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yogen2021-04-02 01:36 am
trialbyliar) wrote in yogen2021-04-02 01:36 am
Entry tags:
when he sees me [closed]
WHO: kokichi & shuichi
WHEN: sometime during spring break
WHAT: tfw you run into someone you absolutely were not prepared to ever see again
[Upon first coming to – becoming aware of it, anyway, not whatever kind of autopilot was responsible for the vague memories he's got of existing in this place – the first thing Kokichi had done was check his locker. Said memories told him he had one and exactly where it was, after all. He needed to see what he was working with here.
(That's a lie, though. It wasn't the first thing he did. But rushing to some random supply closet to have a teeny breakdown over being alive and whatever the fuck is going on here totally doesn't count.)
Anyway. He didn't exactly have much on him last he remembered – not even a shirt, honestly, but he was choosing not to think too much about the details of those last moments – but there were still some things missing. His lockpicks, notably. And unfortunately, they weren't in the locker either. What was in there was mostly unfamiliar, in that strangely familiar way everything here was. Clothes, a blank notebook that looked used but empty, some sticker sheets. Things to puzzle over in hope of finding some clues, but little that was immediately helpful.
He ditched the stupid uniform tie. The casual clothes in the locker had included a checkered scarf, and tossing that on over the uniform had made him feel at least a bit more put together. Less overwhelmed by that bizarre awareness of having some kind of life here, some whole other identity that he can't quite remember but feels real and also not at the same time. He's had more than his fair share of that shit already, thanks.
(He's also choosing not to think too hard about how he's clinging to the markers of an identity that might be just as bullshit. He can self-reflect later.)
Since then, Kokichi's just been exploring and trying to get a grip on whatever is going on here. There's no robot bear popping up this time to explain the situation. Not yet, anyway. So he's left to his own devices, searching every nook and cranny for some hint of what was behind this and what its purpose is.
He doesn't entirely avoid the others. Of course he's noticed there are others here, strangers that all seem just as perplexed as him, but he's hardly about to trust them just because of that. The last weird school he woke up in hammed that lesson in hard. So he works alone, doing the bulk of his investigating after dark when most everyone else is camping out in classrooms and whatnot. The silence is eerie, and he hates not being able to tell if someone (or something) is approaching, but he needs this privacy. He needs to control how others see him if he's going to survive this. He doesn't intend on dying again – it sure didn't seem to stop whatever was toying with his life last time.
It's already fallen silent for the night. Heading up the stairwell, his feet don't even make a sound hitting the steps. But at least that means no one else can hear him coming either.]
WHEN: sometime during spring break
WHAT: tfw you run into someone you absolutely were not prepared to ever see again
[Upon first coming to – becoming aware of it, anyway, not whatever kind of autopilot was responsible for the vague memories he's got of existing in this place – the first thing Kokichi had done was check his locker. Said memories told him he had one and exactly where it was, after all. He needed to see what he was working with here.
(That's a lie, though. It wasn't the first thing he did. But rushing to some random supply closet to have a teeny breakdown over being alive and whatever the fuck is going on here totally doesn't count.)
Anyway. He didn't exactly have much on him last he remembered – not even a shirt, honestly, but he was choosing not to think too much about the details of those last moments – but there were still some things missing. His lockpicks, notably. And unfortunately, they weren't in the locker either. What was in there was mostly unfamiliar, in that strangely familiar way everything here was. Clothes, a blank notebook that looked used but empty, some sticker sheets. Things to puzzle over in hope of finding some clues, but little that was immediately helpful.
He ditched the stupid uniform tie. The casual clothes in the locker had included a checkered scarf, and tossing that on over the uniform had made him feel at least a bit more put together. Less overwhelmed by that bizarre awareness of having some kind of life here, some whole other identity that he can't quite remember but feels real and also not at the same time. He's had more than his fair share of that shit already, thanks.
(He's also choosing not to think too hard about how he's clinging to the markers of an identity that might be just as bullshit. He can self-reflect later.)
Since then, Kokichi's just been exploring and trying to get a grip on whatever is going on here. There's no robot bear popping up this time to explain the situation. Not yet, anyway. So he's left to his own devices, searching every nook and cranny for some hint of what was behind this and what its purpose is.
He doesn't entirely avoid the others. Of course he's noticed there are others here, strangers that all seem just as perplexed as him, but he's hardly about to trust them just because of that. The last weird school he woke up in hammed that lesson in hard. So he works alone, doing the bulk of his investigating after dark when most everyone else is camping out in classrooms and whatnot. The silence is eerie, and he hates not being able to tell if someone (or something) is approaching, but he needs this privacy. He needs to control how others see him if he's going to survive this. He doesn't intend on dying again – it sure didn't seem to stop whatever was toying with his life last time.
It's already fallen silent for the night. Heading up the stairwell, his feet don't even make a sound hitting the steps. But at least that means no one else can hear him coming either.]
no subject
He hasn't thought that far. And it's not like the other doesn't know it, most likely... Damn it, he's not about to take criticism from the guy who just bolted downstairs as soon as he saw him. ]
I don't know, Ouma-kun.
Maybe I just wanted to know you were real.
[ What even is real anymore?
Lost to the oppressive silence, a sigh of exhaustion escapes through Saihara's lips and he sets his PDA aside in his lap for a minute, to rub with weak-feeling fingers at the tired corners of his eyes. He's been waking up so many times in this place (though it seems to have stopped since "graduation") and yet not even once has it felt like he's really slept. Even after everything started to seem chronological again, a desk or the floor of a classroom can't be exactly described as ideal.
It's been taking a toll on him. ]
But now that you are... it might have been easier if you weren't.
It's making me overthink.
[ And that's the same for both of them, he knows. ]
no subject
It's making him tired just thinking about it. He can't really blame Shuichi for feeling that same way, if they are somehow in the same boat.
(But it wouldn't be the same boat, would it? After all, Shuichi didn't die.)
Kokichi frowns just slightly before flattening out his expression again, but as he types it's maybe a tad more aggressive than necessary. Maybe he's lashing out a bit. But hey, Shuichi's right. This is harder for both of them.]
i'm real!
unfortunately for you
i bet you were super happy once you realized i was dead
sorry i ruined your night by being alive!
[They's a thin, wry twist to his lips as he slides the PDA over again, humorless despite the resemblance it bears to a smirk.]
no subject
Somewhere in the back of his head, even Saihara feels surprised at the level of cold-hearted logic he's showing, but... He might as well test it, if he's doing this anyway. Those marks are still painful around the edges, right? He's noticed it with a couple of others beside himself, so... how about Ouma's wrist? ]
...
[ But it's also no lie that the impulse itself was just that, no matter what else he had the clarity to do with it. His lips move for a second in the semi-darkness, like he might have had something he'd say out of anger, if only he wasn't... the scarily collected type, even now, who recalls a mere moment later it's useless. So instead, he shakes his head after a second with a gaze that almost burns into the other's face, uncharacteristically direct.
The next moment, the grip he has loosens and he draws back so he can type. ]
Were *you* happy when any of the others died?
[ Maybe there's nothing he can do at this point that will prove no ill will, and maybe he doesn't... even know it himself, in the first place. What his level of personal investment in Ouma's fate was can be debated, but... people dying isn't a matter of only how you felt about them, is it? It's more serious than that. ]
no subject
A part of him thrills at it, stupidly. Shuichi is only looking at him in this moment. But the sane part of him stomps that part back into a dark corner where it can be ignored. The sane part wants to hide away from that gaze, more capable of actually picking him apart than anyone else. The flinch is quickly controlled and banished, replaced with that completely blank, unreadable expression he sometimes wears. The one he uses when he doesn't know what kind of face to make, but something impenetrable is preferable to something honest.
It's like the harder Shuichi tries to understand, the closer he comes to doing so, the more Kokichi retreats from it. Shuichi reaches out, but Kokichi still won't take his hand.
Well. Shuichi sorta skipped the need for reciprocation here anyway, huh?
His hand twitches, like he's deciding whether or not to pull free of Shuichi's grip, but then it loosens anyway. Shuichi moves to type, and it's a brief reprieve from that touch and that stare. Good. Kokichi needed the chance to put himself together anyway. He reads the resulting message dispassionately, deciding how he wants to play this. Would douvling down even work? If Kaito gave everything away, can he actually expect Shuichi to believe the whole ruthlessly evil schtick?
Hand freed, he picks his PDA back up to respond.]
would that really surprise you?
coming from *me*??
[It's a non-answer, admittedly. He's stalling, digging for clues about how he should handle this and what Shuichi thinks. Shuichi seemed...angry, almost. But can he trust that reaction? Did he draw something real out of the detective? Or can a person really be this good an actor – no, improviser? The latter is hard to believe, but the former feels foolishly optimistic.]