☾ identity
It was much harder than any other game Charles had played, and he didn’t think he would win. It was days of willing his frail body to keep running away from Noise and Reapers, hiding in the alleyways of London and ducking into store fronts to survive. No matter where he went, though, he knew that the Composer had her eyes on him the whole time and that she decided arbitrarily who wouldn't move on at the end of each day, anyway. Luckily for him, she seemed to have a soft spot for the shy, defenseless ones. Soft to the point of being rotten, probably.
"It's Charles," he'd mumble every time she got his name wrong.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Your name is written [REDACTED] in your soul, you see. It's nothing personal, love." Eliza waved her continuous mistake off, making his heart sink to his stomach. But he was too timid to say anything more.
"You're so precious, [REDACTED]," she'd say, insistently reaching forward and brushing her thumb over his cheek. He flinched away from the touch, only ending up with her repeating the process, more roughly this time. "I love mixed Asian girls, I can't wait to doll you up," she went on. Charles felt numb, ice seeping in his bones. She'd smile serenely and bid him well on the day's mission. Day after day, he wondered if he should have joined Mom and Dad if it meant sparing him this.
In the end, she and her preferential treatment were the only reasons he survived the Game. Someone he didn't recognize stood next to her when the end of it came. They looked otherworldly, high strung, sympathetic, tired. They reminded him of the only teacher he had that referred to him as a boy. He felt like he could trust them.
"Charles, correct?" the newcomer said. His face brightened and he nodded. "Ah, good. Well, congratulations on winning the Game. It has been quite a week, mm?"
Eliza was nearly bubbling over with excitement, already her basket was full of 5 pairs of new, lamp shaped wings and Charles could feel that she wanted him to be her sixth. He swallowed and tried to keep his eyes up on the stranger in front of him.
"You may come back to life, or you may live the rest of your existence in the London UG, as a Reaper. What would you like to do?" the figure said.
"Uhm… I… have a question…" Charles mumbled.
"Yes, dear?"
"My parents… they're gone, right…?" he said, swallowing back heavy tears in his throat. The stranger gave a small, weary sigh.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Do you have other family that would take you in?" they asked, their brow knit with the slight worry they allowed themself to show.
"... No," Charles exhaled. He truly didn't know what would be the better option. If he went back to the RG, he would be forced to live as someone he wasn't, without his medications that served as his lifeline. He may even be strong enough to end it all, if it came to that point. But if he stayed in the UG, while he would still struggle to live as Charles, his body would stay the same. He could escape, one day. And, well, if it didn't go favourably, he supposed he had the option of ending it all then, too.
Charles shivered. Eliza was watching him with wide, glassy blue eyes, her silver hair in curls framing her face.
"I'll… become a Reaper," he said, looking up at the angelic figure with tears welling in his eyes.
"... Alright. If that is what you wish, Charles."
-x-
He was whisked into a whirlwind of a first few days as a Reaper. He was given a dormitory to live in, a small one bedroom with a communal bathroom, the wings separated by gender. His closet was full of tartan skirts and blazers that he resented, the desk piled high with books on the UG, Reaper powers, and the history of London. As soon as he was settled and dressed appropriately in the wrong gender’s uniform, he was subjected to various tests that drew out his Reaper power and tested his Noise Form.
"Shadow powers? Oh, that is lovely, [REDACTED], I've been needing a new Reaper in the Espionage department," Eliza gushed. The pile on his desk grew higher with texts on spying and assassination techniques. He was assigned a number, used in place of his old name when necessary. He almost liked the number better.
His only respite was Allen, the only person who seemed to be able to keep Eliza in check. Charles couldn't quite tell what gender they were either, though Eliza referred to them as a woman, as Alexandra. He wondered if that was the reason why they were the only one to call him Charles. He decided he liked them, and he looked forward to spending time with them, whenever he could, and upon seeing the amount of work they did for the city, he gained a great respect for them.
"Say, have you ever wanted to alter your appearance or anything?" they had asked one day while they were eating crumpets for afternoon tea time.
"Ah– Uhm, sometimes…" he responded, nearly dropping the butter knife into his cup. They knew very well that he did, why were they bringing this up?
"You've always seemed a tad uncomfortable in your skin, Charles. What would you change?" They smiled knowingly.
"Well… I guess I want to look cooler… like an albino bunny?" he said, tilting his head.
"Aha, bunnies are cute though!" Allen smiled, leaning back. He felt his lips move on their own, cracking a small smile himself.
Other than those rare, fleeting moments, Charles endured his day to day, undergoing harsh training to optimize his powers and to sharpen his skills as an assassin. He was showered with praise and unwanted affection from Eliza, with comparisons to various female, Asian assassins in media.
"Oh, but you wouldn't turn against me like some of them do, will you, love?" Eliza smiled, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the forehead.
The thought never occurred to him, but after he mulled over the possibility, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
-x-
Once it was all done, Charles left a note on his pillow addressed to Allen and fled the city. He sunk into his shadow the instant the rest of Eliza's body dissipated into static, only narrowly catching the salute of gratitude from the newly crowned Composer. Truly, there was no real threat to staying in London, but he didn't want to wait around to be employed by the new monarch and to spend eternity repeating the last two years. He appeared somewhere outside the bounds of the city, where he wasn't sure if his powers would be as reliable anymore. With nowhere else to go, he did what any respectable Brit on the run would do and boarded a train to Paris. RG or UG, he knew any Parisian would help him in his escape if they knew he was trying to get away from London.
With some luck and a shaky conversation in half English and half French, he ran into a winged man who he knew would be able to help him. Charles briefly explained an embellished version of the truth, though the man connected his story of "I was wrapped up in a political scandal" with the news of Queen Eliza meeting her demise and was delighted to help him.
"Please, do stay 'ere!" the man offered, "I can only 'ope to assist ze one who ‘az liberated London!"
"Uhm… Do you know who could change my appearance, maybe…?" Charles asked, tugging on his hair nervously.
Somehow, Paris was a vain enough district that there were powerful Reapers who's sole purpose was cosmetic alterations. He was face to face with yet another Reaper whose gender he couldn't determine at first glance.
"Ah… S'il vous plaît, uhm… Cheveux… court? Courts? Et blanc? Blanche? E-et, les yeux… rouge," he stuttered, holding up a picture of the haircut he wanted. The Reaper clicked their tongue and nodded.
"Rouge vif ou foncé?" they responded, and jesus christ Charles would have to learn French fast if he wanted to stay here.
"Vif… ah… comme ça, ici–" Charles pointed at a bright red fabric scrap hanging from the Reaper's belt. They gave a thumbs up and gestured for him to get onto the table and lay down. The procedure itself was quick and painless, and he couldn't help but smile when a mirror was brought to show him his new reflection.
"C'est tout pour vous aujourd'hui?" the Reaper asked, tilting their head. Charles took a breath. He had blindly trusted Allen and gotten favourable results there, so…
"Ah, euh… Aussi… Ici…?" Shakily, Charles pointed his hand downwards to the bottom of his torso. The Reaper watched him and waited for him to continue.
"... Efface-là, s'il vous plaît."
-x-
He spent almost two years district hopping across Europe, learning several languages along the way. It was wonderful, having freedom. He relished being able to dress how he wanted, being able to use his powers for something less ugly for once, focusing on learning how to configure his stealth powers into various cute animal forms. His tour ended in France again, this time in the southern city of Marseille as a bunny hopping around the gardens flanking the mansions. The day was just beginning, and Charles was just basking in the sun for a spell when–
"Papa! Un lapin!"
He peeked his eyes open to see a young boy run out of the terrace area towards him. A girl stood at the door warily, watching her brother move with such little restraint over a grey lop in the grass. Charles was picked up into the boy's arms and brought inside, placed on a cushion and fought for in frantic, accented French that he couldn't quite understand fully. It seemed that the mother was trying to argue that they couldn't take care of a bunny, and the boy fired back that they should at least take care of him until they find the owner. It was one phrase in specific that had him, though.
"Nous pouvons être sa famille!"
At that, he burrowed closer to the boy. The mother conceded and instructed a butler to purchase supplies to temporarily house a bunny. In the meantime, the boy hugged him, victorious.
"Je m'appelle Jean, Monsieur Lapin! Et vous?" the boy grinned. His sister sighed and came over to pet him on the head, too. Charles wondered if he could imprint an RGer from this form, seeing that he asked his name– so he tried it, suggesting his own name in Jean's head.
"Hm… il ressemble à… Charles!" Jean grinned and squeezed Charles more, the latter utterly confused at how it worked, despite the French accent making his name something quite different. Moreover, considering how Charles was very much not a French name in the least, it will be interesting to see how he justifies this to his parents.
Nobody minded, though, and the missing bunny posters went largely ignored. Once two months had passed, the father patted his head and announced that the rabbit was now part of the Duvert family.
Charles' nose wiggled happily at having one again.
-x-
After years of obsessively consuming anime and video games, Charles could barely believe that he was now living in Japan. As a bunny, of course– he couldn't get away with running off for a week quite as often as he did before, but he knew Carel's schedule and he knew how to teleport out of his cage, so he spent many a day loitering around Shibuya until it was time to head back home.
It was a lovely routine, though it lasted only months. That December, Jean died in an accident that Charles knew resulted in him playing a game. He wanted to go to where he died and work the game and ensure his survival, but Carel's grief was too much for her to bear by herself. Charles steeled himself, hoping that he could come back and waiting for the day Carel's memories of his death were wiped, to no avail.
Wanting answers, Charles waited for a time where Carel would be out of the house for longer periods of time and took a train to Kawasaki, where Jean died.
"Haha, you're gonna get erased if you don't keep up, newbie!" Jean laughed horridly, blood from his last erasure still speckled on his glasses.
"I'm… keeping up…" Charles gritted his teeth, keeping an eye out for the partner of the Player he had erased earlier that day.
"Sure you are. You couldn't keep up with me, I bet," Jean retorted, licking his lips. Charles squeaked as Jean moved closer into his space, his arm resting on the wall behind him. "Maybe you can keep up in other ways, though. What do you say?" he asked, his voice lowered.
"N-no thank you," Charles huffed, quickly slipping into his shadow to safety. The district had done awful things to Jean, and Charles couldn't bear to see more. He made an effort to avoid Jean for the rest of the game and slipped away from Kawasaki as soon as he was able.
-x-
"Charles! I missed you!" Jean said, holding his arms out to hug the bunny. "It's been so long, huh?"
Not as long as you think, but I'm glad that Carel knows you exist now, Charles thought, snuffling in Jean's arms.
-x-
"You, ah. Knew I was a Reaper even before I came to Shibuya?"
"Uhm… yeah. I worked a week in Kawasaki while you were there, and…" Charles trailed off, looking to the floor to avoid seeing Jean's reaction.
"Ah," Jean responded, "I remember now. I, uh… I'm sorry."
"Be sorry to yourself, you tried to get your pet bunny in bed with you," Charles scoffed.
"H-hey, I was just like that back then, it was a phase–!" Jean squawked indignantly, failing to save face.
"A phase is something that ends, Jean…" Charles tsked, turning back to his newly decorated room. He heard Jean sputtering more behind him as he closed the door.
-x-
A few months after becoming Conductor, Charles sat down with Jean and told him how he became a Reaper. It went exactly as he thought, Jean crying on behalf of him and wallowing in pity that wasn't even for him.
"Sorry," Jean breathed, wiping his glasses, "I just can't believe everyone has gone through hell. Please tell me you're happier now, where you are."
Charles reached forward and swiped his thumb over Jean's teary eyes, wicking away more moisture, his palm resting on his cheek. Jean's eyes widened at the gesture, having never seen Charles be that physically intimate with him before.
"I'm much happier now that I can finally be who I am. So, thank you, Jean." Another rare smile surfaced on Charles' face, and the combination seemed to be too much, as Jean burst into fresh tears right after.
-x-
With approved leave, Charles arrived back in London, almost 15 years after he last left. He was dressed smartly, a dark grey suit with a red tie, and a pair of rabbit shaped cuff links that Jean had lent him for good luck. He still remembered well the way towards the entrance of the God's Palace, and his feet led him there without much thought. Once just inside, he approached the reception.
"Hello, I'm the Conductor of Shibuya, here to meet with the Producer of London," he said. The receptionist looked over the schedule and gestured for him to sit down. It was a short wait before Allen appeared at the door, looking a little confused at having a meeting with a foreign Conductor, though the answer was clear as day as soon as they laid eyes on the man sitting in front of him.
"You're alive," Allen remarked once they had gone outside for privacy.
"I am."
"You're also taller than me now," they laughed, looking up. With the slight heel of his shoe, Charles was indeed 5 inches taller than he was before. He chuckled and took a seat on a bench nearby, Allen following suit.
"What made you reach out? I thought you'd never come back with the letter you left me," they said, their hands folded in their lap.
"I was telling my friend… the Composer, about how I became a Reaper, and I realized that I never got to thank you." Allen tilted their head, a brow raised.
"For not intervening in Eliza's assassination? I mean, I'm not supposed to get involved in that, but–"
"For seeing me as Charles. Honestly, I don't think I would have held onto that if nobody saw me as who I am for two years," Charles explained, a serene smile on his face. Allen smiled widely.
"Of course I would have. You saw me as Allen, too." They smoothed out their skirt, their smile widening into a grin. "Might I say, you're looking quite sharp. Almost made me swoon when I saw you."
Charles' cheeks pinkened slightly, though he was a large contrast to the flustered mess he would have been even a few years ago. "I did some growing up," he replied nonchalantly, bravado enough to keep an air of confidence up.
They talked for hours, catching up from over the years, walking around the city Charles had called home for half his life. He felt reacquainted enough with the city by the time that he had to go.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Allen." Charles held his hand out to theirs; confused, they placed it in his. As was his nightly routine so many years ago, he knelt down to a knee and kissed the back of their hand, eliciting a startled noise from them.
"H-hey, you don't need to do this again–" they sputtered. Charles looked up from his position and smiled.
"It's the ultimate sign of respect here, isn't it? I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to," he responded, getting back up afterwards. "Either way… keep in touch. I'd love to come visit again when I can, I didn't realize how much I missed London."
"London's a home for you, Charles. Come back anytime, okay?" Allen grinned again, taking a step back to let them part ways.
"Thank you, Allen. Take care," Charles said, letting go of their hand. He waved as he slid into his shadow to make the journey back home, feeling light and fulfilled.