's some pussy ass shit, to be haunted by memories, but you also know that it don't make it less haunting. "Yeah. Whatever. But don't fucking look down on me, Sun," she jumps at your voice, reflexively locking eyes with you. "If I wanna meet up, then we'll meet up – fuck the fucking distance, don't look down on me."
"Hah," Sun giggles, almost unconsciously. "You said that two times…" then she pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face, then pauses again, grimacing.
You roll your eyes. "Out with it, Sun."
"You could move in with me!" she blurts, eyes wide, and you blink, eyes equally wide as she gestures wildly around here. She beams, bright, stars in her eyes. "In here. We could split rent, and you know, I could also make you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and you could also act as my bodyguard too, and we can make new," she blinks. "Um, uh," she blinks again. "Sorry," she shrinks into herself. "Forget what I said, Lily."
You open your mouth, and then closes it.
Food and shelter – and what more, a way away from Landlord Lin. You can't break off the shackles – the hooks and chains he got on you, but until you pay him off, you could get as far as the fuck away from him and that miserable fucking place.
But to move in with someone else, to live with someone else, even if that someone else is Sun, who is also your client, and, yeah, it don't feel like a good idea, but it also don't feel like a bad one. The place is great, and split rent's not bad, even if it's just a little beyond you at the moment, but you also know that you will be able to pay that if you're keeping up with your current pace.
"… I'm gonna have to think about it," you mumble.
Sun's neck snaps up so hard you think she might've accidentally broken it, and her beaming grin is so bright that you might leave her home a little blind, with blurry spots in your vision.
Like how the fuck are you still alive?
That's the billion ahn question, ain't it – how the shit are you still breathing, right now? You're a kid scrounging for shit to survive in the goddamn Backstreets. Kids like you die every time you take a breath – you remember being ganged up by Rats, and even if you were pretty sturdy back then, you're not that sturdy, and even if you're willing to say that Landlord Lin probably pulled some strings to make sure that you're not gonna get fucking murked the moment you step outside, he ain't everywhere. Because you remember. You remember.
[Fortitude has Reached Rank III. You Are Beginning to Remember.]
It was late, that day – you were late, and you were panicking, and hurrying. It was getting dark, and while the real Night won't be starting for few more hours, being outside when the light's out is the last place you want to be. So you ran. You dashed. You sprinted. Through alleys, through the maze – your lungs burn, and your heart begins to melt, and for the first time in almost forever, you actually want to desperately return to your apartment – in that moment, in the brain of that young and spineless and weak Lily, the apartment seemed to you like a safe haven. And maybe that's why you forgot this, but that's not it because – because then you blindly slammed into someone. Rats. Lots of them. Nearing a full two digits.
And then you realized you're still not on Murakumo territory.
They caught you, sneered at you, surrounded you, and tried to take your hard-earned work of that day, and a whole lot more too. Kid organs can net you pretty money for the right buyer. It was the easiest choice in their goddamn life. You refused to give in – they refused to give up. So they beat you, gang up on you, and you gave it your all, you fought and struggled, but there were at least ten of them, and only one of you, and Rats are best when they got the big numbers.. So – and then – but – that doesn't –
And then – but then –
Well, you think that, but you're pulling out fucking blanks at the moment – there's Mao but fuck you if you're gonna cook something for her. She's nice and all, butt you'd rather get the shit kicked out of you first. She'll never let you live it down. There's Kai, 'course, and Kai's good, yeah? That seems appropriate. You two have been working together for a while now, and more than that, you've been working well, and it wouldn't be awkward as all hell, and –
[Red Ribbon Activates!]
You feel a tingle – a tickling brush on the back of your neck, and you absently secure your loose ribbon back up. And she ain't gonna judge, you know that, however shit your cookin' might be – it would be a, well, it'd be a show of something, that you appreciate her and shit, that you think 'bout her and –
[Perk Activated: Partners.]
No. Fuck that noise – that mushy disgusting gross noise that only someone like Mao would spout, and so fuck Mao in particular for fillin' your head with this shit. You're just partners. Partners. Remember that. Partners. Sure, out there, in the field, you have her back, and she got yours – her life's in your hands, and yours in hers. You two… wouldn't die for each other, but she'd take a hit for you, as you would her.
[Endurance Check: Easy. Pass.]
And only because you can take it. You're a goddamn tank fortress. Hell yeah.
But that's common basic sense. It's just what it means to be partners, when you're out there on the field, where the success of the mission depends on either of you leaving the killing floor alive. The fucking point you're making is that you know shit all about her outside the Office, 'cept for some crap details like how her mom's a pretty bigshot Fixer, and she also don't know shit about you too outta the Office.
You ain't gonna be the first to fuck that shit up.
… That only leaves Sun. You glance to her, lock onto her brightly-shining eyes, her smile wide and beaming, encouraging you like she –
[Empathy Check: Hard. Pass.]
Like she cares. And she does. Genuinely. You can't deny that anymore – can't ignore the facts. You could be visiting her for any reason, or none at all, could just suddenly show up in front of her apartment out of the blue, and she'd open her apartment's door without a shred of hesitation, and slam herself into you. She might excuse it as loneliness, and it certainly helps, but that's not just it – that's just her. That's Sun.
Shit. You can't. It's just cooking, but this shit's somehow harder than livin'. Wait, hold up – a spark of sudden inspiration strikes you: who say it gotta be for others? Fuck, you're smart for once – if you ain't cooking for others, then the obvious answer is that you're cooking for yourself. That's common sense. Nodding to yourself, mind made up, you give Sun a smirk. "I've got it."
Sun nods back, almost beaming – and no, you ain't feeling guilt over this bullshit. Nope. Not a bit. And you're starving. Prep's already done, so you turn on the stove, and –
A hum.
You wake up to the sound of humming, and the smell of food. Blearily, with a groan, you roll off your mattress onto your belly, and turn towards the voice. Your lips curve as you watch her back. She looks over her shoulders, ***** patterned blouse swaying underneath her coat. She ***** back at you, ***** eyes curving gently, ****** hair reflecting the light.
"**** ******, ** ******."
You hum, bobbing your head. "*****, ***. ******** *******?"
She glances back to the stove, a ********** look on her face. "It's ****, * *****?"
You blink, then giggle.
*** pouts, before her lips melt into a *****.
Groaning, you climb up to your feet, and –
—and flinch as a giant fuck-off hammer slams into your brain. You blink, once, twice, and thrice. Sweat drips from your skin, heart thudding with adrenaline. You remember. Half-remember. Quarter-remember. Less than that. You can't remember more. Memories you had buried, memories better forgotten, locked away somewhere in the deep of your head, the key hidden in a place itself doesn't know –
[Insight Check. Impossible. Fail]
And I'm afraid, Lily, you've quite lost it.
[Melee Check. Hard. Fail.]
[Endurance Check. Hard. Pass!]
Yet the flesh remembers – it never forgets, however much it wishes it could. It refuses to forget. It cannot forget.
Your body, you, it, moves, guided by sheer instinct. It pushes you, and as your throat dries, you allow it to drive you. Flashes of something blitzing in the back of your eyes, digging deep into your meatspacebrain. It's a sickness, dredging up things better left alone. A poison. It's a parasite, recently planted – no, it has always been there. Recently awakened by your newest neighbor, Adil. It's a song – a tune – a lullaby. A hum. A string of one's favorite things melted together into a hotpot of supposed joy, and a string of one's hated things thrown into the trash. It repeats in your head, beat after beat, word after word: ****, ******, *****, *******, ******* – each and one gibberish, forgotten and scrubbed clean from your head. But the tune, it sticks, it latches – it's the same tune that has been haunting your dreams; that terrifying being which soothes the night-terrors away, and –
– waddle your way up to her. You foot touches the floor wrong, and a squeak leaps from your lips as the ground grows closer – only except, you don't even come close to it. *** hand holds you up, and you catch a glimpse of her ****** eyes before she ******** you close. "Geez," she sighs, muffled and reverberating. Warm. "I know you're excited, but be careful, ** ******."
You mumble, and grumble as you're shifted up, until your head rests on her shoulder. Strands of her hair tickle your nose, sending it twitching, yet the floral scent comforts you. "Mmhm. *****?"
"**'* out *******, ****," she answers you, chuckling. "***'* worry. **'** be **** before it's your *******. Now, come, it's done. Taste this."
You're twisted around in her ******, facing forward. One hand carries you, and the other on the stove. You stare at the content of the pan, suddenly filled with ****. A pair of chopsticks pick a chunk out, going towards you. It looks like ****, but you open your mouth.
It tastes like –
"Shit."
You stare into your pan, eyeing its content dubiously, cursing under your breath. Well that just fucking happened, didn't it? Flashes. Images. Memories. They speed through the back of your eyes, blitzing past them, and your head feels like someone had reached into your brain and fuck around with it like some kinda meat clay. But you remember. Not all, and maybe not even anything, and it makes you shiver in disgust. A longing, the pathetic desire for the less-than-quarter-remembered, best-forgotten past that makes you wanna pull your tongue out and choke in it to fucking death.
Why.
You glance to Sun, and she stares at your pan in visible confusion and apprehension. Purple eyes then lock with yours, startling at your raised eyebrow. She gives you a hesitant smile. "It looks good?"
You snort, crossing your arms together as you take a step back. "Don't lie to me, Sun."
"… Maybe it'll taste good?" she tries again.
"Maybe," you acknowledge, even if Sun doesn't sound like she believes herself. "Well, nothing to it," you grumble, picking up a pair of chopsticks, and pinch a piece of black-covered slice of beef, the sauce almost a sludge, stretching like cheese as you pull it off the pan. Sun shivers. You plop it into your mouth. Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.
Yep.
Sun looks at you with a hopeful smile.
Snorting, you pluck out another piece of beef from the pan and dangle it over to Sun's face. Purple eyes go a little crosseyed, before locking back to yours. You don't say anything. She takes a deep breath, and chomps at the piece –
And promptly runs to the sink and spit it out the moment the meat touches her tongue, turning the water on, and practically lunging after the spout.
"It tastes like shit."
Turning the water off, Sun turns to you with a sad whimper, and equally sad look. "You're awful."
You flinch a little. "Yeah well," you mumble, picking the pan up from the stove. "That's what you get from trusting me too much."
Sun pouts.
You look away from her eyes with a shrug. She's not really sad, but even then, it's too much for you. Returning your attention back to the pan in your hand, you plop another piece of meat into your mouth. It really does taste like shit. All that good-quality ingredients: you have ruined it, utterly and completely so. It borders on inedible, and somehow, someway, is much worse than the actual rotten shit you would get from dumpster diving. You plop another piece in, and this time, it comes with an actual chunk of barely-edible piece of hard spice seed. It cracks, and becomes ground under your teeth, creating an overwhelming explosion of nose-searing aroma. If you had to describe its taste, it's like someone thrown a buncha shit and everything off the countertop into the food – which is exactly what you did.
Or to be more precise, it's exactly what she did.
"… You don't have to eat them all, you know – or any of it," Sun says, frowning, purple eyes shining in worry. "It's fine to throw them out."
"Nah," you say, continuing your feeding. "I'll sooner die 'fore I waste any food."
Sun blinks, then bursts into a sudden bout of giggling.
"Fucking what?"
"S-sorry," she shakes under your raised brow, beaming as her giggling dies down. "It's just –" she takes another breath. "Thanks, Lily."
[Empathy Check: Medium. Pass.]
For this. For all of this. She needs this far more than you realize.
[Empathy Check: Hard. Pass]
You could live alone. Sun couldn't. Not anymore.
[Insight Check: Hard. Fail.]
And you can't say why.
You look away, back towards the pan. "Whatever."
It's disgusting. It tastes like shit. You're only fucking hurting yourself, and not in the sense of fucking up your tongue. Deeper. But you can't fucking stop. This is what this thing has made you into: a pathetic fucking freak addict with a longing, deep-seated and desperate, reaching out for any shred, for anything close to a proof, to the confirmation, for the evidence of the past, of a time that once was. And it all, as you finish the food, it all boils down to a single pointless shitty and unanswerable question that ascends your little pathetic high, creating the mother of all crashes – pain and confusion and sorrow, and all those fucked up shit rising up to the surface:
Why did you leave me, mom?
[Endurance Check: Hard. Fail.]
I'm afraid… I'm afraid this is beyond us. We are an impenetrable fortress – yet what can a fortress do against that which attacks the mind? We are weak. A paper fortress.
[Repression Check: Very Hard. Fail.]
I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. This is what we've tried to protect us from; to spare us from this pain – but there's little we can do when we seek the past ourselves.
[Vision Check: Very Hard. Pass.]
Stand tall, and forge ever onward. Leave the past behind, for there is nothing there.
[Ego Check: Very Hard. Pass.]
No, don't. That's a lie. A lie. You know better. You can't leave the past behind, and you've forgotten so many things. Remember. Don't forget.
[Vision Check: Easy. Pass.]
No. You think there is something to learn behind that veil – but there's none. There lies only pain and suffering and misery and despair. Only a longing and a yearning for something that's already long gone.
[Repression Check: Easy. Pass.]
At least not in this past, sister.
[Ego Check: Hard. Pass.]
No, there's always something.
Your head thumps against itself – it hurts. You want to vomit. You close your eyes, and let out a shuddering breath, putting the pan down to the sink – your eyes fall towards the piece of beef Sun had spat out. It's a waste of food, and ain't as if it lasted long in Sun anyway, and 'sides, you've eaten dirtier stuff before. But no, you haven't fallen that low yet. Swallowing, shuddering, you tear your eyes away from it, and turn the sink on, letting the running water wash it away – and just like that, it begins to fade, that high, that longing, that yearning, like shit flushed down the toilet, leaving behind some measure of relief, and dread upon the dark stubborn stains sticking 'round the bowl that's just gonna be fucking impossible to clean without getting your elbow real deep into it.
You turn to Sun, blinking as she takes your spot on the stove. Purple eyes glint as she meets your look, her hands securing her apron.
You frown. "I thought I was the one doing the cookin'."
"Well," Sun mutters, chuckling. "I think you've got all the basics of stir-fry down, Lily – the seasoning could do some work, but the beef and veggies are all cooked perfectly, and the techniques were all fine," she nods, bobbing her head as she goes to the fridge – you catch a glimpse within, and it still makes you stop at how loaded it is. You don't point out the fact that she barely tasted the food. Then again, you sometimes don't need to inspect a corpse to know it's dead – maybe the same logic applies? The Eye of an Expert. In any case, looks like your experience as a foodie finally paid off – not that it hasn't already. You've been eating like a king lately. One day, you'll eat like a god . "And if it's just seasoning, then I can show you how it's done!" she puffs up at that, and your eyes bulge as she takes out a plastic bag of meat. She grunts as she grabs it with two hands – you take it off from her hand, slightly amazed at the weight, and drop it to the counter. Sun shoots you a thankful look. "And it'd be a waste not to use these after I've defrosted them for hours."
Your stomach begins grumbles, drool flowing. She's right. She got you there. It would be a waste – doubly so if you're taking rein and turn it to crap.
"O-okay," you mutter, nodding shakily. "I'll watch."
Sun hums, giggling as she arms herself with a knife. "I'm gonna make this for you, uh," she coughs, glancing away. "In mind."
You try not to think too much about that, and focus as she takes a deep breath, nod to herself, and starts working. It's the difference between night and day, how she acts normally and how she acts now, and how you were cooking and prepping to how she's doing it, relaxed and loose, yet focused. This is Sun in her natural enveeron—envron—place now, in control, just as how the field is your natural place.
You wonder what she looks like when she's at work.
…
Pork and vegetables stir-fried with soy sauce. Deep-fried battered pork pieces slathered in sweet-and-sour sauce. Crunchy-looking deep-fried slab of pork belly, its skin crackling. Grilled and roasted ribs still steaming, fresh from the oven. And amidst all that, a variety of side-dishes, of home-made kimchis, and finally, a tub-basket of fresh and fragrant rice. All of them placed for display on the table, leaving almost no space beyond what little you need to eat. You stare at the selection in awe, and in growing, unceasing appetite.
It's a whole goddamn feast.
"… I might have gone a bit too carried away," Sun mumbles, clasping her fingers together, looking sheepish. "It's been a while."
She did get carried the fuck away, like holy shit – first it was the simple stir-fry, but as if a fuse got lit under her ass, Sun just went off into her own (very delicious) world. "Fuck off," you say simply, plopping your ass down. "I ain't complaining – in fact, I'm starving."
[Vision Check: Medium. Pass.]
And you're gonna pay her back – like hell you're taking charity. You ain't that no more, you've told yourself.
[Negotiation: Medium. Pass.]
But you probably shouldn't say that aloud.
Sun twitches, then smiles, sitting down. "I guess being a Fixer means that you need all the energy you can get," she muses.
"Damn straight," you grunt, before eyeing her critically. "And you don't eat enough."
Sun gasps. "I thought we were over this already!" cheeks flushing, she puffs up her cheeks. "I'll let you know that I've eaten more than enough after our last talk – I-I've even gained weight!" a look flashes over her face the moment she said that, and Sun deflates, lowering her head in disappointment: "I've gained weight."
Uh.
[Negotiation: Hard. Fail.]
Don't say –
"Never had that problem before," you tell her, shrugging, before pointing your chopsticks at her. Her eyes go cross-eyed a little, before recovering. "Maybe you should move more?"
Sun pouts, glaring at you. She opens her mouth, and then closes it. "Nngh," she grumbles.
Uh… "There's nothin' wrong with gainin' weight," you tell her… helpfully? "Means you're getting sturdier, 'cause you're pretty small, and uh, light, uh…"
Shit. It's not working.
… You should try changing the subject.
"So about that thing, with the cooking thing," you start, quickly, pointing your chopsticks at her. You grimace. Sun peers at you, eyebrows quirking in interest. "What's up with that?"
Sun blinks. "The love thing?"
You make a face. Ugh. "Yeah, that," you mutter, feeling a little sick. She didn't really explain it before, and you really don't wanna know, but if that's the key to good cooking… you're just gotta bite the fucking bullet. "What's up with that?"
"Oh," pink rises to her cheeks. "… Well," she fidgets, before letting out a breath, smiling lightly. "It's just… if you're cooking for someone, or really just for yourself, then, um, it makes sense to keep certain things in mind, right? What they like to eat, what they don't like to eat – what they can't eat… I want them to finish their meal happy, and satisfied," she turns her face fully to you, and her purples lock with your greens. "So I put my love, my heart into them, and when it pays off, it also makes me happy, and satisfied…" she lowers her eyes. "So that's why."
You stare at her quietly and glancing over the spread of food before you. "I see," somehow, you're not surprised.
"… It's ridiculous, isn't it?" she mumbles. "That's what everyone's been telling me. Even Moon said that."
It is. It is ridiculous. And naïve. And stupid. Idiotic, and plain suicidal. To love is to trust, and to trust is to leave yourself open. So to stake, to pin your own personal joy onto others' – onto practical strangers', to people who'd mug, or kill, or torture, and worse if you give them the chance… and not even strangers; but people you know, who you thought you could trust, who would in a dime turn on you – you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.
You can't find what you want in others – and expect that they'd give it to you without price, without risk.
But she knows that already, you think.
"… It's very you, I suppose," you mutter, and Sun jolts, looking at you in surprise. "I mean, not like I can't fucking complain, right?" you snort, gesturing at the table. "Wouldn't be here getting free food if you ain't all about that love and shit," you grumble. And that's the truth of it – and the further truth of it is that, even if you ain't aiming for it, you're probably gonna disappoint her in the long run. That's just how it is, really. "So you already got your claws in me, eh."
Sun blinks, then titters. "Yeah, I got my hooks on you, Lily."
You don't flinch, but it's very close – no, you ain't that little bitch shit who scrounged shit in trash anymore, who'd bend over backwards for food and money and scraps, who'd be looked down and can do nothing else but simmer in that steaming pile of shit. You're done with all that shit. You're a proper Fixer now, and on your way up and up.
And Sun's definitely no Landlord Lin.
You snort. Well aware that Sun's eyes have been on you, smiling, as you continue to dig through the food, shoveling into your mouth hole, and shivering in delight at the explosions of flavors, fat bursting through, coating your mouth with deliciousness. Despite having feasted on some luxurious shit in the last few weeks, this feels different – not as luxurious or extravagant, but… better, somehow.
Unfortunately, it all ends too soon.
You stare at the empty plates in sadness, before patting your stomach in satisfaction, leaning back from the table. "I'm stuffed."
"… I can't believe you ate them all," Sun mutters, shaking her head with a smile.
"Ain't gonna waste shit."
Sun hums, and you bask in the silence, sleepiness trying to claim you as you close your eyes in satisfaction. "Thanks, by the way," you say. "For the food."
"No," Sun responds, and you crack an eye open. She smiles. "Thank you – for coming here, I mean."
That's not – you fucking know what, you're even going to bother. "Sure. Whatever."
There's a pause. "Um," you recognize that tone, and you take a deep breath, opening your eyes back up, and face her. She fidgets. "… Has there been any news on Moon?"
"Nope," you answer simply – or rather: "I don't know," you shrug, frowning as you lean towards the table, eyeing her eyeing you. "That's more of Mao's thing – but considering that she hasn't said anything to me, he's probably not anywhere close. Maybe he's dead."
[Instinct Check: Medium. Pass.]
Somewhere, deep into the City, in District H, a man sits in a dark alley, crying and wailing and sobbing, and despairing – he blew it, he destroyed it, he screwed up. And he's lost. But then a voice whispers inside his ears.
"Oh," she mumbles. "… I hope he's not."
"Really," you drawl out. "After all that."
"I know," Sun says, smiling sheepishly. Guiltily. You grunt, glancing away. "I don't love him anymore, and I don't think I could ever look him in the eyes with a smile, but… we shared a lot of firsts together, you know? My first lover, my first roommate, my first kiss, my f-first time," she coughs.
First time?
[Insight check: Hard. Pass.]
It's sex. She means first sex. First Fucking. First bird and the first bees and the whole first shebang.
Oh.
You blanch. Gross. "R-right."
Sun coughs again, refusin' to meet your eyes. "A-and he taught me plenty of other things too – and those things mean something to me still; they have forever changed me, and I'm still carrying them close to my heart," she closes her eyes, pressing a hand over her chest. She smiles a melancholic smile. "It was nice, while it lasted. So just for that, at least, I don't want him to die."
You stare at her, before clicking your tongue, shoving your hands deep into your pockets. You're not even surprised anymore. She was, after all, the one who requested to not kill him when given the chance. "You know that if he comes again, we might not have that choice anymore."
Sun's gaze lowers deep. "… I know," she pauses, taking a deep breath. She looks around the room, eyes staying on the shelves – you remember it being a lot fuller before. "I tried to get rid of them, you know," she continues. "But no matter how much I threw out, I still see them there, the memories we had, the times we've spent, like a… That's why I'm planning to move out."
You stare at her, waiting, digging your hands deeper.
"… It's not just about the memories, trying to escape them," she mumbles. "But it's also the danger – Moon's still out there, and he knows where I live – which path I take to go to work and go to home. It's also the expenses," she sighs, closing her eyes, and you wonder who it is she's trying to convince. "… This place is supposed to fit for two people – I could afford it for a few months, but after that, I would be cutting it pretty close, and um," she opens her eyes again, eyeing the table, before then up to you. She smiles, hesitant and tentative. "It might be a nice change of pace."
Your lips twitch. "Why're ya tellin' me this?"
"Just a heads-up," she smiles. You glare. She fidgets, looking away. "… It's far, the place I've found – that Chief Vale found, I mean," she corrects herself. "And it's going to be harder for us to meet. We might not…" she trails off, eyes almost pleading as she refuses to finish that sentence.
You exhale with a grunt, pulling your hands out of your pockets, and cross them together. She's not the only one – or rather, you're not the only trying to escape. "… Dunno what you want me to say," you point out, and Sun looks away. "Until Moon's taken care of, it's definitely safer that way, and…" you trail off. It's some pussy ass shit, to be haunted by memories, but you also know that it don't make it less haunting. "Yeah. Whatever. But don't fucking look down on me, Sun," she jumps at your voice, reflexively locking eyes with you. "If I wanna meet up, then we'll meet up – fuck the fucking distance, don't look down on me."
"Hah," Sun giggles, almost unconsciously. "You said that two times…" then she pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face, then pauses again, grimacing.
You roll your eyes. "Out with it, Sun."
"You could move in with me!" she blurts, eyes wide, and you blink, eyes equally wide as she gestures wildly around here. She beams, bright, stars in her eyes. "In here. We could split rent, and you know, I could also make you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and you could also act as my bodyguard too, and we can make new," she blinks. "Um, uh," she blinks again. "Sorry," she shrinks into herself. "Forget what I said, Lily."
You open your mouth, and then closes it.
Food and shelter – and what more, a way away from Landlord Lin. You can't break off the shackles – the hooks and chains he got on you, but until you pay him off, you could get as far as the fuck away from him and that miserable fucking place.
But to move in with someone else, to live with someone else, even if that someone else is Sun, who is also your client, and, yeah, it don't feel like a good idea, but it also don't feel like a bad one. The place is great, and split rent's not bad, even if it's just a little beyond you at the moment, but you also know that you will be able to pay that if you're keeping up with your current pace.
"… I'm gonna have to think about it," you mumble.
Sun's neck snaps up so hard you think she might've accidentally broken it, and her beaming grin is so bright that you might leave her home a little blind, with blurry spots in your vision.
Article: Cooking Lesson Successful! Cooking is now at Rank 1: Rookie! There is less chance of you screwing up your cooking, and you can learn One More Recipe (Mom's Shit Cooking excluded).
You have learned a new (your first) recipe:
Mom's Shit Cooking – the art of not wasting food by throwing everything (and you mean everything) available into your preferable cooking vessel. It results in a shitty, and barely edible food, yet it fills you with great and addicting and deep Longing and Yearning. [-10 Sanity. Can't be recovered naturally.
+ 1 to Ego: Remember the Past.
+ 1 to Repression: Learn from the Past.
- 2 to Vision: Yearn for the Past.
Lasts for a Week.]
At the Start of Month 2, you'll be given the option to Move in with Sun, or not.
…
That night, you dream of the past – no, not dream, you're not asleep yet, not really. You remember – no, start to remember. Shards. Fragments. You've never questioned it before, too busy trying to survive, and some parts of you were grateful for it – they're fucking distractions, shit that you don't need to know if you want to live. Mom, dad, and the rest. There's something there, behind that veil, and today you peeked into it, and find nothing good – but there's more that you've forgotten.
Like how the fuck are you still alive?
That's the billion ahn question, ain't it – how the shit are you still breathing, right now? You're a kid scrounging for shit to survive in the goddamn Backstreets. Kids like you die every time you take a breath – you remember being ganged up by Rats, and even if you were pretty sturdy back then, you're not that sturdy, and even if you're willing to say that Landlord Lin probably pulled some strings to make sure that you're not gonna get fucking murked the moment you step outside, he ain't everywhere. Because you remember. You remember.
[Fortitude has Reached Rank III. You Are Beginning to Remember.]
It was late, that day – you were late, and you were panicking, and hurrying. It was getting dark, and while the real Night won't be starting for few more hours, being outside when the light's out is the last place you want to be. So you ran. You dashed. You sprinted. Through alleys, through the maze – your lungs burn, and your heart begins to melt, and for the first time in almost forever, you actually want to desperately return to your apartment – in that moment, in the brain of that young and spineless and weak Lily, the apartment seemed to you like a safe haven. And maybe that's why you forgot this, but that's not it because – because then you blindly slammed into someone. Rats. Lots of them. Nearing a full two digits.
And then you realized you're still not on Murakumo territory.
They caught you, sneered at you, surrounded you, and tried to take your hard-earned work of that day, and a whole lot more too. Kid organs can net you pretty money for the right buyer. It was the easiest choice in their goddamn life. You refused to give in – they refused to give up. So they beat you, gang up on you, and you gave it your all, you fought and struggled, but there were at least ten of them, and only one of you, and Rats are best when they got the big numbers.. So – and then – but – that doesn't –
And then – but then –
Article: REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED!
[Choose 1]
[] And then you died – and then you didn't die. Once the dust settled, your 'corpse' kicked near towards Murakumo territory, you woke up, and picked yourself up, like shit didn't just happen. [Gain Perk: Beating Twice: Once a Week, when your Health drops to '0', you will be revived back up to an 'Injured' state.]
[] And then you changed – you transformed. Skin stretches, bones break, eyes pop, muscles tear – you grow, and grow, and grow. Twisting, and shifting. Terrible fangs, and scales over your skins. Talons, and fire roaring in your stomach. You thrash, and swing, and then everything dies. [Gain Perk: Warped: When your Health reaches Critical, you have the option to enter a Berserk State. Receive +6 to all Combat Related Rolls. You will be uncontrollable until all there are no threats (allies included) left.]
[] And then you heard Her whispers – Her Voice. Guiding you, step-by-step, dancing through them, escaping somehow unscathed, the Backstreets turning into your playground in that just one singular moment, fearless. You don't know her, yet you do at the same time – She's a familiar, ever-present presence. She is the City. She has guided you then, and even though you've forgotten Her language, She has guided you now still. And now you remember her. [Gain 'Whispers of the City': 'Instinct' is replaced by 'Whispers of the City' – 'Whispers of the City' starts at Rank 1, and costs twice as much XP to rank up. You are much more in turn with the City.]
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