And yet, she lies
Hey, do you guys remember back when I created the dysfunction verse in that weird style I enjoy. It was June/July. I promised you all I’d write you Ran’s side of it all. And now - at long last it’s here.
Summary: Mouri Ran is not a damsel in distress. She will save herself. [Dysfunction Verse]
[Mouri Ran is not a damsel in distress.
She will save herself.]
Ran waits.
She waits through rain, and sleet and snow. Through the summer as it fades into fall, shortly followed by harsh winds. The year begins anew, the cycle repeats, and yet Mouri Ran never moves away from her perch, eyes searching for a boy she loves.
Or had loved. Sometimes even she’s not sure.
She loves Shinichi when he’s gone – and yet she can only taste bitterness on her tongue when he returns. Days of normalcy inserted between months of unease, a routine that will always seem odd.
Some say the heart grows fonder with absence.
It’s made Ran more cynical.
And yet she waits. And avoids the gaze from Conan when it follows her, worry etched into a face too young to know worry. And smiles whenever Sonoko admires her strength in remaining loyal to the best friend who’s disappeared.
She also lies.
But that’s fine – if there’s anything Shinichi’s disappearance has taught her. It’s that everyone lies.
[Mouri Ran is not a bad person.
And yet, she lies.]
Her father is the first to realise something is wrong. Predictably, of course – parents always know their children better than anyone else. Mouri Kogoro knows Ran’s routine, knows the sound of her footsteps and the hand she uses to stir curry when she cooks the meals at home.
Her friends might know her deepest secrets more, but Kogoro knows Ran’s traits, every characteristic.
And so, he notices first.
Kogoro scoots Conan from the room, hushes the boy before he complains and sits Ran down opposite the table. He makes tea – a rare occurrence these days, like the curry he taught her to cook, but amazing all the same – and calmly asks what’s wrong.
Perhaps too quickly, Ran responds with ‘nothing’.
The eagerness of it is worrying. The compulsion to mislead her father, make sure he doesn’t need to worry is overwhelming. Guilt gnaws at her stomach, chisels away at any spirit she’s got left, and yet Ran doesn’t attempt to change her answer.
‘Is it about the Kudo kid? He’s been gone an awfully long time.’
He has.
And it is. But it’s also about murders, and the way she never seems able to outrun them – about not being able to make new friends without worrying that one of them is going to wind up dead and Ran is tired of it all tiredtiredtired–
Ran says ‘it’s not’ which means it is, says ‘I don’t mind waiting for him a little longer’ which means she does and offers her best smile. Her father glances at her, reads between the lines and says, ‘okay’.
[Mouri Ran is not a good person.
And yet, her mistruths are for the wellbeing of others.]
Sonoko notices next.
Or rather, she’s the next to bring it up. Conan notices, his eyes follow Ran more often now, concern etched into lines across his forehead. But he never brings it up, is too young to bring it up with enough tact.
So Sonoko talks instead. In her own way.
She drags Ran to a KID heist, no kids allowed, and during her attempts to catch sight of her beloved thief, turns to her friend with a serious expression.
‘You’re not okay. It’s alright to admit that you know.’
Ran smiles and asks what she means. She doesn’t mention late nights crying into pillows, staring from her bedroom window at shadows on the pavement, trying to apply faces to people she’ll never meet again.
It’s not so much lying as omitting things. And yet the cold still wraps around her neck, because once upon a time, Mouri Ran shared everything with Suzuki Sonoko and now all they share are witness statements.
She confesses that maybe she’s a little stressed, but that she knows when to ask for help. And maybe she means she’ll know but won’t ask, but Sonoko doesn’t know that so it’s all okay.
It’s all fine.
Ran’s fine and everything remains abnormally the same.
‘You’re sure you’ll come to me’, Sonoko asks, and Ran, perhaps in her kindest attempt at a lie, says yes.
[The more murders she sees, the more Mouri Ran wishes the truth was kept silent.
How many more people would be alive?]
Conan tugs on her sleeve this time.
He looks at her with wide bespectacled eyes and asks if she’s okay.
This one is not difficult, there is no guilt when she smiles and says everything’s fine. Conan is a child, he deserves more than to be worried, to be brought to light on issues he cannot change.
And yet, her responses offer him no respite.
There’s nothing Ran can do about that though, so she smiles and offers to make his favourite food – Shinichi’s too, which shows just how alike the cousins are, which pierces stone through her heart killing her – and it must be enough because the boy lets the matter drop.
[There are only two people who tell the truth – children and the intoxicated.
Mouri Ran is neither.]
It takes time for Kazuha to notice, but that’s only due to their living distance.
Her new friend approaches her with ease during a trip to Osaka, plants her hands in hers and says, ‘I’m here, when ya need me.’
It’s all Kazuha says. The girl doesn’t bring it up again, and somehow there is something calmer in that. In the way she goes from concerned to smiling, chasing after Hattori with a shaking fist because he’s stolen some of the food they’ve bought.
She doesn’t bring it up again, and so Ran doesn’t either.
There’s no lie because there’s no words. It’s like how Shinichi isn’t lying to her either – the complete absence of words.
[Mouri Ran is not a princess.
She’s the dragon that waits outside.]
When Shinichi finally returns, it’s with a broken spirit and scarred wrists.
He explains nothing.
Offers no reason for leaving her suffering and Ran – Ran pretends that it’s alright. She’s been around murder scenes enough to know that every person is made up of puzzle pieces and that given enough time and observation she’ll eventually see the bigger picture.
And yet.
And yet.
She continues to refuse any care she is offered. She pieces Shinichi back together while refusing the same treatment, offers care without accepting any in return. Conan is gone now – the biggest lie she’s ever been part of, not that she knows – and the absence leaves a gap behind in her innards.
Leaves her empty.
‘You’ll tell me, if you’re not okay, won’t you?’ Shinichi asks one day, the hypocrite, ‘so that I’ll be able to help you if you need it.’
Ran says yes, but means no.
[Mouri Ran is not a damsel in distress.
She’ll save herself.]