Shards of a Broken Sun [Deprecated; see link in final post for remake]

[Baughn]

Green is the colour of protection. The mother's embrace, the father's strength, the shield which will protect you forever. The wall behind which you need not fear the world, the shroud that hides you from your friends. I am all these things and more. Use me, for none will protect you better than I.

There once was a girl.

She had a friend, born on the same day, and her friend had her. Time passed, the girls grew. Her friend lost her family, destroyed by black madness, but the girls still had each other. Their schoolmates asked for friendship and gave their hate with equal fervour, and were rebuffed; they were each other's other half, which was enough.

Then, one day, the girl thought to care for a little bird. The bird was beautiful, and her friend didn't mind, yet their time together was all too brief. They soon drifted apart, the pressures of school too great for their nascent friendship, which the young bird felt could never compete with the strength of the older. Her thoughts grew heavy, her bonds weak; she let herself be dragged down, to a lower limit than her own, and joined with the deadened mistress of that place.

The girl was distraught when she realised what had happened. Ignoring her first and foremost friend, she cried out and threw the world aside for the sake of the bird; invited bedlam into her heart and descended, all for the sake of their mutual return. She received another self, in that place. A girl in blue, whose mind was her own, and whose resolve was her life. They fought the bird, destroying a part of her that the remainder might live, then returned together.

The girl and the bird were closer, from that day on. This caused her older friend, who could only cope with the world through that friendship, to despair; losing her strength, she fell into a nightmare with no return.

When the girl saw this, she cried out -

Black is the colour of insanity. Strength beyond reason, reason beyond reality, nightmare and dream as one. Black is the colour of the void, simultaneously all colours and none. Use us. Nothing will stand in your way but your own mind.

There once was a girl. A different girl, perhaps; a reflection in a broken mirror.

She had a friend, another child her age. They were friends, and close as friends could be, until one day her friend lost her family. For reasons beyond her understanding, sins that were none of her own, failures she could not have avoided - for all these reasons her friend was rejected by everyone including the girl, and rejected the world in turn, preferring instead to live a heated dream of violence.

She had strength, that friend, strength enough to stay by the girl when she returned. Strength enough to find another girl, in time, mirroring a friendship that could not have been. The world mending itself, as it is wont to do.

The girl - the younger girl, with kind blue eyes - found a young bird, one who had been burdened with chains, and resolved to break the chains. Like the world had been broken, so had the boundaries between Limits: The thoughts of one limit was the reality of another, if not vice versa, but the shattered world ensured that this had always been the case. This was a crueler world, where a young girl's thoughts to help could hurt another's deeper self, a world on the edge of destruction, but happy endings were still a possibility. The young bird recovered, as did her younger sister.

The friend, who was as close to the girl as if they had been born on the same day, this time didn't mind; she had the strength not to, though nothing else. But this was not enough, for the girl had found other friends, and making them all happy was too hard. Yet the girl persevered, even taking control of her deeper self when she learned of how it could control them in return; yet the girl succeeded, twisting nightmare into dream at the cost of her sanity.

Her choice of timing was, perhaps, unfortunate; at any other time, it might have worked. It was only through the sacrifice of her friend's Strength that she escaped. But though she celebrated the victory, and hugged her Yuu, it did not take long before she realised they had been two sides of the same coin. Without the one, the other could not prosper.

When she understood this, the girl returned to her Other, and the two - in unison - cried out.

Blue is the colour of the shattered world. Hold me, and I will teach you to control time; use me, and we will dance on the fragments. Blue is the colour of miracles, of the trillion-to-one chance reached through inevitable effort, of the mind that cares not for reward and will never give up, will never accept the truth, will never see an end to its search.

There once was a girl. A kind girl, who never wished anyone ill, but whose actions belied this fact. Whenever things got too hard, the egg too difficult to unscramble, she would take the easy route and shatter the world.

In the end, the only one she destroyed was herself.

All the easy routes only lead down. Or haven't you understood anything?


Upcoming: Black Impulse
The story of a girl caught in the gears of the world

A/N: This is something I'll be working on whenever I find the time, and am otherwise waiting for votes. It may or may not be questive. Expect updates to be slow, but relatively consistent. It's also set in Amu's world, on the fringes; same setting, same story, same time, but unlikely to directly interact.

Can you guess the crossover?

 

[Baughn]

Sunday's Melancholy, 17:30
Black Impulse

An explosion shatters the street, fire turning night to day for brief moments before the light leaves you forever. You feel yourself lifted off your feet, the shockwave seeming almost gentle, until with a nauseating crack your back hits a metal pole - and breaks, your body bending backwards until your heels smack into the back of your head. The feel of your burning skin and boiling eyes is a footnote, compared to the pain of every single bone in your body breaking at once, but there's nothing below your chest except a horrifying void. You barely even feel when the returning air drags you across the ground; you certainly can't do anything about it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You shouldn't have been outside in the first place, Mom had asked you to stay at home until the military had taken care of things, but after the sky had changed you'd just had to go see how Yuu was holding up, hadn't you? And then to get caught in the middle of a crowd on the way home, trampled in the stampede when that demon appeared, of all the things…

The pain isn't actually that bad, even if it has the raw quality that tells you this is real, not some half-imaginary nightmare in the other world. You've felt worse. The fear, though, that refuses to go away; it gets worse by the second, as you belatedly realise just how badly you're hurt.

As Black Rock Shooter, you could have shrugged off wounds like these. As Matou, it's all you can do to keep breathing; your chest doesn't seem to want to move, and you're lying in a pool of something sticky, which is resisting your efforts to lift your mouth out of it.

You cough, bringing up thick globs of a salty liquid, but fail to get it out of the way of your breathing. A few panicked moments later, you've swallowed the blood, but then you have to cough again and you realise you won't be able to keep this up for long. The average adult has five liters of blood, but you're hardly an adult and you're literally lying in a pool of the stuff, most of which is probably yours and -

You shut off that line of thinking. It isn't hard, as thinking is getting harder overall. The feelings from your shattered body are growing fainter, and help will clearly not be getting here in time.

Oh, so this is death. The real thing doesn't feel like much.

Yuu, Yomi, Mom, Dad, everyone. I'm sorry…

You wish you could at least see, to take one last look at the dark side of the world. All of your friends thought it was freaky, but you found it strangely beautiful. Instead a vision of your alter ego's world is becoming clearer, cerulean skies and steel-blue constructions of shattered metal turning black and rotting away as your life leaves you.

Your emotions build to a futile crescendo.

You don't want to die!

{ } Die
{ } Write-in

A/N: Well, I guess it'll be questive, at least some of the time. Obviously I'm not going to kill the main character of the story in the first update, but that being said, there are definite consequences to taking the easy path.

However, the kid gloves are off. Matou isn't as important to the story, so while (most) of the suggested options won't be outright catastrophic, a bad write-in can and will be. "{X} Live" might cause her to make a desperate effort, but without knowing how, she's in trouble. Stunt bonuses still apply, exalted or not.

Please use {curly braces} to mark votes.

I'm unsure about the second-person writing style; feel free to object if you think standard third-person would work better. I'm also unsure about where Matou is supposed to live, but vague memories of accents mean I'll place her in Osaka; object to that if you have a source saying otherwise. Unless it's Tokyo, in which case nope.

As for Amu's side of the story, I'm a bit caught up in travel at the moment and will be calling that vote tomorrow at 19:00 GMT.

 

[Baughn]

Black Impulse​

#2

[X] You wouldn't die like this. Too many people cared for you, too many people would be hurt if you disappear. In this moment, maybe, with the skies changed in the real world, and this last vision - maybe she could lend you her power? Even if it changed you, even if it made you different from before, that would be okay! As long as you could make it through this together.

You don't want to die like this.

You don't want to die at all, ideally, but to die like this, killed - murdered by an alien being without the slightest chance of fighting back, burnt to near unrecognisability, your fate left for friends and family to wonder about until they finally, traumatically discover the truth?

No. It's not acceptable. Too many people care about you, too many will be hurt if you disappear. Yuu would… Ever since her other self died, she's been a shell of herself. Recovering, slowly, but your death could undo months of careful coaxing and therapy; it could be the single blow that sends her over the edge, and you won't have it.

But how? How can you survive?

You're lying in a pool of your own blood, and you'd probably be unconscious already if the distant waves of agony weren't keeping you awake. You can't move your limbs - of course you can't, that would be silly to hope for, you don't know why you tried - and you're having trouble catching your breath; it's hard to tell, but it feels like only one of your lungs is working at all. You feel like you're getting worse by the moment. That should bother you, shouldn't it? Well, it does, but feeling bothered by your imminent demise isn't going to help, now is it?

You harshly clamp down on your own emotions and the flailing thoughts of your dying mind.

Think logically about this, Kuroi Mato, or you're going to die.

As it stands, yes, you'll die. No ifs or buts about it, you're going to die. You're barely alive as it is, and you've never heard of anyone surviving this kind of harm. Even if you got medical help immediately - which you won't, any competent medic will focus on the people they might actually be able to save over lost causes like yourself - even if the demon isn't still around - even then, you're fairly sure your current state is closer to the kind of horror story they'll tell new trainees than anything that can genuinely be fixed. You can't really tell, but from some of the sensations you think a few of your ribs might be poking out and scraping the asphalt.

Clearly then, the only -

…

There was something you had to reason out. What was it?

…

You feel so sleepy.

…

Panic!

…

Oh. Right.

Your thoughts are getting muddier and harder to control, but you manage to force them back on track by mustering every drop of willpower you have. If you had the attention to spare, you'd wonder at how you can do that, because you're pretty sure you should be dead already. As it stands you can no longer muster the strength to breathe, and a sensation like pins and needles is spreading through what remains of your body.

Half a minute. If you're lucky.

Right. No human could survive this, but how human are you, really? It's something you've avoided thinking about, but your first and oldest friend… Yuu wasn't human, and the girl you befriended months ago, the one you've been calling Yuu… isn't the same person. The one you first befriended, the girl you've so enjoyed being friends with, that was actually her Other. The new Yuu is similar in many respects, but she's missing almost everything that attracted you to her in the first place. If it hadn't been for your long friendship, if you hadn't felt obligated to make up for Rock's actions… well, you don't think you'd be friends now. Fortunately she was starting to show glimpses of her old self again.

…

No. Focus!

The point - the important point is, Yuu and Strength had swapped places. Only mentally, but they did, and that was back before the world got this weird.

Does that mean you can swap places with Rock?

You shove the thought away. Even if you were willing to drag her into a body that's so obviously failing, it doesn't look like that'd be any kind of escape. You can see her world quite clearly now, in your mind's eye, and it's collapsing from the outside in. All you'd be doing is trading one form of death for another; no, what you really need is to borrow her ability to survive this kind of thing.

Somehow.

You've already borrowed her body once. Or rather, to be specific, she pushed it on you and then took advantage of the opportunity to shoot you up. It hurt. It hurt even more than this does, but apparently shooting people up is the only way she knows to talk things through. Rock's world is a mental one, therefore emotional and physical pain are the same thing - or so your guidance councillor told you afterwards, and you're pretty sure she's right.

Can you borrow her body again? Out here, in the real world?

It's a crazy thought, but you're feeling crazy. Crazy solutions are the only ones you have, at this juncture. Of course it won't work, of course nothing from a dream-world can affect reality… of course the world won't turn dark and wrap in on itself, of course a demon won't blow up the street around you. Of course your best friend since childhood can't have been a ghost whose very existence was forgotten by everyone else in your class.

So what if it goes against every possible intuition? You've forced your will on reality before, even if only the reality of other people's thoughts.

So what if it changes you?

It's okay if you change.

The only other option is death.

Rock. Please, help me!


A/N: Having written this, I feel like handing Mato a Lunar exaltation. Really, I do; I don't think they get any more thematic than this scene, but unfortunately there aren't any around. So nope.

Besides, that would promote her to a Player, and then I'd need a new viewpoint character for this section.

 

[Baughn]

Black Impulse
Sunday's Melancholy, 18:00

A door whispers open, then shut.

You tip-toe towards the stairs, doing your very best to avoid being noticed. It's easier than it should have been; your new clothing (swimsuit, almost, and you thank the gods you have a cloak) - well, nothing that… nonexistent… is going to make much noise, unless perhaps it's a sob of embarrassment.

The stair, when you step on it, doesn't creak. Not because you're awesome at stepping on the right spots, oh no - you're as good at that as anyone could be, and you know very well it all creaks - no, the reason it doesn't creak is because you weigh practically nothing. To jump on top of a three-story building, without actually being any stronger -

Explosions pepper the demon's skin, to no effect. You jump out of the way as it fires a jet of flame at your position, a leap that turns into a tumble as you once again fly much further than you meant to. The next jet is fired while you're mid-air, and almost hits you dead on; you dodge by the tiniest of margins when Rock takes control and pushes you into an impossible spin, but your left leg turns into an inferno of pain just from getting close. There isn't enough time to fix it before -

That was almost the full extent of your battle with Dubhe. Wake up, fire gun, get fired at, collapse in a heap - on a roof - as it kills more people. By the time you recovered, it had left. Then you staggered home.

You cut off the memories before they can get properly started, choke down a sob, then stumble and stagger sideways as your state of distraction makes you miscalculate a step.

A hollow thud echoes through your home as you slam into the wall, and even though it didn't hurt, even though you're physically feeling fine, you find it difficult to recover. Even though you know you should hurry, part of you doesn't want to move a single step further.

It wasn't a loud noise.

Barely there at all, really. Not nearly as loud as it should have been, more like you'd hit the wall with a book than what had actually happened, but -

"Mato! Are you all right? Why didn't you call? I was so worried!"

You hear Mom calling from downstairs, and shrink in on yourself at the forthright pain in her voice. You also, it must be said, shrink at the thought of her seeing you dressed like this. Nevertheless, you turn sideways to shout back at her. Hopefully your cape will keep her from seeing your mode of dress.

"Cellphone's broken, Mom! I'm… fine, though."

Broken, yes. Also it's still stuck to your corpse, which isn't here.

That, naturally, is when Mom turns the corner - coming from the wrong side - and gets the full frontal view of your new clothing. Black Rock Shooter's clothing.

She stands as if rooted to the spot.

You do a fair impersonation of a tomato.

"Young lady," she says when she recovers her voice. "Just - what are you wearing? Did you wear that outside? Wha- Hey, stop, come back here!"

"Just let me change first!" You shoot back, while scrambling up towards your room. No, no, no! There is going to be a conversation, clearly, but you are not having that kind of talk with Mom while functionally nude!

Safely ensconced in your room, you turn your back to the door and lean against it for a second. What a mess…

I don't understand. Why did you leave? Is there something wrong with my clothing?

You shake your head.

Modesty, Rock. Honestly.

You didn't care as much while you were fighting.

———————​

Rock. Please, help me!

It isn't as easy as that. Just asking for help isn't enough, could never be enough; Rock herself is half panicked, half berserk as the world collapses around her. As you collapse around her.

Words weren't enough, and so you clamp a will of steel around her and pull. In the outside world your body is dying, your life's blood draining away onto the street and your brain already failing for lack of oxygen, but the more you focus on the otherworld the less that seems to matter.

Rock struggles, seemingly surprised by the sudden assault. You could probably overpower her in the end, but damn it, there isn't time for another fight over who's in control.

I said, help me! Otherwise we'll both die.

That line is enough to get through to her, spelling out reality to someone who's never once in her existence had any true reason to fear death. You 'see' her body go rigid, then she turns to look you straight in the eyes - no, the world turns around her. Burning violet eyes meet your own point of view, and -

A shock, like diving into putrid water. You grimly swim forwards, knowing the sharks are fast closing in //

Burdened by a heavy load, you slowly make your way across the schoolyard. The other students brush past you like you don't exist, and you know it's because of the load you're carrying, but you can't put it down. You feel contempt for the one who did, who made you carry it, but she's also //

A psychedelic world. Changeable and changing; every moment brings out new paths, as the old ones disappear literally the moment they're forgotten. Deep within it is a token; a representation of another's will to dominate, and so you hunt, trusting in your own iron will and that of your other half to avoid //

Pain // Sorrow // Anger

You rip yourself out of the vision with a mental snarl, wishing - not for the first time - that Rock could talk like a normal person outside of special circumstances. The she can't is reasonable, but no less annoying for all that.

Dammit, Rock, I said stop!I'm trying to help!

There is a pause. A beat, as Rock's will draws back in bewilderment and circles you, before rushing back towards you at great speed. You brace for impact, though you're starting to feel empty, like you're a hollow glass sculpture. An analogy that rushes through your mind just as Rock looks ready to punch through and shatter you.

Nothing?

You remain unshattered.

Although there's still a sense of potential, which you'd normally have interpreted as speed, she stopped just before she would have hit. The world is still collapsing around you - reduced to a few hundred meters, now - and you feel smaller, almost Rock's size rather than an omniscient point of view, but the two of you are circling a common center rather than clashing. You aren't sure what to make of this.

Well?

Rock takes your hand. It's sticky, and painful, and it makes you feel terrible. You can feel a stone crushing your chest, but at least it's a metaphorical stone. In here…

Wait, you have a hand?

We don't have all day.

Wait, what is she doing?

I can see what you were doing. It wouldn't have worked. I can help, but I will not be ordered around by the likes of you. Not by someone who won't accept themselves.

You shake your metaphorical head and focus. Rock doesn't respond to anything but strength.

Well, if you think I'll let you order me around you've got another thing coming!

As you wish. I am not you, and you are not me, but perhaps we can get along.

You've never once seen her smile, and you don't see her smiling now, but perhaps there's the faintest trace of muscle movement that could, given a sufficiently large baseline, be considered a precursor to a smile.

She's the part of you you didn't want. Your pain, your sorrow, your selfishness. You know that, and you accept it, but you refuse to let her into your heart; no matter what, you will have to maintain a bright line between you. Rock, it seems, has similar ideas.

———————​

Memories. Sometimes, you really hate them. You're pretty sure they aren't supposed to be this vivid, almost like you're living it again.

At some point during the last minute you fell on top of your bed, and you've curled up in a ball inside your cape. Inside Rock's cape, which might as well be yours, because you can feel her mind brushing up against yours and every time you both think about the same thing, which happens often enough, you can feel bits of yourself flaking off and falling into Rock. That the same is also happening in reverse does not give you a great deal of relief.

It's happening right now. You're uncomfortable with the process, because you're supposed to be split, that's the entire point, but it doesn't appear you have any way to stop it, and you're not even sure if the discomfort is yours or Rock's.

How long do you think we have?

A day? Maybe two, or even three? I don't exactly know. As desperation moves go, that one was a real doozy.

You've gotten talkative.

And you less so. Shouldn't we go see Mom?

…Yeah.

You miss Dad.


{ } Take a few more minutes to compose yourself and get dressed
{ } Go down as you are. She has seen you in less, and it'll help set the scene.
---
{ } Tell Mom the bare necessities. You probably can't avoid explaining a lot, because you weigh less than your textbooks, but perhaps you shouldn't mention failing horribly at fighting Dubhe.
{ } Tell her everything.
{ } Write-in

A/N: I honestly didn't expect to see two updates in a row asking basically the same question, but that's how it worked out. Oh well, you can consider Amu's variant to be practice!

 

[Baughn]

Black Impulse
Sunday's Melancholy, 18:05


It's too damn easy to stay on your bed.

That wasn't the plan. You ran here to get dressed, not just to escape Mom, but the moment you stopped moving you were overcome by a strange sense of lassitude. Curled up like this, you feel more comfortable than you've felt in a very long time. The feather-light touch of the quilt underneath you, the familiar sounds of your room - the knowledge that Mom is downstairs - it's all flooding your mind, and you can't help but let out a joyous giggle. You feel so happy, almost physically so, like there are tiny bubbles of joy bursting in your chest.

You feel safe. Finally safe, even though this is nothing special. It's just your room, you spend nearly half of every day here. The sheer emphasis is odd, and your own emotions make you curious, but you tell yourself it's probably just because of the fight with Dubhe. After all, if it wasn't, it would be…

One more minute, then you'll get back up. One more minute, just to bask in the glow.

What gets you off your back, in the end, are all the things that are subtly wrong. The way the quilt fails to acknowledge your weight, the way you eventually forgot to breathe, but most of all your far too intense feelings of belonging. There's nothing special about going home, after all; you do it every day. You aren't enough of an idiot to miss the most likely culprit.

What's going on, Rock?

There's a moment of silence before she answers, her voice dreamy.

How am I supposed to know? Don't keep assuming I have all the answers. Just stay here…

You let out a sigh. Rock is behaving oddly, but it's probably just the - everything. Both of you nearly died, a little while ago, and you've been through a lot. Even as you think that, you stretch out and kick your feet downwards. Arms extended, knees slightly bent to take your weight -

You very nearly crack your head on the ceiling, accidentally push off the wall, and frantically flail your limbs before slamming sideways into the bookshelf next to your door. A small book-alanche follows you downwards to the floor, landing next to your head and giving you a great close-up look at The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. English edition, because Mom is annoying like that, giving you books when you'd rather have had a replacement soccer ball. The bookmark doesn't even fall out; it's still stuck on the twelfth page, where it's been ever since the day you got it.

"Heh.. Haha," you chuckle. Yes, your lack of coordination is worrying, but you refuse to let that break your mood. It didn't even hurt - you fell all the way from the ceiling, every bit as fast as usual, but it didn't hurt in the slightest. Mom must be getting worried about what you're up to, though. You should get going - no, you should change your clothes, then get going.

Actually, why bother? You have nothing to hide, not from Mom, and these are your favourite clothes. Correction: They're Rock's favourite clothes. They are awfully comfortable, though - even if mostly in the sense that they don't get in the way - and she has a point, it hasn't been more than a few months since the last time you went to a hot-springs resort together.

I didn't mean it quite that literally.

Still true, isn't it?

You carefully untangle yourself from the bookshelf, marvelling at how your newfound flexibility allowed you to fall into a gordian knot of limbs without even noticing. Time to face the music, but first you're going to at least wash your face.

———————​

No, really, this is still way too embarrassing!

———————​

"Hi, Mom."

You stand nervously in the kitchen doorway, watching Mom watch you. She was cooking when you came downstairs, a sure sign of her discomfort this early in the day, but the moment you called her she dropped what she was doing and turned to stare. You shift uncomfortably; you've closed your "cape", which turned out to be a perfectly normal (oversized) zippered hoodie - you don't know how you missed that, except that Rock never bothers to zip it up - but that just covers your chest and a few of your new scars, it doesn't make you look like normal. There was simply no way for you to look like normal.

Mom seems almost broken. Mouth slightly agape, she scans you from head to foot and back again. It's not surprising, really; you had more time to prepare yourself, and even you were shocked the first time you looked in a mirror.

The changes you've been through just aren't very plausible.

Item: Skin colour. Pasty white, like you haven't seen the sun for years. A massive change from your usual tan, and not explainable unless you claim to have gone for a swim in peroxide.

Item: Eye shape. Your irises have turned into concentric rings; worse, there was a distinct electric sparkle in your left until you calmed down, reminiscent of the flame in Rock's. No actual flame, for which you're glad, but then you aren't fighting. If emotions matter then you're probably nervous enough for something to be visible.

Item: Hair length. From somewhere, someplace, you've acquired a pair of fractured twin-tails stretching almost to your feet…

This is Rock's body, not your own, and even though you could be twins it's hard to miss the differences.

"So you know, when girls reach a certain age they go through some changes…"

Your weak joke fails to cheer you up, but it's enough to shock Mom out of her stupor. Trembling like a leaf, she drops the knife she's holding. It bounces off the counter, spinning through the air and heading for her foot -

A moment later you're sprawled on the floor, one arm reaching out to hold the knife by its blade. Gh-dammit, that's - any moment now, you'll -

It doesn't hurt, and it doesn't start hurting. There's no hint of blood, even when you flip the knife to hold it properly. You're still processing what just happened.

"Ah…"

Mom looks down at you, eyes wide.

"Matou?" She asks uncertainly.

You caught the knife in time. She isn't hurt, that's good.

"I'm home?" You try, slowly pushing yourself to your feet. You reacted instantly, which is why you were able to catch it, but those weren't your own instincts. Of course you didn't want Mom to be hurt - of course you'd have tried the same, if you'd realised catching it was safe - but Rock's feelings on the subject are almost scarily intense. She didn't care, she'd have jumped in no matter what. Why is that? How come she can feel so strongly, even emotions you thought were purely your own? Protectiveness…

The question rouses her, only for her to contemptuously answer with a question of her own.

How come you don't?

———————​

"Matou, that's…"

You've retreated to the living room, offering to explain everything in a more comfortable setting. Through some miracle your brother hasn't shown up yet - he's probably stuck on some game or other - but that won't last, so you're hoping to finish the explanation before he wanders down to look for dinner, and with a bit of luck you'll also have an idea of what to tell him.

"No, I can't believe that." Mom shakes her head, her voice slightly raised. "I can't - things like that don't actually happen -"

It isn't going so well. You tried the direct approach, explaining how you got caught in Dubhe's attack and everything that happened since, but other than scaring her with your "wild imagination," you haven't really been getting through to her. You're at the verge of yelling at each other.

"So what if you're pale? Come on, Matou, stop joking - where did you get the makeup, one of your friends? It's not very flattering -"

"If I was wearing makeup, wouldn't I be leaving stains? Come on, Mom -"

You take her hand in your own and deliberately squeeze. She looks down at your grip - no stains or caked-up makeup, just your own cool, pale hand in her much warmer, terrifyingly fragile one.

She looks stricken.

"But that doesn't - make sense," she says, her voice wavering. "Matou, you're - you're my daughter, right? My one and only -"

You don't know what to say to that. You aren't even sure what she's thinking, much less how to explain, but you know you have to fix this.

{ } Go over everything that happened one more time.
{ } Go further back in time, to when you first became aware of Rock - everything that happened to Yuu, even if it isn't really your story to tell.
{ } Demonstrate physically, you can make it obvious that you've changed.
{ } Distract her, don't make her face this right away.
{ } Write-in

 

[Baughn]

Black Impulse
Sunday's Melancholy, 18:25

"Of course I'm your daughter, Mom -"

Your voice breaks, and you take half a step backwards. Why would she ask you that? It's a hurtful, horrible question, and you can't believe Mom would look at you like that - you can hardly even identify the emotions you feel, let alone control them - this isn't supposed to happen!

"Matou?"

It hurts, almost like being shot. No, worse than being shot. You grit your teeth and try to push it away, but it doesn't go away - it should be going away - why does thinking about it just make it worse?

"Matou - come back, I'm sorry -"

Come back?

Oh. You've backed up until you're nearly back in the kitchen, well away from Mom. You tremble, caught between desires to flee and to stay. It's too much - these are Rock's feelings, and you'd already decided not to let them in, but you can't control them. You can't even comprehend them, it's all you can do to hang on to your sense of self - but that sense doesn't allow this storm of emotions -

Mom looks uncertain. Confused. You would have preferred for her to take the first step, but it doesn't look like she knows what to do. Taking a deep breath, you forcibly clamp down on your emotions; you won't deny their existence, but there's really only one approach that's acceptable here. This, too, is a form of battle.

"I'm still me," you say. Quietly, but with a confidence you don't really feel. You look down, studying your hands instead of looking at Mom; they're pale, perfect like a doll's hands, and without any sign of life, but they're still your hands. Even though this is Rock's body, these are still the hands you've had all your life. You'd know them anywhere.

Letting out a sigh, and riding a wave of you don't know what, you step forwards - back towards Mom, who looks terribly guilty. She reacts by enfolding you in a hug, which you half-heartedly reciprocate. You feel bad for making her worry, but you also feel angry, and rejected, and other emotions you have no name for. You can't trust yourself to speak, and it entirely spoils the moment.

At least a minute passes before anyone says anything.

"I don't understand," Mom whispers. "You're never this emotional. What happened to you?"

You flinch. Yes, of course she'd notice that, but did she have to put it that way?

"It's a long story," you say. "I'll tell you, just let me finish before you say it can't happen." Please, don't hate me. Don't leave me alone.

"It started many years ago, when Dad finally left us. You were devastated, but I didn't really understand, and I did my best to cheer you up without ever being sad myself -"

You draw a deep breath.

"That was actually a lie."

———————​

You've returned to the couch, where you're telling your story to a seemingly attentive Mom.

"After I started… there was never a good time to stop pretending. You never quite recovered, and there was always something else, some reason to keep pretending I was fine. Eventually I even started thinking it was true; that was about when Rock appeared. You know I was bullied, right?" Mom nods, and you frown unhappily. Those memories feel worse, looking back at them, than it felt to live through the bullying. You never had any friends before Yuu. Your classmates pronounced you creepy, seeing through your emotional blunting in a way no adults except perhaps Saya ever managed, and then - well, you never hated your bullies, but that was when your dreams of Rock changed from an occasional diversion to an everyday affair. You never even felt anger afterwards.

"Rock was my salvation, in a sense. She took on all my burdens."

She took on parts of your mind along with the burdens. The more you lost, the easier it became to give her even more of yourself - the less you understood what you were losing…

I'm not sure I appreciate the way your thoughts are going. What happened to staying separate?

If that was going to work, then Rock wouldn't be talking the way she is.

It isn't working. It hasn't even been an hour, but I can't tell where Matou stops and Rock starts anymore. Sometimes I can't tell whose thought is whose. I know why you didn't want us to become one, and I know I used to agree, but when I look back at my own memories and feel the same way for the same reason -

A girl - well, your own younger self - is sitting in her classroom, studiously reading while her classmates are stage-whispering around her. The insults fly thickly, 'she makes me sick' the least painful among them, but the girl doesn't seem to care. Then one of the bullies escalates to grabbing her textbook, and the girl just sits there, unable to respond. If it had been for the sake of the bullies - oh, but she doesn't see what they're doing as a problem, doesn't even feel annoyance at the loss of her book. Her mother just sighs when she tells her she needs a new one, claiming she lost it on the bus so her bullies won't feel bad.

It's a disgusting spectacle, but at least half the disgust is reserved for your own way of ignoring the problem. Rock is right; you should have gotten back at them. They would never have won an actual fight, when not a single one of them did anything more strenuous than walking to school.

Rock remains silent, and it feels like you're the one choosing not to argue against yourself, but then the feeling fades; she's holding herself aloof, to the small degree she's able. You try to continue your explanation, but you can't manage any kind of detachment.

"I lost every negative emotion, everything I didn't think a "good girl" was supposed to feel. It worked, sure, but the cost - sometimes I was barely there at all -" So close, too close, you might have ended up like Yuu… sadness mixes with retrospective terror, and you raise your voice until you're nearly screaming, using the anger you feel at Mom's obliviousness to avoid breaking down in tears "- Didn't you ever think it was odd? I never complained, never cried, not even when they started physically assaulting me and I came home covered in scrapes! It wasn't maturity. I was ten, Mom, ten! What kind of ten-year-old just shrugs off that kind of thing?"

If it hadn't been for Yuu, you would have ended up like Yuu, and the irony of that isn't lost on you. She - Strength - your best friend - she never told you why she befriended you, forcing her way past every defence and filling your life with the kind of laughter and companionship you wouldn't want to discard, but even at the end of her life she never explained any part of what she knew. It's entirely possible that she'd seen what was happening, and decided to stop it. If so, you're eternally grateful, but for the sake of your dead friend you desperately hope it wasn't. She always seemed to enjoy your presence, and you wish you could be sure that wasn't just a show of happiness designed to keep you there.

You lower your voice to a near-whisper. "Yuu was my first real friend. Then I ran into other girls with the same kind of problem, and I was somehow able to help them. They all became great friends. It… hasn't been so bad, I guess, for the last year and a half." Only because you were unable to feel the depths of despair you should have felt at "Yuu's" death, admittedly, but still. "I was even starting to figure some of this out, until… well."

You sigh. "I already told you what happened today, but I guess I didn't tell you this. Everything I pushed off on Rock is starting to come back to me, and I guess, I - I'm not really used to feeling that kind of emotion anymore, but I don't want to…"

What? What don't you want?

I'll say it.

"I don't want to go back to the way I was. I want to be the way I should have been. Even if that means getting meaner, even if it means I'll see the things that are broken… I'm still me, and I'll still be me. Still your daughter, just… more of me."

Admitting it takes all your courage, because in a sense you're saying you'll stand by and watch yourself being erased. Is that really what you want? No, but what choice do I have?

You don't want to go back to the way you were, either. Rock is still scarily passionate, and you wouldn't mind if you could stay the way you are right now, but to willingly become that doll again? No, that isn't something you can imagine doing.

…

"…So now you know," you say, then lapse into silence. Please, let her believe.

"- Heh." Mom snorts, and you feel your heart sinking, but she quickly continues.

"No, sorry. I was just reminded of something your uncle said, once. It isn't relevant." She leans backwards, putting her hands behind her head. "God, this is crazy, but I think the craziest part is that I believe you. Even if you hadn't shown up looking like this… there were plenty of signs, weren't there?"

You cautiously nod, then shake your head. "Maybe there were, but I didn't really notice myself."

"Still." Mom looks troubled. "I told myself you didn't understand, then I told myself you were unusually mature. Those two don't go together, do they? But at the time, I was so happy you were an easy child to raise. Everyone says teenagers are supposed to be trouble, and you never were." She smiles. "The way you're acting right now is closer to what I'd been expecting, minus the fear. Please don't be afraid, Matou; I'm never going to reject you."

You feel a knot you didn't realise was there loosening, and - bizarrely - start crying. Mom puts an arm around you, pulling you in, and only stalls momentarily when that attempt leads to pulling you entirely off the couch. You end up on her lap, for the first time since Dad left, which somehow loosens the waterworks further.

Mom might not know what to do with a ghost-like overly-emotional daughter, but she knows what to do with a distraught child on her lap. You sigh, and curl up further, as she starts running her hand through your hair.

Come to think of it, you saw your brother in this position no later than yesterday. Speaking of which -

"What do we tell Hiro?" You wonder. Your brother might show up at any time, and - actually, this would be a really embarrassing pose if he does -

"Hiro, eh…"

———————​

You knock on the door, then - receiving no response - open it and look inside. Well, he isn't wearing headphones, but it's just as you thought: Your brother is still (obsessively) playing that DS game of his. He's sitting on his bed, and can't see you without turning.

You smirk, and state in a lilting tone, "You're going to run out of power, you know."

Hiro jerks, making a surprised exclamation. "Aah! Sis, I told you to knock!" Then, despairingly, "I died. Half an hour, gone."

Your eyebrows twitch. "You can complain about that once it happens for real. Now, come on. Dinner."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. Then he looks up and sees your appearance. You've finally changed back to regular clothing, but that really just draws more attention to your paleness. "Wha - Sis! You're all white, what happened to you?"

"I died," you flatly tell him, then turn around and walk out of the room.

"Eeh? You're a ghost?" You hear from behind you. Hiro quickly catches up and grabs your hand, then pouts. "You're way too solid to be a ghost. Stop making fun of me!"

"No, no, I got better." You laugh softly and impulsively ruffle his hair, causing him to stumble and complain childishly at you. You're pretty sure it's the first time you've done that, but you immediately decide it's fun to mess with him.

And that's all there is to it. Hiro simply doesn't care what you look like, he only cares that you're his big sister - though he quickly starts complaining about your new attitude. You could probably hold back on that, you just don't feel like it; both you and Rock have a great deal of fun.

It would be nice to think that the same is true for Mom, but there's still a lot you haven't told her. What happened to Yuu, the details of what happened to your other friends, your own apparent ability to materialise guns from thin air, plus your ability to use them. All the violent bits of the story, in other words. With any luck that won't come up.

———————​

Later that evening. Power cuts have given way to rolling blackouts, allowing Hiro to charge his toys, but also allowing Mom to turn on the news.

"- An anonymous tip from the JSDF has informed us that Dubhe's defeat is largely thanks to a newly acquired special asset, whose actions ensured victory at a far smaller cost than expected, but did not provide further details. We nevertheless urge parents to send their children out of the room, as the scenes we are about to show are extremely violent."

You watch the footage from Kobe in relative silence.

"You were close to that - thing," Mom says faintly.

You quickly shake your head, more than a little shook up yourself. "It wasn't like that. I was mostly running away -" dodging is technically running away, right? "- and it didn't use nearly that much force. It seemed almost casual, in comparison, when I saw it."

You wonder if you would have survived a direct hit from the more powerful beams it used against that artillery barrage, or even the kind of glancing hit you did survive. Either way, looking at what it took to kill it… it's a bit of a relief, actually. It's far beyond anything you could do on your own, which means your failure to kill it isn't your own fault.

"Well… thank God it's dead now," Mom says. You jerkily nod. Maybe, maybe you're better off now, but certainly none of its other victims are.


A/N: Actually, there were paths through this conversation which would have led to precisely that rejection, but telling you that wouldn't have fit in the role of being a good parent. Good going, guys.

This marks the end of Matou's Sunday. If you like, you can suggest ways to spend the time tomorrow - school's out for the moment - but otherwise you'll see her again once some event in the main plot starts affecting her.

 

[Baughn]

Monday's Turmoil, 09:00
Black Impulse



—A landscape of weapons.

Swords, swords built of swords and fragments of swords. Jagged, raw metal stretched to the horizon, every edge pressed inwards. Refusing to bend, it was so easy to shatter—

A landscape of blue and black.

Her world was a battlefield with no beginning and no end. Always different, but always the same. Ruined, grinding, rebuilding and ruined again, the air was filled by the screech of metal on metal. She felt every bit of it, for it was all her. This landscape—this metallic fractal—was the physical manifestation of her soul.

A girl, glad in blue, balanced on the tallest hilt of a edged abomination that had pierced clear through the world. She was clad only in a hoodie—her father's favourite—and she crouched within it, hiding from a fear she couldn't name. She felt the metal under her feet. She turned to the sky, and looked herself in the face.

I don't understand, she thought.

What's the matter?

The girl raised her head, and her awareness extended to the horizon, where a landscape of knives clashed against nothing at all. Blue against red, black against impenetrable, pure white fog. There was a sense of grain to the red, as if it were made out of sand.

You shouldn't look too closely.

—

"Sis! Hey, sis!"

…Red, and…

"Sis, wake up! You'll be late for school! Well, you would, but there's no school!"

A sudden, heavy weight forces the air out of your chest. You shoot upright, a gun already in your hand. The threat tumbles backwards onto your legs—

"Coool!"

Hiro's excited voice pulls you the last few centimeters out of your sleep, and you blink, taking in the room at a glance. It's your own bedroom, lights off, door open, Hiro sitting on your legs—

Forcing yourself not to panic, you very, very carefully take your finger off the trigger. Hiro's… unhurt, thank all the gods, though wide-eyed and grinning. Moments later you remember to dematerialize the gun.

You nearly killed him. You nearly killed him. You don't always like him, especially when he's waking you in his own obnoxiously cute manner, but you nearly killed him, and you're almost shaking at the thought. You love him—you don't have any trouble admitting that, now—so how could you possibly, nearly…

"Sis, are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?" Hiro's pulling a face, trying to look concerned but failing to look anything but excited. "Hey, was that a real gun? Ano, sis… Where did you put it?"

"A nightmare?" Someone's speaking. Is it you? It has to be. "Right, a nightmare, but I woke up. Not a real gun. That's good. That's—that's very good. Hiro…"

You reach out to ruffle his hair, just to confirm that he's there, and alive, and not at all perforated by your all-too-real weapon, but you're far too slow about it and he dodges out of your reach.

"Onee-chan!" Hiro narrows his eyes and pouts cutely, in what he probably thinks is an affronted manner. "You're fine now, because I woke you, so don't do that! Mom sent me, we're about to have breakfast. Come on down?"

You take a moment to collect yourself.

"I'll be right down," you say. Then, smiling to show him that you don't mean it, "Just don't wake me like that again, you jerk, and I won't touch your hair."

"Don't be a slowpoke!"

He gives you a quick grin before running off, showing off his one missing tooth, and you smile slightly in return. Somehow it seems like your relationship has gotten better since yesterday. You're not quite sure how—

Because you're not a boring emotional flatline anymore, idiot.

—You won't think about that right now.

You love him so much it hurts. Having breakfast with Mom and your little brother sounds like a great idea, just so long as he never wakes you up again. The thought of hurting him because of some stupid accident is… unthinkable, almost, if only because it makes you want to cry.

You didn't mind the dream, but you desperately don't want to wake up that way again.

You desperately don't want to forget the way you feel right now. It's harsh, and painful—and scary, thinking of what might have happened—but they're your own feelings, and you want to take the bad with the good. That was the promise you made, when you met Rock in the Otherworld. You haven't been good about keeping it.

Neither should be difficult to arrange. Mom can give you the key to your room, so he won't be able to come in, and Rock isn't going anywhere. Right? Right.

———————

"Morning, Matou." "Nee-chan!"

"Morning," you halfheartedly return. The scene is a little odd. Okay, Mom is sipping a cup of tea—that's normal—and Hiro is working on a bowl of rice, swinging his feet, but he's left his DS out of the kitchen for once and for some reason they're sitting in darkness. You flip the switch while entering the kitchen.

Nothing.

Mom glances at you. "Oh, the power's been out since a little after you went to bed. Gas still works, so there's hot water if you need it. Rice cooker doesn't work, but I boiled some on the oven."

"Um. Okay…"

She's acting almost like yesterday never happened. She can't have forgotten, right? No, that's ridiculous, you still look like Rock.

You sit down next to them with a bowl. Plain rice isn't the most exciting breakfast, but neither of you really know how to cook. That was always dad's area…

"So."

Mom puts down her cup, studying your face for a few seconds. It feels intensely awkward.

"…Did you sleep well?"

You aren't sure if you slept at all, and Rock certainly didn't. Your Otherworld looked even stranger than usual. Does visiting it really count as sleep?

"…Well enough."

Hiro glances between the two of you, his face set in a worried frown. That's right…

"I had a nightmare," you admit. It's sort of true. "It was… bad. Can we talk later?" Because you don't want to explain it with Hiro right here.

Mom's face softens. "Of course, sweetie, but I have to go to work soon. I'm sure they'll need me at the office."

"Even if the power is out?"

"Especially then," she says. "Someone has to keep things running. Without computers…" She sighs. "Back to paper-pushing, I guess. Gods, I never thought I'd miss the blasted things."

On a different day, hearing her use that kind of language might have made you giggle. Today you don't really care.

She looks at the clock, which is showing nine thirty already. Well past your usual breakfast time. "You'll take care of Hiro, right? Don't let anything happen to him… Matou? Matou, what is it?"

"Nothing." You angrily squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force the tears back inside. It doesn't work very well, and you can feel your face clenching in a grimace. "Just…" You want to take care of Hiro, so why does it make you feel so horrible? "Nothing!" You cry, pushing frantically at the table.

With a horrendous screech, the table slides back a centimeter. Your eyes open in astonishment.

Mom gets up and grabs your shoulders, holding you still. "There's no way that's nothing," she says. "Matou, talk to me. What's happening?"

{ } Explain what happened.
{ } Make up an excuse.
—
On a sidenote, how do you want to spend your day?
{ } At home with Hiro.
{ } Bring him to visit Yuu.
{ } Check in on everyone.
{ } Write-in.

A/N: I hate the flu. Do you hate the flu? We all hate the flu, so get vaccinated while you still have a chance.

 

[Baughn]

"Matou? What's wrong?"

She looked down at the table, ignoring her mother's question.

It was still white. Cheap plywood, plain, with a lightly patterned and well-worn tablecloth on top. A small, fresh stain from where Hiro just minutes ago had a small accident. No old stains, though underneath the tablecloth she knew she'd find a lot of scuffs, should she look, which she never did. Some of them are because of her, but most are her father's doing, and although she loved the table it had been years since that was an unconditional love.

"Matou?" A note of annoyance had crept into Mom's voice, and she winced. Mom had a right to know, no, she needed to know, but she still hadn't decided how much Mom needed to know, and she couldn't look her in the eye. Not yet.

What was she supposed to tell her? This wasn't like last night. It wasn't… Rock's reflexes weren't something she could fix. She hadn't even told Mom she could make weapons, so how was she supposed to explain that—without thinking—she'd almost killed her brother?

Mom would think she was hiding it, which she was. She might even decide to throw her out, and right now Matou wasn't at all sure that was such a bad idea. If she couldn't even control herself, what good was she?

She should just leave. Get out of here, so they wouldn't get hurt. She could survive on her own, if that was even needed; surely Saya could lend her a corner to sleep in. Then she could watch over Yuu properly, instead of running back and forth all the time.

To think, Mom was relying on her to protect him…

A choked sound escaped, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Her fingers curled around the tablecloth. Leave? He'd get hurt. She couldn't leave, not with the world in this state, and she didn't even want to leave—it was just old habit speaking—but how could she stay?

She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay, and talk with Mom, about all the things they hadn't talked about. She wanted to play with her brother, and pay him back for being so aggravating all the time, maybe steal his icecream. Probably melted… But that couldn't happen, not ever. She couldn't—

Why don't we just lock the door?

Because—

Slowly shaking her head back and forth, she caught a glimpse of Hiro's hands, balled into fists. Her brother, who—who was worried abot her, and maybe a little scared by the sudden burst of emotions. She was hurting him.

All because she'd gotten so terribly indecisive, but wasn't that also because of Rock?

The door to our room. Her other self's thoughts felt exasperated. It has a lock. Mom has the only key. You already decided to ask her for the key, so get a grip already. Then, because she was still hesitating, We're not leaving; get that straight.

Rock was completely determined, and Matou already wavering. Without even wanting to resist, she didn't stand the slightest chance; Rock's willpower flooded in, her original—robotic—self fading under the onslaught. A small part of her crumpled, like a soap bubble popping—

Nothing in particular changed.

She took a slow breath, unclenching her hands and relaxing by an effort of will. There was no danger here, only her family. The whole episode had taken only a handful of seconds, though to Matou it felt like far more.

"…Sorry," she eventually said, forcing a smile and finally managing to look Mom in the face. "I guess… I won't get used to having everything back that quickly, will I, Mom." Only mostly a lie. "I'm fine, I think. It was a really terrible nightmare, and something you said reminded me of it, but—I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it."

She glanced at Hiro, who was sitting quietly, his eyes suspiciously wet. It'd be fine. He'd always been a strong kid, because he had to be, so he'd be fine even with you here. And what if you left, and there was a fire, or another thing like Dubhe? No, leaving was never even on the table. She would protect her family.

Mom was actually looking worried, for a bit, but her lie seemed to have satisfied her. Her face was so used to forming a smile that, even if it was thinner than an eggshell right then, Mom couldn't see through it at all. She felt like she should probably be happy about that, but really, she just felt bitter. Neither part of her had any experience at hiding emotions.

Although…

She let out a little sigh, her smile growing more genuine to match Hiro's uncertain one.

"Just one thing. Can I have the key to my room? After yesterday, I don't want Hiro to walk in on me like that… it was, um, uncomfortable." She rushed through the explanation, a light blush on her cheeks. 'Uncomfortable' was an extreme understatement, not to mention embarassing. She really shouldn't have lost control like that.

"You weren't even asleep," Hiro said, pouting. "I could hear you mumbling."

"That doesn't mean you get to jump on my bed!" Though she had definitely been asleep.

"Walk in on you?" Mom parroted your words, blinking rapidly. She retraced the last couple of sentences in her head, blush growing heavier as she realized what it must have sounded like—then again, as she consider what her blushing must look like—

"It wasn't like that!"

Mom's expression cleared up, and she realized, to her horror, that she thought it was exactly like that. No, damn it!

She sank back in her chair, hiding her by now incandescent blush behind her arms as Mom, humming a jolly little tune, headed off her fetch quest. Hiro's innocently worried questions didn't help at all. She wanted to tell her the truth, if only to make the embarassment stop, but she couldn't—she didn't want to be thrown out, and wasn't quite sure she was even thinking the same thing anyway.

Head hitting the table with a hollow thud, Matou reflected that at least they'd both gotten distracted from her real problems. Well, she wasn't about to complain about finally feeling real emotions again, but while that was obviously superior to the way she'd acted last week, the whole situation right now was just… ugh. Dammit, Mom.

———————

"Half past nine already, huh. Guess I should be going. Matou…"

She looked up from her food, and from the crossword puzzle she'd been annoying Hiro with.

Mom smiled at her. "You'll take care of your brother, right?"

"Of course, but since there's no school, is it okay if I bring him to check on my friends?"

"Well, I don't know…"

Mom looked skeptical. Hiro looked horrified, though a glance was all it took to stop him from protesting. (And since when was her face that scary?)

"I promise I'll stick to the larger streets. It's fine, right?"

"Oh, very well." Mom shrugged. "Make sure you do, and be back by six; I probably won't be back before midnight, so you'll have to make your own dinner. There's rice and… rice—" She hesitated for a second, probably thinking about the lack of power. "—But you can buy some eggs to fry on the gas oven, maybe? They won't keep for long, so they should be cheap enough."

Matou nodded along. This, at least, was normal.

"Oh, and if you're visiting your friends, why don't you work on your math while you're there? In fact… you'll be visiting that teacher of yours, right?"

"Saya-sensei? She's a councillor, not a teacher."

"I'm sure she'd do fine. So, why don't you ask her to help?"

"Eeeh…"

They went on like that for a while. A pointless conversation, set against what might easily be the end of the world, but it was also easily the happiest Matou had been since she woke up. In a minute her mother would leave for a dead-end, mostly useless bureaucratic job where they both knew half the day would be taken up by her boss trying to set her up with men, but right now they could be properly mother and child. Not so different from last week, except, last week she wouldn't have managed to push back. Wouldn't even have tried, and although Mom was obviously unprepared for her to do so, she was doing her best to accept it.

There was just one single, nagging note of uncertainty marring her happy mood.

I'm missing something—

Where had Rock gone off to?

{ } …


A/N: Second-person narratives are the devil.
A/N: Perfectionism is also the devil, and for other people.
A/N: I'm either still alive, or else undead.
A/N: It's NaNoWriMo. I will take the opportunity to write copious author's notes.
A/N: Next up is Amu.
A/N: This is not precisely a vote, but if there's anything from Matou's day you'd particularly like to see, feel free to request it. Otherwise I'll just do whatever. Don't bother with "Check on Rock!", because that one is obvious.
A/N: Will endeavour not to die again.

 

[Baughn]

Monday's Turmoil, 10:00
Black Impulse

Well, that was a failure.

Matou glared at her own reflection, as if by doing so she could make it go away. She'd been trying to make herself look more alive, less like an anaemic shut-in who hadn't seen the sun in years, but it increasingly looked like she'd need to ask Yomi for tips. Instead of just looking pale, the caked on makeup made her look like a clown. Literally, a clown; her attempts at drawing on a healthy flush had ended in disaster, giving her very visible red spots on her cheeks.

She angrily scrubbed it away with a towel.

There was no helping it, she supposed. She'd already been killed; looking a bit like a ghost was probably par for the course. At least she didn't have to show anyone the scar on her stomach, not until school started up again.

"Are you coming?" Hiro shouted from downstairs.

"Just a minute!" She shouted back, giving her face a final scrub. She looked critically at her reflection, which was at least back to normal-for-Rock. It wasn't so bad, was it? Sure, she looked like she'd keel over from a gentle breeze, but there were people who made that work. Maybe she should try for a goth look the next time they went shopping.

Though, that said…

She poked down at the table, lifting herself up with a single finger. It probably wasn't as unlikely as she'd have liked it to be; she was still—she lifted a shampoo bottle, measuring its weight—still only barely there.

A minute later, standing naked on the scales, she sighed at the reading. Eight hundred grams, which meant her clothes weighed more than she did. It hadn't been windy yesterday, but the way she was now, she couldn't even trust herself not to be literally blown away! When exactly had she become the protagonist of a children's story?

"Nee-chan," a plaintive voice said from right outside.

"Just a minute, I said! And I thought you didn't want to go!"

She frowned. Never mind the wind, even Hiro could easily bowl her over. This would get ugly, if she didn't do something about it.

— — —​

"You're really going to study?" Hiro glanced uneasily at her stuffed backpack. "Really really? Do I have to study too?"

"It's just in case," she told him, tightening the straps and putting on her shoes. In case of wind, that was, along with the books in the pockets of her jacket. "Don't worry so much. Like I care about your test scores—"

She thought about that for a second. Hiro was only in second grade, true, but if she wanted him to get in a better school than she had then she'd probably need to push him a little. He was way too carefree, happy to spend his times on football, games or friends, and she really ought to talk to him about it; her, or Mom, but Mom hadn't been very good about it. She'd talk to Mom first, and then… hopefully he'd listen, after years spent being distant.

"—Let's go visit Yuu," she said. Hiro nodded unenthusiastically, but followed her outside.

— — —​

There was no-one else on the streets. True, it was late in the morning, but there should normally have been someone. Not today, and she thought she understood why.

Instead of immediately setting off, she leaned back against the wall for a minute, staring at the sky. The patterns of radiance that had replaced the stars were still pretty—couldn't be anything else—but she understood a little of what they represented, now. They were the end of the world. The end of her normal life, for all that it hadn't been normal. She was probably the only person who'd had her life improved by this, and the jury was still out on that.

The world around her was shrouded in perpetual, gloomy, reddish twilight, making it difficult to see very far, and they'd been attacked by a demon just yesterday. Most people probably weren't letting that stop them from doing what they had to—it had been killed, after all, and life must go on—but she didn't think anyone would walk around just for the fun of it, not today. Not even her; she wanted to check on Yuu, and ask Saya about what had happened to her, that was all.

Hiro let out a small sigh.

"Hmm?" Matou put a hand around his shoulders. Uncharacteristically, and a little worryingly, he leaned in against her rather than objecting.

"…Nothing."

She glanced in his direction. He was also looking upwards.

"…Let's go, then," she said, trying—probably failing—to sound upbeat.

The roads gradually grew more crowded as they approached the town centre, and before long it looked almost like normal, apart from the near-total lack of moving cars. She took care to skim around the area where Dubhe had attacked her.

— — —​

"—That's the hard part. You have to beat Amaterasu before you can go into the cave, but not kill her, otherwise you can't win the game because she won't be there to rescue you. Seriously, what's with that? Maybe if they'd said so right away, but four hours later?"

They were walking down the street just past the centre of town, a little over halfway to Saya's place. Hiro was telling her all about his latest game, as he had been for the last ten minutes.

"But if you pull it off, you get the strongest weapon in the game. I mean, yes, Amaterasu is already the strongest boss in the game so if you can defeat her you don't really need it, and you don't need to defeat her, but it's so cool." He really emphasised the 'cool'. "And I timed it, you can beat the entire game in less than five hours if you just want to be fast. Speaking of which, there's a multiplayer mode; I meant to try it with some friends at school, but—Nee-chan, what's that?"

"What's what?" She asked, blinking away an oddly comfortable daydream of clashing swords.

"That!" Hiro pointed at a nearby alley. "That sound!"

"Sound?" She'd been tuning them out entirely. "That's…"

Heavy footsteps. The click of bone on asphalt, and a faint smell of blood. She heard a snort, like from some enormous animal, and felt an immense bloodlust, like a miasma spreading out from the alley. 'That'—

Her eyes went wide. "Stay here!" She ordered, some equivalent of adrenaline flooding her body. Then she was off, sprinting the few metres to the mouth of the alley. On the inside—

She took in the scene in spots. Less than a metre away from her, only hidden because of the shade, there were a girl and a boy on the ground. Only a little older than Hiro, children who might go to the same school as him, but they would never be doing that again. They were broken—torn apart, limb from limb—she stepped forward, feet squishing in a pool of blood, her leg knocking into a disembodied arm. There was even a battered, child-sized backpack—

Her stomach roiled, but she felt strangely cold. At the far end of the alley—

Attracted by the sound of quiet sobbing and the click of hooves on asphalt, scared of what she'd see, she looked up towards the far end of the alley. There was a monster, a demon—a bipedal bull, blue-skinned and as large as three men—and beyond it, a second young girl. It was holding some kind of—no, it was incongruous, but although it was mostly looking away from her, she could see it was holding a perfectly ordinary mobile phone and poking at it; a cheap flip-phone, something you'd give to a child. The girl was still okay; she looked unhurt, if traumatised, but the bull was standing between her and the only exit.

"Well, what is it?"

Her eyes snapped down, looking on in terror as Hiro stepped into full view of the alley, then up again—ignoring his horrified shout of alarm—as the bull, noticing the commotion, let out a roar and charged in her direction.

The air around her hands shimmered, flickering and shifting between a dozen different weapons.

[ ] Shoot it. In the head.
[ ] Write-in

(New character sheet. Only real difference is that she's recovered a Dexterity point.)

 

[Baughn]

Black Impulse

The bull was five metres away. Four. Then three, cracking the asphalt with its steps.

A sharp crack echoed through the street, a bullet grazing the edge of the bull's knee and eliciting a pained moo. Then another—she shot twice, quickly—from her hands, which were tightly curled around a massive gun. She was going to stop it. The bull was losing its balance, right knee reduced to a bloody ruin by the second shot, but now she had to sidestep.

The bull half stumbled, half fell towards her. It would come too close to Hiro for comfort, but that was unavoidable; it was twice her size, maybe a thousand times her weight, and she couldn't safely stop it. She poised herself to jump away. If he was so unlucky that it fell on him, he'd be crushed—

She couldn't let it get near him at all!

"Get away!" She shouted, throwing herself at the bull's wounded leg while mentally screaming and pushing her way through fog—cursing herself for her foolishness. They crashed into each other, the bull roaring in agony as her backpack hit its ruined knee with a sickening snap.

A moment later, so did she. The straps on her backpack tore, the bull's massive momentum easily sending her back the way she'd come. As the world twisted like a whirligig, she had just enough time to realise that Hiro had gotten away before she crashed into the ground, and even the shock of feeling her face scraping against asphalt wasn't enough to stop a burst of relief.

Then the bull crashed down on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

She threw every drop of energy she had into pulling herself out. Uselessly. The best she could manage was to free a single, clammy hand, which she quickly used to form another gun. If she couldn't get away, she could at least kill it—quickly, before it—

"Now, none of that," the bull rumbled, grabbing her hand with bone-crushing pressure from one of its own. She trashed, trying to get free, but it wasn't giving her the slightest bit of leeway. "That hurt. About like this, I imagine."

Moments later the description was no longer metaphorical, and her eyes widened in shock as she felt her hand being mangled. Somehow it didn't hurt, but she could feel the bones being crushed, muscles and tendons ripped from their sockets. She could hear it, too.

"Hmm." The bull repeated its actions with her other hand, and a foot, then pushed her against the wall. Its voice was a low rumble, deeper than any she'd heard but still easily understandable. It sounded almost… disappointed. "I was expecting more screams. You are certainly a tough little spirit."

If she wasn't screaming, it was only because of shock. Why wasn't she bleeding? There should be blood—What was she going to do? She couldn't shoot it, not without hands, she couldn't run away even if the bull had stayed outside of easy grabbing range, which it hadn't. It had already crippled her—Rock, help!

Rock seemed to have gone away. She stared at the bull as it continued its lecture, tears gathering in her eyes.

"So are you a sinner? Or are you not?" The bull rumbled at her, tapping her remaining foot menacingly. "I look up, and I see a sinner beyond compare, but after catching her I find she's as pure as the driven snow. That is not how this is supposed to work."

It shifted position, pulling its wounded knee forwards for inspection. To her horror, she saw it was slowly knitting itself back together.

"It is a mystery." It scratched at its wound with one enormous hand, poking at oddly shaped shards of bone that went amorphous at its touch. She watched, unable or unwilling to look away, until it stopped and, narrowing its nearly glowing red eyes at her, closed its hand around her remaining foot. She nearly screamed in anticipation—she did let out a little yelp—but then it stopped, halfway.

"But you did assault me, which should have been sufficient sin on its own. It always has been before. Sinner, I know not how your mind has twisted itself to escape my eyes, but it shall not avail you for long. Your own actions have ensured I have the time to spend, and your nature ensures that I need not risk your death."

Snap. Crackle.

"Not interested in talking? We shall see."

Pop.

She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't need to watch, trying her best to also ignore the weird feelings and ugly, wet sounds issuing from her legs. There was no way to stop the tears when, after finishing with her feet, it moved on to her knees.

— — —​

Crash.

"Stay away from my sister, you… big ugly!"

"Hiro?" She asked weakly, slowly opening her eyes. No. It can't be! He was supposed to be safe!

The world swam into focus, giving her a view of Hiro, her little brother—chest heaving, holding the remains of a crate that he'd evidently—impossibly, he shouldn't be that strong—had smashed into the bull's head. He had dodged back to just outside of the bull's range, if it didn't… It could still reach her, if it twisted around. "No. Run away…"

She didn't know if he'd even heard her. She felt dazed—nothing worked right. She tried to lift her arms, but she couldn't, her shoulders were ruined—

Parts of the crate clattered to the ground around her. The bull ignored it, staring at Hiro with some incredulity.

"Child," it rumbled. "Did you call this one your sister?" It paused, and he took a wavering step backwards. "I see that you believe that. You were acting in defence of family. However, child, I am afraid you are mistaken; this one has been misleading you—"

"I'm not!" Hiro shouted at it, eyes full of tears but refusing to budge any further. He shook his head wildly. "I'm not… She is my sister! Maybe she's gotten scary, and pale and stuff, but she's still Mato! I've known her all my life, so stop hurting her!"

He dug at the ground, picking up random pieces of garbage and throwing it at the bull. "Child—" It started saying something, then a piece of wrapping paper hit it in the eye and it had to lift an arm to defend itself. It held up under that assault for perhaps half a minute before getting up on one foot and roaring.

"Enough! You may be an innocent, but do not believe that makes me defenceless. Desist from this lunacy, or else—"

Crack.

"You—"

The bull twisted, just fast enough that the next hit from the—fireplace poker?—hit it on the side of its head instead of the back.

Smash.

"Oh, no. You weren't supposed—"

Crash.

The child she'd been trying to rescue, a girl of maybe ten years old, readied her metal bar for a fourth strike as the bull fell to the ground. Then she hit it again.

Bang.

And again.

Slam.

The bull's image started wavering. On the sixth stroke, instead of hitting it, the poker slammed into the asphalt—going through the its head—and tore itself from her fingers. Mato could see her looking around for it in a panic, for a second, but then the bull faded entirely from existence.

"Oh god. Oh god—" The girl drew a raspy breath, staring at where the bull had disappeared, then spotted the two corpses and walked unsteadily towards them. "Sakura. Izayoi-kun. Oh god—" She was starting to hyperventilate.

Her phone, sitting on the ground where the bull had disappeared, gave off a ping.

Mato, through her wavering vision, saw Hiro crouching down in front of her. His face was a mask of fear. "Nee-chan. Are you—" He shook his head. She wanted to answer, but she was having trouble speaking. "What do I do?"

"Oh god—" The girl had sat down on the ground, and was hugging Sakura's corpse to her chest, rocking from side to side. She seemed insensible.

"Yui…?" Hiro said, his voice questioning. He turned to look at her. "Yui-chan! Call for help. You have to call an ambulance! Please!"

"Who…?" Yui finally seemed to notice him. "Kuroi-kun? What are you doing here?" She blinked. "Oh. My phone—"

"Here!" Hiro scrambled to give it to her. "Hurry, my sister needs help."

"Sakura, too—" She took the phone, opening it with shaking hands. "Oh god. Sakura—"

[ ] Write-in?


A/N: Well, that was unpleasant.