[ There's some fortune--can it be called fortune?--that when Kim enters the store, those once flickering lights behave for him: they stay lit above head, their hum mingling with the noise of a radio in play of some distorted tune for the proper store experience. Yet what hasn't normalised is the state inside, the farthest aisle scattered of its products of snack bars and cereals, mints and other miscellaneous items most likely to be found close to the counter.
Because if Kim follows the mess, the counter isn't too far. A look down the side leading away from the counter and the mess, and there's no evidence of anyone moving through; but keeping his eyes down the other aisle, a larger part of the knocked stock can be seen. A more careful eye over the very edge of the most affected shelf, a torn scrap of fabric has caught on it, a red chequered pattern lightly discernible, usual for a shirt, if Kim's seen enough of the style to recognise it, or at least guess.
Except, there's nobody visible down the aisles. And on the walk through, none of the aisles would have revealed anyone. They could be around the corners, whoever (or if there's anyone) might be present, though there might be one area a detective would think to look if all signs lead to someone passing through a specific place.
...over the counter, where there will be one Robby Keene in a red-chequered shirt trying to get to the farthest left side of the counter, as if aware he might've given himself away to some kind of company by the mess left on the other side. Moving quietly, not even looking for anyone before he might be found--
though he will stop if he is found, and that's made obvious in any way. ]
[ Kim continues prowling through the aisles. It is not a reassuring sight; Kim is used to being the aggressor in situations like these, the skid and squeak of his boots signaling a relentless foe, projecting confidence as his shadowed silhouette drifts through the store. Once he makes his way towards the counter, however, it's easier to see the truth of him, if Robby is still capable: a small man, despite the weight of his footsteps, brow wrinkled in concern, the thick lenses of his glasses glinting with the sparse light coming off of the freezers that line the walls. Kim's fine brows rocket upwards as he catches a glimpse of the young boy hiding behind there, every inch of him reeking of fear and desperation. ]
...Robby? Is that you? [ He says incredulously, peering over the counter. It's me -- it's Mr. Kitsuragi. [ As though there's anyone else out there with his distinct voice. ] What's going on? Are you all right?
[ There's reality to Kim, and then there's reality to Robby.
One is more real than the other, but details like these don't matter, honestly, when you're in the middle of what seems real to you. Like one's name spoken in the voice of a mother loved dearly than that of a Revacholian man, sweet and familiar in his ears. It freezes Robby in place, has him squeezing his eyelids tight; and he wants to ignore it, but that voice digs deeper than the cut on his arm, the sting of torn skin and superficial bleeding inconsequential to what a mother's voice means to him.
(With a rasp. A rasp that shouldn't be in that voice.)
Anyone else, and he might keep running, but Robby knows the shadow that cast over the counter with that voice, and knows he isn't alone. He knows what running will do, even if running doesn't seem to be something he's done much of, within the store himself.
But it doesn't mean that Robby dares to look. Isn't that the problem? That he's a coward, and he takes that route, refusing to budge in his position, his eyes shut closed, and his head bowed and his answer to Kim's concerns-- ]
Fuck-- off... fuck off!
[ ...rather appropriate to his young and rebellious age, surely. But there's something pleading in his tone, a strangled note: from trying to hold back what isn't being held back well at all. An upset, a fear--because who wants to see the face of a woman you killed hovering above you, looking more dead than you would ever want to see a loved one?
Sorry, no can do. I'm pretty sure your teacher would have my head for it.
[ He makes his way around the counter to crouch in front of Robby. He's vaguely aware that he might get socked for it but, well, it's a risk he's going to have to take. Robby clearly isn't in his right mind, and isn't to be held responsible for whatever he does next, though Kim personally hopes that his nose stays right where it is; it's already crooked enough from being broken a couple of times before. He knows what he had seen earlier, what he had felt, the eerie, constant feeling of something peering out at him from the shadows, the idea that he couldn't trust anyone around him, the scientists...
And all he'd done was go to the party and sit quietly at a table. He wonders if Robby got punished with something worse for daring to organize it in the first place. His deep voice is as calm as it ever is. It's his true superpower, at the end of the day. He can handle his own in a fight well enough, but what he truly deals in is trying to defuse situations before they get to it. You just have to remain calm and work with the situation. ]
It's okay. I'm not going to make you go anywhere, [ he says quietly. ] We're just going to sit right here for a little while. Nobody is coming to get you, and nobody is trying to make you do anything. Just take a deep breath.
[ It might work. It might not. It probably won't. But it's at least step one. ]
[ Fortunate for Kim, he may be the one person to get away without injury in these circumstances. Head bowed and eyes screwed shut, Robby's gone for the childish way of ignoring everything by pretending--and hoping--it doesn't exist. But it doesn't make what he's trying to escape from disappear, or relinquish its control over him: there's still the voice of a mother, who of course won't leave him. No can do.
And still, with a rasp. And yet, there's a tone over there, some kind of distant mumble. It speaks on with hers, a strange echo, but not one that registers to Robby as peculiar. Everything is fucked here, truthfully, and even with his eyes as scrunched closed as they are, the world is darker for him than it should be with the fluorescent lighting above head that makes it more visible to other visitors.
The directions are sensible, even if nothing can be interpreted as safe or useful. Trust is a hard thing to come by when one's trust in themselves and what they can distinguish between hallucinations and reality has already been tested and failed. It's a trick, Robby's brain tells him, and surely something will happen despite the reassurances, and he'll have to fight (pretend that he can fight), run, or even find himself in his own bed...
But maybe closing one's eyes does keep the terrors at bay. Nothing's occurred, though it doesn't rid Robby of the possibility that tenses him at his shoulders. He's considering his ability to get up and run, his weight, and whatever sight he might see leading up to it or the consequence for trying to escape. He's breathing, of course: Robby knows the perks of controlling one's breathing before doing anything, though the thought of being comforted by his mother upsets him in a new way.
Breathe. He can't let ghosts get the better of him, saying for himself more than anyone: ]
You're not real, I didn't kill you.
[ It's said quietly, just as Robby clenches one of his hands into a fist. ]
[ Okay. He's hallucinating. Is he on drugs? It's hard to tell without being able to get a look at his eyes, to see if they're cloudy or yellow, but he rejects that idea as soon as it pops into his mind. He's pretty sure Robby isn't the type. Even if he were, he wouldn't be taking them tonight of all nights. No, there's a much more familiar, much more dangerous culprit: he's hallucinating. Aural hallucinations as well as visual hallucinations, which complicates matters.
All right. He's seeing someone else. Somebody already dead, maybe? With aural hallucinations that he killed them, which is a ludicrous notion; he's just some kid. Just a nice kid, Kim amends, knowing damn well that plenty of people Robby's age are capable of killing another. All he can do is talk to him, try to get through to him so that he can at least open his eyes and hopefully see the person who's truly in front of him. ]
No. You didn't. [ How did his training say to talk people down from a panic attack, again? Sensation. Grounding. What he can see is off-limits, and so is what he can hear. There's no way he's going to get any food in Robby's mouth, so that just leaves... ] You didn't kill anyone, Robby. Whoever you're seeing or hearing now isn't actually here. It's just Kim Kitsuragi, a friend of your teacher's -- of Daniel. You are in the City, sitting behind the counter of a convenience store, and everything is all right. Try to concentrate on what you feel, not what you hear or see. Start with...
[ He gets up, taking the couple steps it takes to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, ice-cold to the touch. He crouches in front of Robby again. ]
This is a cold water bottle. I'm going to press it against your wrist. Now you're going to grab it and hold onto it.
[ The other sound--a voice, a something; maybe a someone--rises in volume, a gnat to Robby's mom's voice, but it's hard to hear what's being said though the direction comes out the same. An explanation before a shock of cold against skin, and Robby's lips tremble with a breath despite the warning.
Would it be good to open his eyes? If there's something there, if it is a water bottle, then maybe it will be useful: anything's pretty good to throw or smack someone with in close contact, when staying in place so long--this isn't helpful. It's not useful.
Robby reaches, to take the offered item; let his fingers come around and clench it, a sense of security to realise it's not something else. Grasps it, and with a second deliberated, Robby opens his eyes with his gaze down between them, then coming up with a wince as a fluorescent light filters in that wasn't somehow present behind his lids.
Know what also wasn't? ]
...what the hell?
[ ...well, more like a who, with a somehow more confused expression denting further into Robby's already furrowed look. ]
[ Kim can't be sure if anything he's saying is getting through to the kid, but the shock of sensation seems to; he watches as the kid stiffens, his fingers reaching out to finally snatch at the proffered drink and squeeze at it. And then his eyes open.
That's an improvement. From the looks of it, he's not hallucinating too badly, if he is at all. He doesn't squirrel further away in fear, or shout, or try to fight him, which is a great improvement on matters. He exhales. Good, he thinks. He's finally getting somewhere. ]
Hello, Robby. [ He keeps his voice as slow and calm as he's been the whole time, as though worried that speaking too loudly or too harshly would just scare him off again. ] Are you with me now?
[ His mother's voice is gone. And it's disorienting--it's alarming, the anxiety built from hearing her haunt him not relinquished by the disappearance of her voice. Robby continues to stare at Mister Kitsuragi in confusion, looks over him, and tries to decide what to make of him. How to approach him, even in the face of his own calm and collected route.
Robby glances to the side away from Mister Kitsuragi, and unfortunately, absent of anything else than the curve of the counter wall. ]
... how long have you been here?
[ It's a quiet question, more uncertain than trying to be hushed or secretive. Another quick glance, this time at the bottle, that Robby gingerly lowers to sit on the ground without letting go of it. ]
Not long. Five, ten minutes max. You were already in a bad way when I arrived.
[ He's lucid. Lucid enough to ask questions, and to recognize him for who he is. Good. Very good. Kim doesn't know what he would have done if that much didn't work -- stay here until it did, he supposes, ride it out in the same way he would ride out someone's drug trip, but being crouched all night long in the corner of a convenience store isn't his idea of a good time.
Robby is still looking at him, spooked, like he's seen some sort of ghost. Maybe that's precisely what he was seeing. This place has an alarming tendency to dig out the skeletons in your closet and put them on display for everyone to see. ]
A store. [ That much he figured out, said before he seems to look up at where the top of the counter sits, an involuntarily need to confirm it. ] I don't know which one. I was in my apartment. District 1.
[ There's a small beat before each detail, the facts as he knows them--if they could be even called facts. ]
You came all this way from your apartment? [ Kim says, a look of keen dismay briefly crossing his face. Robby must have been caught in it for longer than he'd thought. But more than that, he'd stumbled all the way here in some form of puzzled agony; it's a small wonder he hadn't managed to trip down some stairs, or run into someone else on his way over. Thank god there's no such thing as traffic here. ]
That's... you must have been affected by this for a long time now. No, I didn't see anything. Just you, in here. Right now, you're in a convenience store. The one between the liquor store and the fruit stall. What is it that you saw? [ A beat. ] Are you hurt at all?
[ He won't trust Robby's word for it anyway, not with such adrenaline still pumping through his body. He'll look him over himself once he turns the lights back on, but he won't subject the kid to the harsh fluorescents until he's had some time to settle down. ]
[ Robby's mind stalls. There's questions asked, but it's only one that holds his tongue and makes it hard to answer any than an accumulation of both; a point bafflingly repeated that itself needs a response, but--
What is it that you saw? Robby's throat closes, and he looks down from Mister Kitsuragi for longer than it takes for his mouth to finally work, to answer him.
... ] I-- no, but-- I don't remember walking here. I didn't walk here, [ he fixes. Swallows. ] It got dark, then I saw-- I didn't wanna get close to her. My mom. I know it wasn't real, I didn't wanna get close.
[ His words are rushed, but his voice doesn't rise; backing out of explaining the process entirely, and wanting to get to the point. What he saw, what he was doing. Why he's crouched, hiding behind the counter of a convenience store, and feeling stir in him a ridiculousness doused by an anger that he's here at all. He bites on his bottom lip, and then mutters for nobody but himself: ]
[ There's not much more to be said about that, is there? Robby was a victim of the City, as they all are again, and again, and again. It is as profoundly unfair as anything else Kim can consider, though in fairness, so is life as he knows it. If he could protect Robby from it, he would. But he's never successfully protected anyone in his life.
There is an unspoken trauma here, that he saw his mother and his first reaction was fear. To flee, to hide, to cower. What the hell had she done to him? ]
So... you saw, or perhaps heard, something like your mother and you wound up here. [ He glances around them, the dimness of the empty convenience store stark and eerie, a liminal space caught within a liminal space. ]
Your instincts were good, to stay away. Being haunted by the past is this place's go-to, and not everyone escapes unscathed. [ Robby didn't either. But it's an injury of the heart, and those are injuries that are beyond Kim's capabilities. ]
...is there anyone you'd like to call? Who you'd like to stay with you, after this?
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Because if Kim follows the mess, the counter isn't too far. A look down the side leading away from the counter and the mess, and there's no evidence of anyone moving through; but keeping his eyes down the other aisle, a larger part of the knocked stock can be seen. A more careful eye over the very edge of the most affected shelf, a torn scrap of fabric has caught on it, a red chequered pattern lightly discernible, usual for a shirt, if Kim's seen enough of the style to recognise it, or at least guess.
Except, there's nobody visible down the aisles. And on the walk through, none of the aisles would have revealed anyone. They could be around the corners, whoever (or if there's anyone) might be present, though there might be one area a detective would think to look if all signs lead to someone passing through a specific place.
...over the counter, where there will be one Robby Keene in a red-chequered shirt trying to get to the farthest left side of the counter, as if aware he might've given himself away to some kind of company by the mess left on the other side. Moving quietly, not even looking for anyone before he might be found--
though he will stop if he is found, and that's made obvious in any way. ]
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...Robby? Is that you? [ He says incredulously, peering over the counter. It's me -- it's Mr. Kitsuragi. [ As though there's anyone else out there with his distinct voice. ] What's going on? Are you all right?
[ What are you running from? ]
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One is more real than the other, but details like these don't matter, honestly, when you're in the middle of what seems real to you. Like one's name spoken in the voice of a mother loved dearly than that of a Revacholian man, sweet and familiar in his ears. It freezes Robby in place, has him squeezing his eyelids tight; and he wants to ignore it, but that voice digs deeper than the cut on his arm, the sting of torn skin and superficial bleeding inconsequential to what a mother's voice means to him.
(With a rasp. A rasp that shouldn't be in that voice.)
Anyone else, and he might keep running, but Robby knows the shadow that cast over the counter with that voice, and knows he isn't alone. He knows what running will do, even if running doesn't seem to be something he's done much of, within the store himself.
But it doesn't mean that Robby dares to look. Isn't that the problem? That he's a coward, and he takes that route, refusing to budge in his position, his eyes shut closed, and his head bowed and his answer to Kim's concerns-- ]
Fuck-- off... fuck off!
[ ...rather appropriate to his young and rebellious age, surely. But there's something pleading in his tone, a strangled note: from trying to hold back what isn't being held back well at all. An upset, a fear--because who wants to see the face of a woman you killed hovering above you, looking more dead than you would ever want to see a loved one?
He's so fucking sick of this city. ]
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[ He makes his way around the counter to crouch in front of Robby. He's vaguely aware that he might get socked for it but, well, it's a risk he's going to have to take. Robby clearly isn't in his right mind, and isn't to be held responsible for whatever he does next, though Kim personally hopes that his nose stays right where it is; it's already crooked enough from being broken a couple of times before. He knows what he had seen earlier, what he had felt, the eerie, constant feeling of something peering out at him from the shadows, the idea that he couldn't trust anyone around him, the scientists...
And all he'd done was go to the party and sit quietly at a table. He wonders if Robby got punished with something worse for daring to organize it in the first place. His deep voice is as calm as it ever is. It's his true superpower, at the end of the day. He can handle his own in a fight well enough, but what he truly deals in is trying to defuse situations before they get to it. You just have to remain calm and work with the situation. ]
It's okay. I'm not going to make you go anywhere, [ he says quietly. ] We're just going to sit right here for a little while. Nobody is coming to get you, and nobody is trying to make you do anything. Just take a deep breath.
[ It might work. It might not. It probably won't. But it's at least step one. ]
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And still, with a rasp. And yet, there's a tone over there, some kind of distant mumble. It speaks on with hers, a strange echo, but not one that registers to Robby as peculiar. Everything is fucked here, truthfully, and even with his eyes as scrunched closed as they are, the world is darker for him than it should be with the fluorescent lighting above head that makes it more visible to other visitors.
The directions are sensible, even if nothing can be interpreted as safe or useful. Trust is a hard thing to come by when one's trust in themselves and what they can distinguish between hallucinations and reality has already been tested and failed. It's a trick, Robby's brain tells him, and surely something will happen despite the reassurances, and he'll have to fight (pretend that he can fight), run, or even find himself in his own bed...
But maybe closing one's eyes does keep the terrors at bay. Nothing's occurred, though it doesn't rid Robby of the possibility that tenses him at his shoulders. He's considering his ability to get up and run, his weight, and whatever sight he might see leading up to it or the consequence for trying to escape. He's breathing, of course: Robby knows the perks of controlling one's breathing before doing anything, though the thought of being comforted by his mother upsets him in a new way.
Breathe. He can't let ghosts get the better of him, saying for himself more than anyone: ]
You're not real, I didn't kill you.
[ It's said quietly, just as Robby clenches one of his hands into a fist. ]
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[ Okay. He's hallucinating. Is he on drugs? It's hard to tell without being able to get a look at his eyes, to see if they're cloudy or yellow, but he rejects that idea as soon as it pops into his mind. He's pretty sure Robby isn't the type. Even if he were, he wouldn't be taking them tonight of all nights. No, there's a much more familiar, much more dangerous culprit: he's hallucinating. Aural hallucinations as well as visual hallucinations, which complicates matters.
All right. He's seeing someone else. Somebody already dead, maybe? With aural hallucinations that he killed them, which is a ludicrous notion; he's just some kid. Just a nice kid, Kim amends, knowing damn well that plenty of people Robby's age are capable of killing another. All he can do is talk to him, try to get through to him so that he can at least open his eyes and hopefully see the person who's truly in front of him. ]
No. You didn't. [ How did his training say to talk people down from a panic attack, again? Sensation. Grounding. What he can see is off-limits, and so is what he can hear. There's no way he's going to get any food in Robby's mouth, so that just leaves... ] You didn't kill anyone, Robby. Whoever you're seeing or hearing now isn't actually here. It's just Kim Kitsuragi, a friend of your teacher's -- of Daniel. You are in the City, sitting behind the counter of a convenience store, and everything is all right. Try to concentrate on what you feel, not what you hear or see. Start with...
[ He gets up, taking the couple steps it takes to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, ice-cold to the touch. He crouches in front of Robby again. ]
This is a cold water bottle. I'm going to press it against your wrist. Now you're going to grab it and hold onto it.
[ It's not a request. It's an order. ]
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Would it be good to open his eyes? If there's something there, if it is a water bottle, then maybe it will be useful: anything's pretty good to throw or smack someone with in close contact, when staying in place so long--this isn't helpful. It's not useful.
Robby reaches, to take the offered item; let his fingers come around and clench it, a sense of security to realise it's not something else. Grasps it, and with a second deliberated, Robby opens his eyes with his gaze down between them, then coming up with a wince as a fluorescent light filters in that wasn't somehow present behind his lids.
Know what also wasn't? ]
...what the hell?
[ ...well, more like a who, with a somehow more confused expression denting further into Robby's already furrowed look. ]
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That's an improvement. From the looks of it, he's not hallucinating too badly, if he is at all. He doesn't squirrel further away in fear, or shout, or try to fight him, which is a great improvement on matters. He exhales. Good, he thinks. He's finally getting somewhere. ]
Hello, Robby. [ He keeps his voice as slow and calm as he's been the whole time, as though worried that speaking too loudly or too harshly would just scare him off again. ] Are you with me now?
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Robby glances to the side away from Mister Kitsuragi, and unfortunately, absent of anything else than the curve of the counter wall. ]
... how long have you been here?
[ It's a quiet question, more uncertain than trying to be hushed or secretive. Another quick glance, this time at the bottle, that Robby gingerly lowers to sit on the ground without letting go of it. ]
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[ He's lucid. Lucid enough to ask questions, and to recognize him for who he is. Good. Very good. Kim doesn't know what he would have done if that much didn't work -- stay here until it did, he supposes, ride it out in the same way he would ride out someone's drug trip, but being crouched all night long in the corner of a convenience store isn't his idea of a good time.
Robby is still looking at him, spooked, like he's seen some sort of ghost. Maybe that's precisely what he was seeing. This place has an alarming tendency to dig out the skeletons in your closet and put them on display for everyone to see. ]
Do you know where you are?
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[ There's a small beat before each detail, the facts as he knows them--if they could be even called facts. ]
...You saw nothing?
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That's... you must have been affected by this for a long time now. No, I didn't see anything. Just you, in here. Right now, you're in a convenience store. The one between the liquor store and the fruit stall. What is it that you saw? [ A beat. ] Are you hurt at all?
[ He won't trust Robby's word for it anyway, not with such adrenaline still pumping through his body. He'll look him over himself once he turns the lights back on, but he won't subject the kid to the harsh fluorescents until he's had some time to settle down. ]
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What is it that you saw? Robby's throat closes, and he looks down from Mister Kitsuragi for longer than it takes for his mouth to finally work, to answer him.
... ] I-- no, but-- I don't remember walking here. I didn't walk here, [ he fixes. Swallows. ] It got dark, then I saw-- I didn't wanna get close to her. My mom. I know it wasn't real, I didn't wanna get close.
[ His words are rushed, but his voice doesn't rise; backing out of explaining the process entirely, and wanting to get to the point. What he saw, what he was doing. Why he's crouched, hiding behind the counter of a convenience store, and feeling stir in him a ridiculousness doused by an anger that he's here at all. He bites on his bottom lip, and then mutters for nobody but himself: ]
Stupid fucking city.
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[ There's not much more to be said about that, is there? Robby was a victim of the City, as they all are again, and again, and again. It is as profoundly unfair as anything else Kim can consider, though in fairness, so is life as he knows it. If he could protect Robby from it, he would. But he's never successfully protected anyone in his life.
There is an unspoken trauma here, that he saw his mother and his first reaction was fear. To flee, to hide, to cower. What the hell had she done to him? ]
So... you saw, or perhaps heard, something like your mother and you wound up here. [ He glances around them, the dimness of the empty convenience store stark and eerie, a liminal space caught within a liminal space. ]
Your instincts were good, to stay away. Being haunted by the past is this place's go-to, and not everyone escapes unscathed. [ Robby didn't either. But it's an injury of the heart, and those are injuries that are beyond Kim's capabilities. ]
...is there anyone you'd like to call? Who you'd like to stay with you, after this?