“This place is so strange,” Lyra mumbles. She stands stationary to one side of the hotel entrance, taking a moment to look around. The lack of shiny advertisement signs is what confuses her. Naturally, she lived in the city, and this place is... not rural, but secluded, perhaps. Perhaps there are few needs to advertise when most stores hold a natural monopoly by default?
She would accept that as a logical answer, but she’d think that there would at least be a sign saying “textile shop” or “clothing shop” outside.
It’s also possible that the world she’s in now operates differently. But she’s getting no answers simply observing like this.
She spots movement; a bystander is walking towards her. Excellent; they don’t seem to be busy. “Excuse me!” She calls out to him. “Did you get sent here by the Velvet Room, too? Is there any sort of shop that sells cloth here?”
impostpersona replied to your post:impostpersona replied to your post:“Wine is...
“There’s a fine line between having fun and simply drowning one’s sorrows, you know. Besides that, even if I’m a bit late for that, as a responsible and steadfast leader, I cannot very well allow someone to get even sicker…it’d be bad for morale.”
“What are you saying.....I don’t...have sorrows.....aha.....” Just drinks more whiskey and by more I mean a lot.
Mondo believes in everything his brother told him; he holds Daiya up on a pedestal alongside each and every lesson his older brother taught him. It hasn’t been for the best, unfortunately. Not when many of those lessons taught Mondo to hate himself.
Daiya’s views on masculinity were toxic and he taught Mondo he was inherently wrong for every way he didn’t measure up, for everything he enjoyed that wasn’t considered a masculine hobby. Mondo loves sweet food and small dogs, he likes things that are cute and how cats feel when you pick them up. None of these are the rough and tumble words Daiya would have preferred to hear from his younger brother.
So, Mondo does his best to posture, to force himself into a mould that doesn’t fit and is slowly killing him with pressure. He hates himself for all the ways he doesn’t fit what he’s been taught he should be and for what lead Daiya to always tell him to “be quiet, Mondo, at least be silent while we’re walking,” because his brother couldn’t trust him to talk casually in case he might say something unmasculine.
The Moon: Something they fear.
Other than fearing himself and what he’s capable of after that School Life of Mutual Killing, Mondo has already watched his biggest fears come to pass: He lost Daiya. He let his brother down, he’s certain of it. He failed to measure up to every expectation placed upon his shoulders, a weight he could no longer bare the more was piled on top of him. He let Kiyotaka down. And he watched that last, incredibly important promise to Daiya burn.
“Not at all, even if it is mundane to me,” Adnunt says. He listens for a bit before his attention turns towards the lack of a poltergiest. His face turns a bit sheepish at that, but it soon returns to normal. “Ooops. Not sure whether to apologize or be glad for saving you the trouble there.”
“In any case, I’m Adnunt, a communications specialist. My backpack has tons of working communications and navigational equipment, and I’m not only adept at using it but also capable of juggling multiple conversations at once. Surely a leader could find a use for such capabilities?” He had been wondering if it might be possible to get a job as a news reporter here. Problem was finding news to report on.
“Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. As priorly stated, Poltergiests are a nuisance even at best, so perhaps I was hoping for too much that one would give me the information I sought…nonetheless, as a leader, I must keep to the promises of gathering information that I make. What kind of ‘leader’ makes promises and doesn’t keep them, after all? Not a very good one, I would imagine.”
Waving off the other’s offer of apology with a regal, business-like air, the impostor paused to consider the other’s abilities. “Such skills would indeed be quite handy here - especially since I wish to find as many information as I can here.” Never mind the reason for this was not because of being a leader, but because they wanted to use such knowledge to assist their partner Nero, the stranger didn’t need to know this.
“However, you are a complete stranger to me: how do I know your word can be trusted? There is the possibility you could be lying - so if you could prove your abilities, I would most certainly be willing to believe in your potential.”
Such abilities as the stranger described….sounded a little TOO good to be true, so it paid to be cautious.
Adnunt nods, choosing to smile a bit at that explanation. He notes the other’s intrigue and waits patiently, something which came very naturally to him. He smiles a bit more when the other recognizes the usefulness of such skills too. “Glad you think so too.”
It was when the other asked how he could prove it that he smirks. “Well, your cell phone is in your left pocket; besides us, there are nine people and/or demons currently in this room, with one leaving,” and he didn’t even bother to look around to confirm that, “I am currently facing 14 degrees north of west; very few people have used their phones recently, with yours ringing for only a second when Certa rang it up (I know her); and your phone currently has no reception because I’m jamming it for demonstration purposes.” Triangulation, radar, compass, radio wave interception, and of course the jammer, respectively. “How’s that for a demonstration?”
"Nero, you do realise that story sounds like Bull, don't you?"
“Oh, I’m sure that it must be too much for your mind to fathom, that I’ve met and even entertained an heir who is almost as influential if possibly not more so than you. But let me tell you the tale, then, of the day that I won my bet with Thomas Haas.
Before I can continue this story you should first know of the corporation I’m speaking about. Haas-Bioroid specialises in what we call bioroids. These are robots who’ve been given something like human personalities and thinking capacity, and this is how they became extraordinarily powerful: selling cheap, customisable labou.
On this particular evening, I was entertaining guests in my little “throne room” as I often do, when one of my employees informed me that a VIP had come through the door. Now, from time to time I do get the odd Bollywood star or celebrity underground runner coming for a night on the town, but who I hadn’t expected to be escorted up to the executive lounge was Thomas Haas.
Young Thomas is the heir to the throne of Haas-Bioroid, something of a playboy and often considered a liability to the company if certain documents which have been passed to me are correct. But make no mistake, the wealth and influence at that young man’s fingertips is nothing to sneer at, so obviously I greeted him and asked what brought him so far from Germany.
“I’m here to take a break… and make a little bet with you.”
He sat down, all cocky and sure of himself, as if he owned the place and explained the wagers. He was dissatisfied with all the usual, normal vices of women, wine and drugs, which explained why he was not responding to any of the girls fawning over him or the scent of narcotics mixed in the air. If I could entertain him in some fashion in the next twenty-four hours, he would supply me with the next year’s worth of Haas-Bioroid projects and schematics. If I could not, then he would divulge the existence of my little outfit to his mother. Of course, at this point I questioned whether he could, especially since he had come here unattended into my territory. But the young man had a very good deal, and he must have known that I tend to walk the razor’s edge, so I relented and took the deal.
The question here was what to do. What would this spoiled young brat who had everything he wanted actually be entertained by?
He slept on that couch, watched over by my security. I awoke him promptly at 5 am, taking him on a trip through the bustling markets of Mumbad. It is one of the few cities in the world to still have an open-air market not completely controlled by the major corporations. The sights, the sounds, the smells… you could tell he was trying to look impassive and cool behind those mirrored shades, but there was enough softness in his face to tell he was enjoying it.
From there a trip to the theatre to watch a traditional dance where Thomas loudly, and rudely, pretended to sleep. I don’t think he’s ever had anyone kick him in the shin before, but after that he was much better behaved.
Afterwards, we went for a bit of a climb. Close to Mumbad we still have the Western Ghats, a beautiful mountain range that still to this day permits travellers and seekers. And yes, before you asked, I do engage in climbs when time permits. It cools the head, you see, and there’s a beautiful view at the top. And as the sun went down once he smiled then turned to me, dropping an odd question in my lap.
“How do you know that you’re human, Severn?”
How do you answer that question properly? All I could tell him was that i felt human. The things I experienced, the emotions I felt, the pleasure and passion and pain, all of it told me I was human. We talked a little bit more on the philosophy of what constituted being alive before the warning sound of a hoverjet engine told me we would soon be parted. He placed a credstick in my hand and gave me a grin before walking up to the jet and being taken back.
Part of me still wonders how he is, or where those doubts had come from. But after reading those files I learned a truth I’m sure the young Mr. Haas has needed to grapple with for some time. I pray he finds the answers he needs soon.
“Oh but zat is ze same brand of insanity zat allowed me to make ze medigun,” The medic replies. “As I vas saying, ze careful application of gorilla hormones allowed ze sniper to punch a hole zrough ze metal door and unlock it from ze other side! He might’fe broken a few bones doing it, but it vas nosing ze medigun couldn’t fix.”
"If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?"
11: If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?
“Eh? It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Kazuma puffs up his chest with a grin, because he feels clever in this moment. After all, it sounds like a complicated question, but he’s certain he knows the answer. “No one likes being wrong! Even if they learn from their mistakes so they can be right next time, it still means they were wrong in that moment.”
He could leave it there, but the more he thinks about it, the more his boastful posture eases and he finds himself frowning. “I mean, who would wanna be wrong about something? Especially if it’s important and affects others? I don’t believe people wanna do bad stuff. Sometimes there’s bad guys or guys who do bad stuff thinking it’s the right thing, but generally no one wants to be a bad guy. So, making a mistake… that means you messed that up. It means you might’ve hurt someone or yourself. Sure, you can learn and apologise and move past what happened, but the memory still sticks with you, right? You can’t just forget that mess up and some people have trouble moving past that, they dwell, and that can lead to some really bad feelings.”
