Things could always get worse. Of course they could. What, did she think he didnât know? But sheâd said herself, he was the sort where things getting worse was probably better. After all, she was doing better than he was, by virtue of having even less. Of having it even worse. Thatâs how he understood it from all her rapid-fire ramblings, anyway. It might not have been anything that complicated. Not everything was always that early-childhood-psychology compliant, as neat and tidy as that would be.
He thinks about that sometimes in his little games with himself, the torture sessions he puts himself through that have nothing to do with this city at all, the ones where he just walks himself down different paths in life, looking for the good end. An effort in futility and impossibility and, frankly, masochism. Heâs not going to find any answers that way, and he and Roma sure as shit arenât going to work out the problems of nature and nurture between their two fractured selves.
Still, he listens to her ramble. He always does, at least when he has any choice in the matter, of picking between his own spinning thoughts and her endless gibbering. She must really be actually excited about this festival, or else for the chance to get him out in public, because sheâs really playing this to win. But like he said before, this isnât a game. If it were a game, heâd lose it, so it isnât one. Itâs that simple.
He nods along, walking over to a mercifully close ice coffee stand and ordering just one for himself, black, of course, no cream, no sugar, no whip cream and no, nothing for her. Heâd always thought of most of the people heâd been forced to walk past as NPCs, it was almost rewarding to be in a place where that was so literal. NPC that the coffee seller was, he didnât bother leading into any more jokes, just facilitated the exchange of goods, and moved on to say presumably the same lines, more or less, to the next people to come by.
But he figured he might as well answer Romaâs question. âAnd yet, in the end, they chose that too when it served them.â He shrugged, took a sip from his coffee. âBut what can I say. Maybe I just like being contrary.â He poked at her cheek with his gloved hand. âYou ghouls are plenty icky, though.â
Really, it was a disease. Just one of many he seemed to have. The symptoms seemed to be a terminal immunity to propaganda and a tendency to refer to things in terms of some fictional medium, such as calling people NPCs or manga characters. It wasnât so much that heâd decided to side with ghouls, it just seemed that most of the fellow suffers of this particular affliction were ghouls. The same reason the Clowns didnât count many humans voluntarily of their number.
The coffee stall was to be the extent of his control of their activities apparently, because Roma had decided she wanted a teddy bear. Heâs pretty sure he hasnât mentioned his mother since those first few nights, sick with whatever fever death had carried over into this place, but he also knew he was never going to live that down. He also knows that Roma is super into the whole foiling between him and Kaneki, Kaneki who called out to his mother under Yamoriâs pliers, under Arima psychiatric evaluation, and probably, though no one was around to hear it, when getting swept up in Furutaâs dragon. As nice as that set up was, the classic âweâre not so different you and I,â heâd frankly started to grow tired of it. Heâd spent way too much effort trying to get Kaneki to play the proper foil for so little reward.
But it was a pretty structure for the story, so heâd let Roma have it until she got bored. Trying to talk literary analysis with her would probably just make her double down on things. Thereâd be time for that inevitable discourse later, anyway.
Now it was time for another episode of Roma the ditzy young girl show. âA clown that canât win at carnival games? My, my, what are we going to do with you.â He said, ruffling the sniffling old womanâs hair. He smiled sympathetically at the stall attendant, a well-practiced gesture that meant nothing to either of them, and paid for more throws.
âLetâs start with a teddy bear, Roma. If you can take care of that, maybe weâll get you a goldfish next year.â
A decapitated and ripped up teddy bear was almost cute. A dead goldfish in his bed, and whatever smell came along with it, less so. He pretended to take a good look at the game, calculate a strategy or whatever normal humans did at these places, and then launched a ball. Exactly as heâd intended, heâd gotten close, close enough to judge just how and where these things were rigged, just enough to trigger the âyou almost had itâ dialogue option from the huckster running the thing, and whatever Roma decided her accompanying reaction would be.
âLove or hate, really, I donât mind,â he said, missing again. âI just donât want such a cute little lady to get bored of me.â No, that was her dear sweet tragic Kaneki Ken who wanted oh so desperately to be loved. And somehow, inexplicably, heâd gotten it. How nice for him. Heâd have to ask Roma, the number one Kaneki Ken Stan, to explain how that was a logical narrative progression one day. What could he have possibly done, starving an entire army underground with no meaningful counter attacks, to win so many hearts and minds? Probably nothing. The clowns liked their neat little narratives, but they were also tragically aware that reality was less of a fan of them. Still, maybe Roma would put in the effort to craft one for him to play pretend with.
He threw the final throw and this time, it landed. Enough for a small prize, apparently. If he wanted the big one, heâd have to win a few more times. Just one victory was never enough, it seemed. No matter how big and showy. âShall I keep you entertained for a few more rounds or do you want to pick your prize now?â He asked Roma, seeing as it was her boredom they were using as a compass.
âYeah, but youâre a clown who couldnât even force character development in the main character. Doesnât that make you an even worse clown then me?â Of course Roma was the one who had invented the idea of a clown in the first place. She was the alpha, the beginning, and Furuta was the omega the end where all laughter had gone to die. He had nearly brought the clowns down with him and they had been denied even the chance to have their last laugh. Oh well, sometimes reality did not resolve itself as neatly as fiction. She was sure if reality had a better writer, than the clowns would have gotten the chance to break those humans of their delusions of justice and righteousness and show them the truth behind their actions, but life was just a tale told by an idiot after all.
She tented her fingers together and watched him in anticipation. Roma looked at the top shelf and saw all the ridiculously huge plush teddie bears. It would probably annoy Furuta if she slept on a bed stacked with just those. Something about murderous girls and cute toy bears just seemed to naturally go together. Maybe she should have made bears the mascot of her terrorist organization rather than clowns. She wondered if that would have gone over well.Â
As she played with her fingers again and again, she grew rather impatient. The point of the gag was that Furuta even with the strength of a ghoul right now was so weak he could barely win at a silly carnival game for humans. It was a good place to mock him a perfectly constructed gag, however Roma was getting a little bit impatient. She had decided a long time ago the sckly and weak Furuta was not as fun as the Furuta who forced himself to live and wring out every last drop of life he could, while knowing that at the end of all of his tremendous efforts he would likely die forgotten and the world would fail to change.Â
That was a much better tragedy than some dying man, wasting away thinking everything he did was pointless. Well, it was pointless, but the point of lifeâs pointlessness was to fight against the pointlessness so she could watch fools resist and resist until the bitter end. Did that make sense? She did not know, all she knew was Souta really sucked at this carnival game.Â
When he finally won though, she did not act disappointed. She took the trinket he handed her, and then grabbed him by the front of his robe pulling him down to her. She promised him a kiss after all. Just as their lips were about to make contact though, she suddenly stuck her tongue out and dragged it up over his face, from his lips to his nose to his forehead. She was just covering him with kisses, drowning in affection, to make up for all the love he had never received in life. âBark, bark, bark, bark, bark! Roma is so happy!â She shouted in his face, finishing her perfect imitation of a dog before letting him go.Â
âYou donât have to try so hard Sou-chan, I have lots of fun around you when youâre just being yourself. (This is the truth).â She muttered the last part, pretending to imitate Urie Kuki the man who had killed her. She grabbed his hand again, delicately interlacing his fingers between hers and dragging him away. There were some advantages to dying at least, when this young boy had become the face of the clowns she swore loyalty to him on the condition that he show her a good time, even going so far as to confirm the secret that he already suspected of her, deduced himself by just going through the CCGâs paperwork. Now it was more like the situation had reversed and Roma had become the leader again with Furuta swearing loyalty to her.Â
The person he was depending on was also the one he had thrown away to be killed like another stray dog, dying in a sewer grate, and clogging it up making it impossible for the filthy water to drain out of the street. It was just like Roma always thought, you could always fall further, and that fall was always beautiful. Falling things were just so pretty, the spakrles that fell from the fireworks in the sky, snow, rain, and most of all blood.Â
Roma suddenly stopped and pointed at a booth in front of them. âSou-chan, Sou-chan look itâsa tunnel of love! Letâs go there, we can totally make out!â She said, once again just to aggravate him. It was more fun to her to assualt all of his senses at once rather than pick just one or two. Thatâs what she claimed at least, the truth was probably just that she was indecisive. She dragged him into one of the little boats, and as the room darkened she leaned her head on his shoulder.Â
âHey, Sou-chan. Now that I think about it, dying wasnât so bad right? Do you really hate it here that much? Even if itâs just the two of us... arenât we having fun together? If we kept living like this... would it be so bad?â She said as she rested a hand on his lap.Â
