About Evan Redgrave’s spinal problems, my long-long description of headcanons about his health. I imagine some of his issues are congenital. They didn't cause any serious symptoms or complications throughout his childhood, although there were certain recommendations to follow: avoid overexerting the back, maintain proper posture, and do strengthening exercises. However, such things faded into the background after the death of Evan's mother, Rita. We all know that Caleb took this all very painfully, and one of his solutions to this difficult situation was distancing himself from his son.
During his teenage years at university, Evan tried to lead an active lifestyle. He played sports, carried bags for the girls he courted, and as a result, his mild problems worsened significantly. And since he was essentially left to fend for himself as a student, no one really monitored his treatment. He had money, Caleb sent him it so he'd have everything he needed, but the question of how to distribute it was Evan's responsibility, and he tried to minimize the costs of this problem, largely because he was deeply uncomfortable admitting weakness and the idea that he had more limitations than those around him.
He refers several times to his military service in the game, but in my vision, he's lying about it and never served: his father used his status and, in fact, medical records indicating the young man had a mild curvature of the spine. Evan's lies stem partly from my idea that Redgrave Jr. didn't study in the Great State, but was made to travel abroad to get education. There are better universities out there, and the grass is greener, and it's safer tp be away from war, but of course, speaking publicly about such things isn't exactly acceptable where he comes from... His return to that ill-fated country was due to his mother's burial being there - there were things he couldn't let go of. In any case, that's a conversation for another day.
Miriam knows about his condition and, being the more stubborn of the two, uses her ability to get her’s own way to remind him of the importance of his health. Under her watch, Evan received therapeutic massage sessions and the physical therapy he needed. He refused a therapeutic corset, citing the effectiveness of everything else, but his wife secretly has been saving up for it.
During his year of working at the Ministry, all the progress made naturally began to unravel, as Evan had always been prone to not being very good at monitoring his condition to avoid worsening it by himself. Now, the pressures of a prestigious workplace come into play, where you won't be forgiven for taking an extra day off "without a proper reason," where you're constantly being pushed to the limit and encouraged to exhaust yourself in the name of efficiency - not to mention how devalued human life is there. Evan is once again leading a very active lifestyle, and strength restrictions sometimes don't even slow him down (remember the mini-quest where we're given the opportunity to help a man carry a sofa into the house, which leads to us injuring ourselves and forcing us to go to the doctor). He might sometimes mention "back problems," but he won't directly say, "I have kyphoscoliosis," even if it's pretty obvious to others. He still harbors a certain resentful pride at the idea of admitting that his health sometimes requires different living conditions. Perhaps a bit of shame. All this neglect of treatment, unfortunately, leads to the expected results: shortness of breath after exertion, frequent fatigue, muscle spasms, and back pain. It sometimes woke him up at night.
I think he takes painkillers to maintain his ideal worker's performance and not let James down, and by the end of the story, his dependence on painkillers has already become evident. This is a burden he will have to struggle to shed again with the help of Miriam and his friends. Part of that idea is that the Ministry traumatized him and left many wounds and scars, even in the happy ending.
Another detail: I think his kyphosis is visually noticeable - a hunched posture, you know. But his scoliosis is subtle, perhaps 5-10 degrees Cobb, which is barely noticeable from the outside.
I could draw and depict it differently, because the topic is complex and it took time to try to form an image in my head, so if something somewhere does not correspond to this description in my art, do not think about it too much, this is the first time I work with a character with such features and it took me some time to figure things out.
Blizzard, acting on pure impulse, ran straight into the burning armory! She didn’t care that she was being abhorrently reckless, she didn’t even really think about her mysterious savior for more than a moment, if there was even a slim chance that her guardian was alive, then she was not going to run and hide while he died in vain.
Inside, the flames blazed through the floor, shelves, and even managed to reach up and ignite the wooden support beams for the second floor. The smoke stung at her eyes and threatened to suffocate the Icewing should she inhale too much. Audible cracking noises could be heard over the crackle of the flames; the second floor was going to collapse soon!
Did this deter the dragonet? Not a chance.
Even if she could only walk on three of her legs, she persevered through the suffocating smoke and blistering heat, spraying her ice breath whenever she could to weaken the flames and cut a path through the destruction. Her neck craned downward to keep her head as low as possible while remaining upright so she could maneuver around swiftly while inhaling as little smoke as possible.
Finally, she could see who she came for, as from behind the flames and projected onto the back wall of the armory she could see the shadow of a dragon that had been impaled by around a dozen spears!
Blizzard saw this horrific imagery, but still she pressed on, as she could also see one of the dragon's wings flapping in desperation.
The hot stone floor burned at her talons as she traversed through the flaming debris of her home, her eyes watering from the irritating smoke, and her frost breath began to fail as her body began to overheat. The top floor of the building fell an inch as one of the central beams collapsed from its share of the weight.
There she could finally see her guardian, alive, but trapped!
Apparently that red Hivewing didn't kill him but rather opted to pin him to the stone floor as the armory burned around him. He was almost completely helpless, save for one thing; his assailant didn't do a very good job at pinning his wings. Plateau may not have been able to lift himself off the ground, but what he was doing was fanning the flames away from himself while he gnawed at the spears that locked him into place.
"Plateau!", Blizzard barely coughed out, the smoke wreaking havoc upon her lungs.
The Sandwing's face portrayed emotions of shock and horror at the sound of her voice. He had hoped she would have been in the Ice Kingdom by now, far away from this battle, yet she was here, risking her precious life for him.
"BLIZZARD?!?" Plateau shrieked.
The Icewing could only cough in response, as she couldn't even begin to find the right words now, nor did she have the spare breath to utter them.
She sprinted towards her target and began to pull at one of the spears lodging her guardian's neck in place.
The Red Hivewing must've possessed an unnatural amount of strength to pierce stone with a spear, and removing even a single one proved to be an incredibly difficult task.
"Wait," the Sandwing said, "My arm, free my arm first!"
Without hesitation, Blizzard switched spears and began to pull at one of the spears pinning Plateau's right arm with all her might.
Her left arm pulled while her hind legs and tail pushed against the hot floor.
POW!
A small explosion went off to the right side of the armory, launching burning splinters of wood everywhere and igniting the remaining support beams. The rear most support beam began to falter under the weight of its load, creaking loudly above the roar of the flames.
"You need to go now; this whole place is crumbling down!" Plateau ordered.
"NO! I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!!!" screamed the Icewing in a horrifically hoarse voice as she spread her wings and began to flap for that extra amount of pull.
Her wing beats fanned the flames and caused the fire to grow even wilder, but she could feel the spear wriggling loose.
She bit into the spear's shaft for that extra last bit of grip, and finally she and the spear shot out backwards out of the floor.
Her impact against the stone floor had knocked the wind out of her and forced her to inhale a ton of smoke.
The hot floor against her back held quite the unpleasant sensation, but it didn't deter her from noticing that Plateau's right arm was now free and pulling at one of the spears pinning his other arm.
All the smoke she had been breathing had given Blizzard a splitting headache and made it difficult to stay awake, but she would not give up, not on him.
She rolled back onto her talons and stumbled back towards the trapped Sandwing, ready to pull again with all her might, this time assisted by her guardian.
She found this spear to be easier to remove than the first one, partially due to her now knowing how much strength it took to remove the first one, and partially due to the fact that Plateau was now helping her.
Now that both of the Sandwing's arms were free, he was now able to dislodge the spears around his neck while Blizzard went to unlodge the pairs holding his hindlegs in place.
It was at that point that she noticed how his tail had been dislocated in the middle and was contorted into an unnaturally acute angle towards the left side.
The sight unnerved the young dragon, and she swore that those thieves will pay for what they did, one way or another.
Finally, Plateau was freed when both he and Blizzard removed one of the spears pinning his tail, and not a moment too soon!
The rear most support pillars had failed with audible cracks, causing the back end of the second floor came crumbling down! The only thing that had temporarily stopped the dragon pair from being crushed by the entire second floor was a stone shelf carved outward from the wall, but that wouldn't last long!
When it went, the momentum from the collapsing back side would cause the entire second floor to come crashing down with it!
This time, Plateau didn't even bother telling Blizzard to run, he just slid her on his back and ran towards the exit!
Cracking could be heard as that stone shelf began to buckle under the weight of the entire second floor, barely audible over the middle support pillars creaking as well as the flames roaring around the sides of the armory.
A piece of burning shelf stood between the dragons and the exit, but Plateau simply leapt over it as there was no time left to spare, slipping into a roll on the snowy ground outside. Blizzard was launched from his back and slid on her belly a few feet away from him.
There wasn't a moment for them to catch their breath, for after they had cleared the doorway, a loud crumble could be heard erupting from the armory. The second floor collapsed entirely on top of the first floor, crushing everything still inside into ash. Flames erupted from the doorway in one last desperate attempt to catch the pair but ultimately died out before they could reach them.
Whatever was in the armory had been destroyed, a small solace for the Sandwing as that meant that the thieves would not be able to salvage anything from in there.
The Sandwing turned to his daughter, who looking worse for wear. She had claw marks on her chest, her talons had been burned, and she was still coughing from the smoke. She tried to tell him something, but her voice had been lost, and all she could do was wheeze. An impossible choice laid in front of him, He could either abandon his post with his daughter or fend off the intruders to prevent them from getting the last thing they might value from this place.
Indeed, there was one more thing the Sandwing knew of that any dragon who wished ill would desire, and it was the whole reason this armory even existed atop this barren cliff. Connected to the wall of the main armory was a green house, which was built more like an iron prison cell with glass paneling to prevent a dragon from breaking in. The environment in there had been cultivated to grow one of the most dangerous plants in all of Pyrrhia, Dragonflame cacti. Indeed, this armory had been used to grow these dangerous cacti and process them into bang powder, but even in its raw state they were still deadly.
Unfortunately for the pair, there were two dragons who had been fighting the whole time while they were in that flaming building, the strange Skywing and mysterious Rainwing, and they just noticed them in the snow. The Skywing shouted something in his unknown language, and from beyond the cliff face his two hivewing guards emerged, and they were heading straight for the weakened pair.
ONLY READ IF YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE FULL DANGANRONPA FRANCHISE OR AT LEAST V3 AS A FULL GAME!!!
Do you think she was acting?
Or was she truly horrified that a murder had occured?
Or did she not care about the death, she only cared about the fact that she didn't know who the victim was?
Or did she truly care for whoever was under the press? Did she think that it was Kaito, and that is why she was upset? The selfless hero, killed by the "mastermind" of the 53rd killing game.
Or maybe she thought it was Kokichi, and genuinely cared for him not out of love or kindness, but out of desire for more drama, for the show to continue.
Or maybe from here on out V3 went off the rails and the fiction that she had planned was gone, replaced with the echoing silence of the hull.
Maybe she had planned for somebody else to die instead?
But did Monokuma know who the culprit was if Tsumugi didn't? Or did he just have alternate executions waiting for whoever got out of that robot?
Or did Tsumugi have it planned, did the poison from Maki kill Kokichi on the press before Kaito could cursh him? She had him executed just so that she could bring more despair to Maki, Kaito was going to die to his illness anyway, why have only 2 survivors for Danganronpa 3?
Was Tsumugi even planned to die, was Shuichi written to break fiction and the game franchise itself, is this why she was so sad at the end of her execution? Not because she was caught but because she wasn't ready to leave behind the franchise that she dedicated her existence too?
Or was she fiction too?
Or was the remorse in her eyes real, that sad face as she waves her final goodbyes to the audience that she has loved so dearly. Did she ever regret signing up for Team Danganronpa? Or did she regret killing Rantaro and Kaede?
Maybe if she had framed Shuichi instead she'd have gotten away with it.
Did that thought ever taunt her in her dreams? At night waiting for the morning announcement, dreaming of Kaede's final words. Her wish, her trembling face reddening and turning a violent shade of purple as the frayed rope hangs her limp body over the piano.
Did the song chosen have any meaning? The Flea Waltz, a simple piano song. Does that mean Tsumugi's murder was simple? Why did they not play Clair De Lune for effect?
A waltz is a dance of movement or passion something Kaede had for her friends? Something Tsumugi had for her dreams. Or was the song used to taunt Kaede? She was the only Ultimate who would have known that the song was supposed to be played on black keys, did she realise in her final moments that she was infact innocent for the murder of Rantaro Amami?
As her vision blurred at the crowd beneath her, what were her final thought? Was it about Shuichi? The Mastermind? Rantaro? Her pregame self?
Whoa a new fandom, finally! An old analysis wall I wrote, and I have no idea where I got most of these references so just bear with me...
Is Mammon a masochist? The short answer: I don't think so. Sure, he does stupid stuff that he knows Lucifer won't like, but I think it's more of his sin's temptations than he actually wants to be punished (and also another reason but I'll get to that in a bit).
First, let's back up a bit. Why would anyone think Mammon's a masochist? He keeps doing stupid stuff and gets in trouble with Lucifer (which is basically a death wish) on a daily basis. That's basically the biggest piece of evidence (and his brothers claims it's true, which Mammon always denies in that huffy voice that's so hard to take seriously). There's also that one instance where he (accidentally) sticks his finger into an electrical socket and liked it?? (I dunno, it's been a while since I've read that chat, but it was either a positive or neutral response)
Personally, I think most of the stupid stuff (stealing, hiding his unpaid bills, ect) are more manifestations of his sin. All the brothers have a sin associated with them, and it's been a part of them for so long that it's merged into their personality. Like, Beel isn't really Beel if he doesn't overeat, and Belphie isn't really Belphie if he doesn't sleep. They still have personalities and quirks other than that, but their sins are a big part of them, their motivations, and their personalities as a whole. So, on a similar line of thinking, Mammon being scummy is an effect of his sin. Okay, sure, he was already like that before he became the Avatar of Greed from the snippets we got of them back in the Celestial Realm, but he was... more responsible, kind of. It seemed as if it wasn't just Lucifer that kept him in line, but his inherent status as an angel. Like... even if he's naturally greedy, it's toned down because he physically can't feel those temptations. But once they fell, and he got the title of Avatar of Greed, he was able to indulge in all the greed he wanted, and he basically let loose.
So that went a bit off topic. The gist of it is, his overall greediness, even if it stems from him as a whole, was amplified from being the Avatar of Greed, and he can't help but want to do all that stuff (even if he knows it's bad). It's kind of similar to Beel's situation, where (and this comes from his song) his life is basically taken over by his gluttony. He had to eat, basically every minute of the day, or his hunger will overtake him. But he's also so used to it, and it's not like he's unwillingly indulging in gluttony that he won't stop. It's just part of them by now, that even if they know it's bad, they can't help but keep feeding their sins (no pun intended).
And it's that why his brothers think he's a masochist. He repeatedly makes horrible decisions, not because he likes the consequences, but because he's indulging in his sin. He can't see past his greed once something sets it off, just like how Belphie can't see past his sloth ("What would you do if the Devildom disappeared tomorrow?" "I'll take a nap and think about it later"), and how Lucy can't see past his pride at times. That, and because they just like teasing him.
But what about all the instances that aren't greed-related? Ignoring the fact that most of what he does at the very least stems from it, part of it's because he wants to keep his brothers together. The brothers gets into fights about the smallest things (ex. Beel cleaning out the fridge, Levi "borrowing" Belphie's pillow), and as dysfunctional as it is, it's also what brings them together. What all the brothers have in common is making fun of Mammon (yes, even Beel). I think some of his actions is to unite his brothers under that ("Mammon stole my credit card again!" "I know, he tried to sneak into my room the other day too!"). Bonding over how stupid Mammon is? He's such an attention seeker that it sounds at least plausible. And since they're demons, I wouldn't put it past them to somewhat enjoy it (I'm looking at you, Mr. Pride).
As for pain, I think Mammon's just too used to it (I'm still looking at you, Mr. Pride) that getting electrocuted just doesn't mean anything to him. But what I really think is going on is that he cares a lot about his brothers. He's... even when his brothers are bullying him, he never holds a grudge against them and basically forgets about it until the next time. He's kind of like an unflappable punching bag for them (literally, Lucifer has a physical punching bag of Mammon on the memory cards) and if they want to take it out on him, he's fine with it. He was known as the Fallen Warrior back in the war, and he's the second oldest, which means he could retaliate against them easily, but he never chooses to. So it's more likely that he thinks if he starts complaining about a stupid electric shock, his brothers will feel guilty about what they do and find another (and probably worse/unhealthier) punching bag instead. They're the seven rulers of the Devildom, so if even one of them snaps, there's gonna be a lot of destruction.
So overall (because all essays need a concluding paragraph), the answer is no, it's not that he likes it necessarily, but rather he's learned to endure pain for the sake of his brothers.
Note: This is based on a roleplay, so some things have been edited to fit a story-like format. With this in mind, it’s co-written; Jack is written by me and Hudson is written by @unnoticedunawarestillhere.
TW:
• Knives
• Emetophobia warning
• Brief mention of cigarettes
• Depiction of mania… kinda? Yeah.
• Unhealthy ink usage
• General dark themes
———
A loud crash could be heard. There, a broken and smashed typewriter lay while a young man with dishevelled hair breathed raggedly. His shoulders slumped and his head hung down.
Footsteps.
Jack appeared a moment later, peeking around the corner at the younger man. He looked confused, his eyebrows pinched together. “Hud…son…?”
In a fit of fury, Hudson stomped on the type writer, breaking it further as buttons crushed and metal bent. Papers were scattered everywhere and he kept muttering something with each crunch of the type writer.
“Hudson?” Jack repeated, a little louder. He didn’t want to get too close in case Hudson turned his anger towards him, but he was still concerned… Naturally.
Hudson stiffened, his whole body freezing before turning around. Black spilled from his lips and there were dark rings under his eyes. He smiled, tilting his head.
“Hi, Jack.”
Jack took a step back, concern flooding his face.
“…Hi, Hudson.”
Hudson took a step closer, grinning. "How ya doing?”
He tilted his head, his movements stiff and odd. Black stained his collared shirt as the ink from his lips trickled down his neck.
“I’m…Alright….” Jack took another step back. Everything about this screamed red flags. “Are you….o-ok?”
“I'm doing great!” Hudson chuckled, taking another step forward. “Tell me, you're not...scared of me, are you?” he added, his tone innocent.
“I’m not scared, I’m just a little worried. Y’feelin’ alright? You’re not lookin’ too good,” Jack answered, taking a step back once Hudson stepped forward.
Hudson chuckled, smiling.
“Better than I was before. Can't believe I waited for so long to answer its calls.” His eyes narrowed a little when he saw Jack take a step back.
“Its… Calls,” Jack repeated. This sounded familiar. He pushed that down for now.
“Whose calls?”
“The ink, of course! Who else?” Hudson laughed, black splattering on the floor now. “At first, I was startled and kept resisting! Oh, how I was such a fool then,” he chuckled, his erratic eyes darting everywhere as his hands gestures began to sped up.
Jack grimaced at the splattered ink. He couldn’t formulate a response. “The ink”… He could feel a sense of dread coming over him as he started to piece things together.
Hudson frowned at Jack's face. He took a step forward, his eyes glaring.
“Why the long face, Fain?” He hissed, oddly aggressive.
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Jack replied softly. “What’re you doing down here, Hudson? Why is your typewriter smashed?”
“Why bother with it? What's the point of writing? Jack, this place is going down to hell and you still care about doing our jobs?” Hudson sneered.
“Uh—” Jack wasn’t expecting that response. “…Well the place isn’t going down today, nor tomorrow. So I guess I’m gonna work until all hell breaks loose.”
Hudson snickered before bursting into laughter.
“That's what you think! Little do you know this place is already rotting from the inside.” He was still laughing at Jack.
Jack decided to focus on Hudson’s words rather than the relatively manic laughter. “Yeah sure, but I’m gettin’ paid by the hour,” he said.
Hudson tilted his head again, his hand curling around something. A pocket knife. “Is that so?”
“Ha. Uhm. Yeah… I should go, y’know. I’ve got work to do—actually, ‘was just about to go talk to Sammy,” Jack said nervously, inching towards the stairway.
“I'm afraid Mister Lawrence is busy,” Hudson took a step closer, his eyes deranged, “but good thing you have my company, eh?" Ink trickled down his pale lips as his eyes narrowed.
Jack froze, rigid.
“What? What do you mean? How is Sammy busy? What is he doing?”
“Just having a chat with his lord and saviour,” Hudson chuckled. Ink stained his shirt now.
“I don’t understand,” Jack mumbled, taking a few more steps towards the staircase.
“No? Eh, fair enough. Though, I admit, I'm disappointed,” Hudson, gripping the knife tighter.
Without warning, he lunged towards Jack, pinning the knife against his throat.
“But it's okay! Luckily, there's a way that'll make you understand!”
Jack cried out, eyes widening in fear as the cold metal suddenly pressed into his throat.
“Hudson?! What’s gotten into you?? What are you doing?”
“Trying to protect you,” Hudson hissed, a strand of hair trickling down his face.
“Don't worry, Jack. Once you see it, it'll protect you forever. As long…as you’re loyal,” he whispered, ink spilling down his mouth more fluidly.
“Nothing about this screams ‘protective’,” Jack choked out, constricted pupils flicking over Hudson’s face. “And I still don’t…. Know what you’re talking about.”
“The ink! Oh Jack, why are you so daft today?" Hudson rolled his eyes, before they narrowed at the other man. “Look, we're friends, yes? Don't you trust me?”
Jack shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them to look up at the ceiling. “It’s kind of hard to trust someone who’s holding a knife to your throat,” he muttered. Somehow, he found the time to be wry in his position.
Hudson looked hurt, frowning. He lowered the knife, staring down at his stained inky hands.
“Oh.”
Jack blinked, lowering his head slightly and looking back at the younger man. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, either.
“Are we not friends?” Hudson whispered in a small voice, sounding hurt still.
“…No. We are friends,” Jack said slowly; quietly, “…But you’re acting strange. You just put a knife to my neck, Hudson.”
Tears suddenly bubbled up in Hudson's eyes. “I'm sorry, Jack. But it won't leave me alone, it won't stop whispering,” he muttered, wincing. He folded his pocket knife up, slipping it back under his belt, then rubbed his eyes, trying to block out everything, even the ink that spilled down. His lips were already stained black.
Now that the knife wasn’t out and open, Jack relaxed a bit, focusing on Hudson. He reached out, gently pulling him closer.
“It’s the ink?” he asked softly, “that’s what this is, right?”
Hudson was shaking. “Remember when we had that flood? That. I...lied. I accidentally drank the ink,” he muttered, feeling small. He looked up at Jack with wide pleading eyes.
“I didn't mean to lie, Jack! I swear! I just...I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to let you down,” he cried.
Jack’s face fell. “Oh….. oh. Hudson….”
“Shsh, i-it’s okay… ugh, not you too…” He sighed, pulling Hudson in and wrapping his arms around him. “You haven’t let me down.”
Hudson's body shook violently. “I did! I did let you down! I almost killed you, Jack! And for what? A BLACK INKY MASS?!”
Hudson sobbed louder.
“Shhh, sh sh,” Jack whispered, tightening his hold. “You didn’t, though. You didn’t. I’m ok now. We can still fix this.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hudson with the last sentence though.
Hudson was still trembling, clutching onto Jack. “But what if I hurt you?” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
“You won’t. I don’t think you will, anyways,” Jack murmured, resting his hand on Hudson’s back.
Hudson blinked, looking weary. "Do you really believe that?" He asked flatly, the knife was visible under his belt, glinting from the light above.
Jack returned the weary expression. He suddenly looked much older than he actually was. “You tell me.”
“I don't think you do, Jack,” Hudson finally replied. He gave Jack a sad smile. “But that's okay. To me it is, at least.”
Jack sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “Right…”
“Well, maybe you should… I dunno, take a break from work. You said it yourself, this place is goin’ doing the drain. You could afford it.”
Hudson rubbed his temples, shaking his head. “I'm already in trouble with the director. If I don't complete those scripts, I'm done for,” he muttered, ending in a sigh.
“Ah.”
Jack looked away before snapping back to Hudson, suddenly remembering something. “What were you saying about Sammy?”
Hudson blinked, looking confused as he tried to wipe the ink off his lips. "What'd I say about Mister Lawrence?"
“I dunno, you said he was… Busy. Praising his lord or something,” Jack said, his eyebrows furrowing.
Hudson rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. “Oh right. That,” he muttered. He fixed his tie before speaking, “I saw Mister Lawrence actually drinking ink from a bottle. Not by accident, like me. One day, I stumbled upon him after hours. I kept hearing something about the ink, the machine and this...lord. I didn't think much, so I walked back to leave. But he heard me and then we got into an argument. I didn't know what he was rambling on about, but it ended in him forcing me to drink more ink. I spat most of it out, but the damage was already done. I left after that. ‘Threw up when I reached my house.”
Jack was silent. Mortified.
“Oh… Christ. Oh my god. I knew it had gotten bad, but I didn’t think….”
"You didn't think…?" Hudson raised a brow, still trying to wipe ink off his lips. He only smeared it though. “Argh, I'm still angry with him. This morning before I clocked in, I threw up again. I blame him.”
Jack grimaced. He didn’t know what to think, really. “That’s awful. I don’t know… Why he would do that. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation—he wouldn’t…” he trailed off.
Hudson winced, putting a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. “You know him better than me, Dad.”
Jack glanced back up at him, faltering.
“…Yeah.” He chuckled slightly. “I do. I think I do, anyway.”
“Maybe talk to him?” Hudson awkwardly muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “Or don't, considering that he's crazy.”
Jack sighed and leaned back, bumping his head into the wall as he looked up.
“Maybe. Maybe tomorrow. It’s late. You should be headin’ home soon.”
Hudson rubbed his eyes. “I don't...like walking home in the dark...” he confessed in a strained voice, “Makes me too much on edge.”
Jack picked his head up off the wall and glanced down, sliding his sleeve up to check his watch.
“…I can drive you. It’s not that late yet.”
Hudson frowned slightly, still looking guilty. "You sure?" He shifted from side to side, his hands resting in his pockets.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Why don’t you pack up and come back to me when you’re ready to go? I’ll be here.” Jack nodded, dropping his hands to his sides.
Hudson nodded slowly, looking uneasy about himself as well as shameful.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Jack and embraced him. “Thank you, Dad,” he whispered.
Jack hugged him back, wrapping his arms around him tight and squeezing him gently. “Take care of yourself, Hudson,” he murmured after a moment. Hudson smiled weakly, before slipping off to pack up and clock out.
Where Hudson had once stood, was a puddle of ink. Bad omen, perhaps?
Jack’s eyes stayed on the puddle for a moment before pulling himself away, slowly returning to his “office” and starting to pack up for the day. Eventually, Hudson walked downstairs, clutching his briefcase.
He watched as a light above him flickered out, making him wince and his stomach tightened with unease. He knocked on Jack's door frame. “‘Got my things,” he mumbled.
Jack gave him a weary smile that sort of met his eyes and grabbed his satchel. He secured his hat on his head and flipped a desk lamp off before joined Hudson at the door.
“Let’s go then.”
Hudson was quiet on the way out, his eyes clouded and distant while his lips were pinched in a thin line. He rubbed his temples, his skin pale while even his freckles looked dull. The corner of his lips was smeared with black, but it was long forgotten about.
Jack sort of looked like he was in a similar state but masking it. He walked alongside Hudson, lingering at the dark projection booth before shaking his head and continuing on.
Outside was cold and damp and a light breeze accompanied the low temperatures. Jack led Hudson across the parking lot to a small reddish grey car.
Hudson opened the car's passenger door open carefully, climbing in. He settled down and closed the door with a click and set his briefcase next to him on the leather seat, then leaned back. He regretted not wearing a coat, shivering slightly, but had no complaints.
Jack slid into the driver’s seat and fished through his satchel for his keys before tossing it into the back seat and cranking the car. It jolted to life with a pained sound that Jack didn’t acknowledge.
The car was cold like it was outside, but it was slowly starting to warm, the radiator replacing the earthy smell of sandalwood and cigarettes with that odd smell that radiators give off.
Hudson sniffled quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his nose in his knees while a strand of his hair trickled the bridge of it. His brown eyes avoided Jack’s figure in the driver's seat.
“Where to, kid?” Jack asked as he pulled out of his parking space and made his way to the edge of the lot. The radio had come on and was quietly playing some sort of jazz music.
Hudson rested his chin on his knee now, blinking. “Wall Street,” he muttered, distracted by the sudden staticy jazz playing faintly in the background.
“Really? Huh, you’re not too far,” Jack noted, taking a left turn out of the parking lot. The surrounding area was splattered in the bright lights of the city that contrasted the lack of natural light from the sky.
“Y’got dinner for tonight? I can run by somewhere,” he spoke up after a moment.
Hudson let out a bitter chuckle, his chin still resting on his knee. “‘Don't think I really deserve that, Jack. But thanks for offering anyway,” he murmured. He looked as the streets of New York came alive in the dark, like an ember sparkling. Street lamps turned on as the car drove on.
Jack side-eyed him, unamused.
“That didn’t even answer my question. ‘You sure?”
Hudson let his knees drop, legs draping over the leather seat, while his arms folded. He leaned against the fogged up car window, staring out as the world seemed to zoom past them. “I'm sure,” he muttered, his eyes distance as well as his tone.
…
“‘Still think that Sammy guy is a good guy?" He asked under his breath, not glancing at Jack.
Jack tensed beside him, keeping his eyes on the road and grimacing slightly.
“…I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, alright? It’s hard to throw away ten years with someone because they’re suddenly acting weird and yet that feels like exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“I suppose that's a valid point. I just hope whatever choice you make, you don't regret it,” Hudson said as he drew patterns on the fogged-up glass, his eyes still distant.
Jack was still tense, eyes narrowed in front of him. He didn’t respond.
After a moment he turned onto Wall Street, slowing down. “Where’s your house at?” he asked softly, turning to him now.
Hudson narrowed his eyes, looking at the buildings. “Just on the corner,” he muttered, clutching his brief case tightly.
Jack nodded and drove forward until they made it to the corner of the road, where he pulled off to the side. He sighed and took his hand off the wheel, turning to Hudson.
Hudson blinked, rubbing his tired eyes. He grabbed his brief case while his other hand latched onto the door's handle, pushing it open. He stepped out of the car, giving Jack a glance.
“Stay safe, Jack. Especially when you're with him.”
“You too, ‘son. Take care of yourself—eat something, alright?” Jack said, his expression soft as he looked back at him.
“…I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Hudson nodded, giving a little wave-. He turned away, his eyes narrowing at the shadows around him. He walked off, his figure straying away from Jack's car.
Jack watched him go, ensuring he actually got inside before sighing and leaning back in his seat. He checked himself in the rearview mirror before driving off to his own home.
Why did goodbyes have to sound like that now?
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Oh my. That was a lot. Thank you for getting this far!! Huge thanks to Untitled/Hudson for providing half of the text in this and also… Allowing me to post it lol.
A lil tedious to transcribe, but this was fun. Perhaps more acts will be made. Perhaps new acts are in the making.
Everything was going great for Ichika, she had friends, a nearly pro band, family, all that she wished for. But one day, she started to feel... off. A "feeling that i'm being constantly watched", she would say when her bandmates would question her about her feeling strange as Ichika would worsen at band practice, but nobody believed her, not even Saki. But one day... As she was practicing the guitar all by herself on SEKAI, she heard someone's voice, but it wasn't from Saki, Honami, Shiho, or any of the VIRTUAL SINGERS... Not even a call from her other friends such as Kanade or Nene. Ichika looked everywhere, looking as to where that voice was coming from..
And there, the realization finally hit her. She finally found out that what she was feeling before wasn't a delusion, like Shiho would say. That voice... That feeling... It was real, unlike her own self.
━ "...! Oh. Oh my Miku... I.. It.. I'm.. !! I'm... not real... That's it. That must be the reason i keep hearing this strange voice... Why i'm feeling so weird and getting worse at band practice... It's the only reason..! I must warn the others.. I just can't be the only one to realize that my whole life... Is just fiction."
