ic inbox [ota]

[pancakeboy]

[Text him! Or do whatever, I'm not the police, and neither is he, thank God. Just specify if you want the more-fun-but-less-stable pre-11/20 guy or the grumpy third semester/postcanon guy. Pancake only for VRDR guys please, he's not third semester yet]

Comments

[pancakeboy]

Put it this way: I hear I don't win.

[It's as good a place to start as any. It ought to render all the rest irrelevant, but it doesn't.]

What else did you hear?

[fogbornphantom]

It's as I suspected.

Shido plans to dispose of you once he becomes prime minister. A cognition evidently appeared to confirm as much, and after that, well...

She wasn't sure if you survived or not, but either way, it did not end as you had hoped.

[pancakeboy]

[Shido plans to dispose of you....

Suffice it to say he didn't get that detail out of Okumura. He doesn't reply until the evening is starting to wear on, and the sun has gone down.]

I need you to summarise your position. Regarding my intentions, and your interest in me.

[fogbornphantom]

I have concerns, I'll admit. If it is true that Shido plans to discard you in the end, I think pursuing another option may be for the best. What I proposed before- making the thieves indebted to you may prove beneficial, but obviously, that isn't my choice to make.

But allow me to make things clear.

Please don't change who you are.

I saw a version of us. I tried warning you before, but he was so... superficially pleasant. No teeth. None of that fire that drives us forward.

No matter where we disagree or how much I fuss over you, please understand that that is not what I want.

[pancakeboy]

Yes, the one who broke in to my apartment. [With the key.] I'm aware of him.

[He wants to start talking about his revised plan. To lay out exactly how he thinks he can still win, the key unifying factor he sees between all the worlds. He wants to insist he's still just who he's always been.

But he can't.]

Was I stupid?

[fogbornphantom]

You just wanted to be acknowledged, didn't you? To be important.

And specifically, important to him, to make him regret ever casting you aside, because you were what got him there.

Is that a correct assessment?

[He doesn't want to assume too much, but it's not hard to guess. The desire to please a fatherly figure... That never left him. It was just transferred to someone else.]

[pancakeboy]

I was stupid.

I'm still being stupid. I don't even know if this applies to my world. There are still options. I could just kill him.

[Like Okumura asked him why he hadn't done. Why he killed her father, and not his own.]

[fogbornphantom]

I think there are many ways things could go. Your future is yet unwritten, and I think this place affords the possibility that you could reshape it if you so desire.

We don't know enough to say with certainty, but I don't think you were stupid so much as... Scarred.

You were only fifteen or sixteen when you got started, right? And then you became a hitman. This isn't me trying to invalidate or undercut your crimes with a pat on the head, but considering that I've my own scars from significantly fewer sources of trauma, I can't even imagine how yours would compare.

[Hmm...]

...But enough with the 'lecture.' Do you need some company? Even if we don't talk much, I don't mind.

[pancakeboy]

No.

I'd rather die.

I'd rather die twice.

Stop trying to understand me. I'm a killer. I don't care.

I can still kill Amamiya.

I feel ill.

Come over, then.

What about anything I've told you has led you to believe I might want company?

How does Jazz Jin sound?

[fogbornphantom]

Certainly.

I'll let my younger self know so he can keep the kids occupied.

[And once that's squared away, he makes his way over to Kichijoji. With the proximity, it's entirely possible that his other self will beat him to it.]

[pancakeboy]

[He makes it there in seconds, or as good as. He's sitting in the very far back, without a drink, gloved hands folded on the table.

He's looking down at his hands, listening to the scratchy vinyl play, but he lifts his head when his counterpart approaches.]

Do the compressed distances get to you?

[fogbornphantom]

...To be honest, yes.

[He'll go ahead and join his counterpart there, letting the music, at least, provide some semblance of comfort.]

However convenient it may be, it gives me far less time to collect my thoughts when I travel from place to place.

[pancakeboy]

[He nods. It's much the same as he feels. As soon as he starts thinking, he's cut to the end.]

It's like this place. When I came here, I knew who I was, what my goals were. Then I spoke to you, and that Kurusu, and that Okumura. And now...

All of these are things I was never meant to know.

[fogbornphantom]

For what it's worth, I do understand to an extent.

[He watches the vinyl spin, fingers idly tapping the table. There's so much he could say...]

All these other worlds, all these other possibilities. When you accused me of survivor's guilt, I wouldn't say you were wrong. There is a part of me that wishes you could have met Kanji or experienced even a fraction of the fortune that I had over the years.

Don't get me wrong. I meant what I said over the phone. I don't want you to change so radically that you cease to be yourself. But it... hurts, doesn't it? Knowing what could lie ahead.

[pancakeboy]

[He presses his fist to his mouth as the record spins, staring at the empty space where the singer should be.]

Everyone dies. I never expected much else.

[fogbornphantom]

You didn't expect it, but did you want it, or were you just resigned to it?

[Ah. That might seem... hm. He shakes his head.]

My apologies. I'm getting ahead of myself.

[pancakeboy]

[But no. He shakes his head, mouth slanting.]

You know how it works. What's that pithy saying about not doing the crime if...? I've earned it dozens of times over.

[fogbornphantom]

...I do think some lenience could be made for the fact that you were very much a minor when you started. Again, not that it "justifies" anything. You told me before that this was a conscious choice.

But even if it's too late to undo any of it, it's not too late to take your fate into your own hands. Now that you know, you can consider alternatives. When I proposed leaving the Thieves indebted to you, it wasn't a joke. I think it could work to your benefit... but that's still your choice in the end.

[He slumps over the table, propping his head up with one hand, while the fingers of the others rap idly on the table's surface.]

Heh. I must be such a pain.

[pancakeboy]

[He glances up, meeting other-him's gaze.]

You are. The worst. Worse than my fourth grade guidance counsellor. [Harsh indictments indeed.]

[fogbornphantom]

Yet here you are, still indulging in my company.

[His attempt at a smirk is... weak at best. The laughter that follows just as much.]

[pancakeboy]

That's true. [He rests his chin in his hand, leaning on the table. The tiny smile he returned to his counterpart fades away.]

There is a way, of course. A way I can follow through on my plan, almost certainly. Something all of your worlds seem to have screwed up.

[fogbornphantom]

...With all due respect, I don't think actually killing Ren would achieve what you are hoping for.

[Because that's what it is, isn't it? That's the uniting factor, that Ren lives. Or Akira. Or whatever fucking name people want to use.]

[pancakeboy]

[... and his head drops. His hair tumbles over his face; his eyes fall into shadow.]

No. [The admission is wrung out of him.] Nno, it wouldn't. Damn him to hell.

[Because what was the point, beyond getting to the end, to that prize? It was to not fail. It was to not fail himself. It was to not fail....

His head drops further. Who did he want to damn to hell? He's not even sure; he's flexible that way.]

[fogbornphantom]

...Would you like a drink? I can order one, if you wish.

[Damn it. He sounds so tired, doesn't he? And he's not even the one directly affected by this.]

Just... I think there are ways to adapt. We've always been good at that, haven't we?

[pancakeboy]

Sure. [Again, he mumbles, but hey, free drinks.

When they show up—it's the one in the big glass with stripes that's genuinely too sickly for him—he glances back up.] I don't even want to think about adapting. I... [I'm fine with who I am, he almost says.]

I wouldn't know where to begin.