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[Shinjiro lays Don Quixote's body to rest in the gardens, as she asked, and somehow he manages to stand up afterward. He doesn't move with any particular intention, honestly, half-dazed as the city's sky keeps turning split-pea green in his mind, Quixote's body mixing and blending with another woman's, inside a crushed house where a monster rampages, and all he can do is scream.
There are times where Shinjiro is forced to stop, whole body wracked by spasms he doesn't have the vocabulary to name as panic attacks, and his lungs feel as though they are on fire all over again, though any lingering trace of the wound on his back has healed over fully by now.
He stops, ultimately, in a place he recognizes -- though he could not verbalize even to himself why he came. He was just telling someone on the other day that there was no real cause for kinship between him and Kitsuragi; the older man was simply the sort of person who saw someone in need of assistance and offered it. They are not anything akin to friends. He has no cause to go inside, or ring Kitsuragi's doorbell, or any such thing.
He cannot bring himself to leave, either, though. So when Kim steps out for his nightly single cigarette, perhaps, he'll find a familiar teenager huddled there, breathing in uneven fits and gasps as he tries to hold his shoulders steady, face streaked with tear tracks he would have been humiliated for anyone to see, were he mentally present enough to be aware of them.]
There are times where Shinjiro is forced to stop, whole body wracked by spasms he doesn't have the vocabulary to name as panic attacks, and his lungs feel as though they are on fire all over again, though any lingering trace of the wound on his back has healed over fully by now.
He stops, ultimately, in a place he recognizes -- though he could not verbalize even to himself why he came. He was just telling someone on the other day that there was no real cause for kinship between him and Kitsuragi; the older man was simply the sort of person who saw someone in need of assistance and offered it. They are not anything akin to friends. He has no cause to go inside, or ring Kitsuragi's doorbell, or any such thing.
He cannot bring himself to leave, either, though. So when Kim steps out for his nightly single cigarette, perhaps, he'll find a familiar teenager huddled there, breathing in uneven fits and gasps as he tries to hold his shoulders steady, face streaked with tear tracks he would have been humiliated for anyone to see, were he mentally present enough to be aware of them.]
[ Kim has trouble sleeping these days.
It's not by nature of nightmares, or worries, or anything quite so dramatic. Quite the opposite. It's because for a man used to being overworked to the bone, to only fall asleep when his body absolutely demands it, mind abuzz with office politics, with paperwork, with his overburdened caseload, with the junior officers relying on his guidance, this sedentary life has him wandering lost. So he's taken to having his nightly cigarette later and later these days, wandering around the deserted streets of this godforsaken place as though he's just asking for trouble.
Which happens to be fortuitous for Shinji as Kim exits the apartment building he and Kamui have hunkered down in, patting his pocket to make sure his pack of cigarettes is still there, only to see what could practically be a pile of old coats and laundry, quivering. He pauses, taken aback, but eyes flitting over Shinji, he's immediately able to see what's going on: he's having a panic attack. A bad one. ]
Aragaki...?
[ Why he's having one doesn't matter. Not immediately, anyway. After all, why wouldn't people here be having panic attacks, those who believe themselves to be dead most of all? Stranded here without friends or family, or even a friendly face, nothing to do, nothing to see, just the same monotonous thing day-in, day-out as they wait for the other shoe to drop, surrounded by others just as suspicious and unhappy as they are -- if anything, panicking about this is a sign of sanity.
He doubts that's all there is to it. But he can deal with that later. Now, he does what he knows, which is to place both of his hands on Aragaki's shoulders, squeezing them a little too tightly; the weight will anchor him, steady him in this moment. ]
You have to listen to me. You're having a panic attack. Whatever this is, this will pass. I need you to breathe. [ He grabs onto Aragaki's hand and puts it on his own chest so he can feel its motion, an easier task than expecting Aragaki to be able to see clearly, leading by example. This, too, is a familiar gesture; how many times has he done this for the more receptive teens he's worked with, trying to calm them after some horrific crime or another? Too often, it's all he can do before returning them to Revachol's cruel embrace, a victim to the world around them. ]
Breathe in... and out. And in... and out.
[ He'll continue this for a while. As long as he needs to, frankly, until the world becomes less of a blur for Aragaki, until he's able to get his shit together. ]
It's not by nature of nightmares, or worries, or anything quite so dramatic. Quite the opposite. It's because for a man used to being overworked to the bone, to only fall asleep when his body absolutely demands it, mind abuzz with office politics, with paperwork, with his overburdened caseload, with the junior officers relying on his guidance, this sedentary life has him wandering lost. So he's taken to having his nightly cigarette later and later these days, wandering around the deserted streets of this godforsaken place as though he's just asking for trouble.
Which happens to be fortuitous for Shinji as Kim exits the apartment building he and Kamui have hunkered down in, patting his pocket to make sure his pack of cigarettes is still there, only to see what could practically be a pile of old coats and laundry, quivering. He pauses, taken aback, but eyes flitting over Shinji, he's immediately able to see what's going on: he's having a panic attack. A bad one. ]
Aragaki...?
[ Why he's having one doesn't matter. Not immediately, anyway. After all, why wouldn't people here be having panic attacks, those who believe themselves to be dead most of all? Stranded here without friends or family, or even a friendly face, nothing to do, nothing to see, just the same monotonous thing day-in, day-out as they wait for the other shoe to drop, surrounded by others just as suspicious and unhappy as they are -- if anything, panicking about this is a sign of sanity.
He doubts that's all there is to it. But he can deal with that later. Now, he does what he knows, which is to place both of his hands on Aragaki's shoulders, squeezing them a little too tightly; the weight will anchor him, steady him in this moment. ]
You have to listen to me. You're having a panic attack. Whatever this is, this will pass. I need you to breathe. [ He grabs onto Aragaki's hand and puts it on his own chest so he can feel its motion, an easier task than expecting Aragaki to be able to see clearly, leading by example. This, too, is a familiar gesture; how many times has he done this for the more receptive teens he's worked with, trying to calm them after some horrific crime or another? Too often, it's all he can do before returning them to Revachol's cruel embrace, a victim to the world around them. ]
Breathe in... and out. And in... and out.
[ He'll continue this for a while. As long as he needs to, frankly, until the world becomes less of a blur for Aragaki, until he's able to get his shit together. ]
Edited 2023-07-21 05:32 (UTC)
[If the touch had been lighter, Shinjiro might have jerked away or lashed out, lost in the throes of flashback as he is. The tight grip is grounding, though, and with nothing else firm to reach for, the steady rhythm of Kim's chest is clung to like the last piece of driftwood in the ocean. Unconsciously, his fingers clasp tighter onto the fabric of Kim's jacket as his breathing slowly steadies to match the pattern.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually the older man's voice starts sounding like words again, losing their distorted, faraway quality. He blinks slowly, the haze gradually fading from his eyes as he comes back to himself. Even once he has, though, he uh...he stares at Kim like a deer in the headlights for an embarrassingly long time, is what he does.]
I...
["Thanks" sounds profoundly stupid, childish even. "Sorry" is similarly discarded out of hand. It might have been the easiest move to unceremoniously fuck off without a word, but his legs don't seem to have gotten that memo, since he simply remains rooted to his spot on the ground as though he could simply melt into the pavement and evaporate into the surrounding atmosphere through sheer force of will. Eventually, he does manage to tear his gaze away from the older man with some unintelligible grunt, though he still doesn't get up.]
I'm okay. [Transparently false, but one does what one must for the sake of their dignity.] Just give me a minute.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually the older man's voice starts sounding like words again, losing their distorted, faraway quality. He blinks slowly, the haze gradually fading from his eyes as he comes back to himself. Even once he has, though, he uh...he stares at Kim like a deer in the headlights for an embarrassingly long time, is what he does.]
I...
["Thanks" sounds profoundly stupid, childish even. "Sorry" is similarly discarded out of hand. It might have been the easiest move to unceremoniously fuck off without a word, but his legs don't seem to have gotten that memo, since he simply remains rooted to his spot on the ground as though he could simply melt into the pavement and evaporate into the surrounding atmosphere through sheer force of will. Eventually, he does manage to tear his gaze away from the older man with some unintelligible grunt, though he still doesn't get up.]
I'm okay. [Transparently false, but one does what one must for the sake of their dignity.] Just give me a minute.
You will be all right, yes. You just had a panic attack. Nothing you can't live through, [ Kim says crisply. A panic attack brought on by something, certainly, whether that's the demons in Aragaki's own brain or something he witnessed out in the City's streets, abandoned save for the people who were brought here, prone to conflict and violence and paranoia as they are. Kim reaches a gloved hand out towards Aragaki, the gesture as calm and deeply insistent as his voice is, as though he cannot imagine a world in which the other person would say no. It has taken years to master it, the sense of gravity that he knows what's best, but it's a skill he uses more and more as he grows older. ]
Come on. Up. You're coming inside with me. You need a glass of water and a soft place to sit. And perhaps when you've calmed, you can tell me what happened.
[ Kamui is out as well -- it will just be the two of them. ]
Come on. Up. You're coming inside with me. You need a glass of water and a soft place to sit. And perhaps when you've calmed, you can tell me what happened.
[ Kamui is out as well -- it will just be the two of them. ]
[Shinjiro thinks, somewhat in passing, that 'panic attack' seems too neat of a name for it, as though someone just runs up and punches you in the face with panic, rather than just being unable to keep your shit together without freaking out in front of people. Kitsuragi offers him his hand, offers him water and somewhere nice to sit and he feels his ears go warm in embarrassment.
(On some level, he knows this is why he came. Kitsuragi wouldn't turn him away, whether or not he could express a desire for help)
He wants to say something like, "you don't gotta worry about me", or perhaps simply "It's fine, I don't need it", but the words don't make it out. He's too worn out at this point for the front, and the truth is, desperately doesn't want to be alone with the images behind his eyelids tonight, as wrong as it feels to admit that even to himself. His own hand is still trembling a little as it reaches to meet Kitsuragi's outstretched one; it's too much to hope that the older man won't notice, but Shinjiro can at least pretend that he hasn't as the man helps him to his feet.
Before they make it to the door of the apartment building, though, Shinjiro hesitates again, hands shoved into his pockets. He can still feel the faint warmth of Kitsuragi's hands on his shoulders, still remembers the steady thump of his heart under Shinjiro's hand and it twists something in his gut. When was the last time an adult even looked his way when he was having a hard time? He can't even recall the nuns at the orphanage doing that--too many kids to keep fed and healthy to worry after their individual well-being.
It scares him. He feels like he ought to chase the older man off somehow, before Kitsuragi gets hurt. Knowing him always hurts, he's found.]
...Why do you care, anyway? Ain't even like there's shit all to patch up this time.
[No blood, no mostly-sealed bullet hole. Just some stupid kid having a breakdown. It's foolish. A waste of his time, at best.]
(On some level, he knows this is why he came. Kitsuragi wouldn't turn him away, whether or not he could express a desire for help)
He wants to say something like, "you don't gotta worry about me", or perhaps simply "It's fine, I don't need it", but the words don't make it out. He's too worn out at this point for the front, and the truth is, desperately doesn't want to be alone with the images behind his eyelids tonight, as wrong as it feels to admit that even to himself. His own hand is still trembling a little as it reaches to meet Kitsuragi's outstretched one; it's too much to hope that the older man won't notice, but Shinjiro can at least pretend that he hasn't as the man helps him to his feet.
Before they make it to the door of the apartment building, though, Shinjiro hesitates again, hands shoved into his pockets. He can still feel the faint warmth of Kitsuragi's hands on his shoulders, still remembers the steady thump of his heart under Shinjiro's hand and it twists something in his gut. When was the last time an adult even looked his way when he was having a hard time? He can't even recall the nuns at the orphanage doing that--too many kids to keep fed and healthy to worry after their individual well-being.
It scares him. He feels like he ought to chase the older man off somehow, before Kitsuragi gets hurt. Knowing him always hurts, he's found.]
...Why do you care, anyway? Ain't even like there's shit all to patch up this time.
[No blood, no mostly-sealed bullet hole. Just some stupid kid having a breakdown. It's foolish. A waste of his time, at best.]
Well... [ Kim cracks a small smile. ] I've got nothing better to do. So that helps. It's not as though you're interrupting me.
[ He stands patiently by the door, his sturdy boot wedged underneath its frame, waiting patiently for Aragaki to step inside. It feels a bit as though he's trying to lure in a particularly cantankerous stray. And a part of him does wonder why he's doing this; he's never found himself wanting to get too involved in anyone else's business before, let alone the more youthful part of society. But a bigger part of him feels a sense of responsibility towards this young man, and more than that, the sense that the younger people here have been particularly wronged. Aragaki deserved help where he was from, to recover from his wounds or, failing that, the opportunity to come to a peaceful, permanent resting place. This purgatory, separated from his family and friends (if he indeed has any; Kim has his doubts), with no support, no answers, no rhyme or reason to it...
Nobody deserves that. ]
Besides, I happen to be very well acquainted with panic attacks. Just because it doesn't leave any marks on your body, that doesn't mean it still doesn't need some treatment. [ He nods again towards the door, hoping to lure him inside. ] A place to sit and something to drink isn't such a tall order. Come on. It won't hurt.
[ He stands patiently by the door, his sturdy boot wedged underneath its frame, waiting patiently for Aragaki to step inside. It feels a bit as though he's trying to lure in a particularly cantankerous stray. And a part of him does wonder why he's doing this; he's never found himself wanting to get too involved in anyone else's business before, let alone the more youthful part of society. But a bigger part of him feels a sense of responsibility towards this young man, and more than that, the sense that the younger people here have been particularly wronged. Aragaki deserved help where he was from, to recover from his wounds or, failing that, the opportunity to come to a peaceful, permanent resting place. This purgatory, separated from his family and friends (if he indeed has any; Kim has his doubts), with no support, no answers, no rhyme or reason to it...
Nobody deserves that. ]
Besides, I happen to be very well acquainted with panic attacks. Just because it doesn't leave any marks on your body, that doesn't mean it still doesn't need some treatment. [ He nods again towards the door, hoping to lure him inside. ] A place to sit and something to drink isn't such a tall order. Come on. It won't hurt.
[Ironically, "nothing better to do" is an acceptable answer to Shinjiro, perhaps moreso than any concern given to his personal well-being. It still feels a little silly to accept the notion that losing his grip on himself like that is something that might need "treatment", but taking a few minutes to warm up indoors isn't the worst thing in the world.
He does briefly wonder at what Kitsuragi means about being "very familiar" with these kind of attacks, yet it seems so impossible to picture this man in a similar state that his mind simply supplies that perhaps the older man finds himself in a position of dealing with messed up people like this often.]
...Just for a bit, alright?
[Maybe if he doesn't look at Kitsuragi as he scuttles in through the held-open door he can feel less embarrassed about it? He's certainly giving it the old college try, anyway, staring doggedly at his worn old shoes alone as he makes his way in and follows the detective to his apartment.]
He does briefly wonder at what Kitsuragi means about being "very familiar" with these kind of attacks, yet it seems so impossible to picture this man in a similar state that his mind simply supplies that perhaps the older man finds himself in a position of dealing with messed up people like this often.]
...Just for a bit, alright?
[Maybe if he doesn't look at Kitsuragi as he scuttles in through the held-open door he can feel less embarrassed about it? He's certainly giving it the old college try, anyway, staring doggedly at his worn old shoes alone as he makes his way in and follows the detective to his apartment.]
Edited 2023-07-26 10:46 (UTC)
Don't worry, it's not as though I barred the door behind you, [ Kim says wryly, guiding Aragaki down to sit on the couch. The apartment itself is relatively untouched from when Kim had arrived here, but being that it was already fully furnished, it's a cozy space, a haven away from the eerie emptiness of the City that awaits them outdoors. ]
Sit. I'll be right back.
[ Kim retreats into the nook of a kitchen, placing a hand over the kettle sitting on his stovetop, nodding in satisfaction as he realizes it's still warm from the tea he'd been drinking before he'd set out into the City. He lets it heat back up as he rifles through his cupboard for this and that. He's never been the best at dealing with others' panic attacks, admittedly, but you don't persevere in his line of work for as long as he has without having to deal with them time and time again. A drink, something to eat, a warm blanket, a gentle voice: without the same gift for people as some of his peers, it's all he is able to provide. It's generally the least that he can provide, considering he leaves people behind, bereft of what the world had looked like before tragedy, never to look back.
When he re-emerges from the kitchen, it's with a hot cup of tea - decaf, some sort of herbal tea he'd picked up from the store - and a packet of saltines and a packaged chocolate bar. Heat, sugar, calories. That's the cure. ]
Here. You don't have to eat, but you should at least drink.
[ It'll calm the kid down, having to slowly sip at the hot drink, focusing on the warmth underneath his fingers instead of the storm inside his head. He refilled his own cup, more so that he'd have something to hold as well than anything else, and sits directly across from Aragaki, legs crossed. He gives the kid some time to recover, content for the moment to sit in silence.
He'll ask what happened soon -- and still, the question is heavy in the air, his own curiosity a given. But he doesn't want to send him spiraling down again. He needs a second to breathe. ]
Sit. I'll be right back.
[ Kim retreats into the nook of a kitchen, placing a hand over the kettle sitting on his stovetop, nodding in satisfaction as he realizes it's still warm from the tea he'd been drinking before he'd set out into the City. He lets it heat back up as he rifles through his cupboard for this and that. He's never been the best at dealing with others' panic attacks, admittedly, but you don't persevere in his line of work for as long as he has without having to deal with them time and time again. A drink, something to eat, a warm blanket, a gentle voice: without the same gift for people as some of his peers, it's all he is able to provide. It's generally the least that he can provide, considering he leaves people behind, bereft of what the world had looked like before tragedy, never to look back.
When he re-emerges from the kitchen, it's with a hot cup of tea - decaf, some sort of herbal tea he'd picked up from the store - and a packet of saltines and a packaged chocolate bar. Heat, sugar, calories. That's the cure. ]
Here. You don't have to eat, but you should at least drink.
[ It'll calm the kid down, having to slowly sip at the hot drink, focusing on the warmth underneath his fingers instead of the storm inside his head. He refilled his own cup, more so that he'd have something to hold as well than anything else, and sits directly across from Aragaki, legs crossed. He gives the kid some time to recover, content for the moment to sit in silence.
He'll ask what happened soon -- and still, the question is heavy in the air, his own curiosity a given. But he doesn't want to send him spiraling down again. He needs a second to breathe. ]
[He slumps into a chair awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for Kitsuragi in the kitchen, and picks at the worn lining of his coat as he tries to resist the urge to start pacing a hole in the older man's floors or indeed run right off out that unlocked door while he's gone. It's an unsettling sensation, for someone to be off doing something for his sake; he feels nakedly vulnerable in a way he rarely does, too thoroughly seen for comfort. Honestly, the only thing that keeps that discomfort from splashing back onto Kitsuragi is how well the older man has intuited and respected his boundaries to now, only crossing over into unsolicited concern and assistance insofar as what could be construed by any reasonable person as genuine emergency. Shinjiro appreciates that more than he's willing to admit out loud.
So when Kitsuragi comes back with the hot tea, Shinjiro doesn't actually bother with any further protest, token or otherwise, warming his hands and face against the mug and the faint steam emerging from it. The chocolate bar is left to the side for the moment, though. He's not sure his hands are steady enough to open it, and struggling with that would certainly send him over the threshold of embarrassment he's able to tolerate about his current state.
He's content with the silence, though; there's something almost comforting in it, but the weight of being observed catches up with him eventually. He doesn't move to explain himself, exactly, but he take a moment to say something he couldn't earlier, when he was first coming down from the panic:]
...Thanks.
So when Kitsuragi comes back with the hot tea, Shinjiro doesn't actually bother with any further protest, token or otherwise, warming his hands and face against the mug and the faint steam emerging from it. The chocolate bar is left to the side for the moment, though. He's not sure his hands are steady enough to open it, and struggling with that would certainly send him over the threshold of embarrassment he's able to tolerate about his current state.
He's content with the silence, though; there's something almost comforting in it, but the weight of being observed catches up with him eventually. He doesn't move to explain himself, exactly, but he take a moment to say something he couldn't earlier, when he was first coming down from the panic:]
...Thanks.
Any time, [ Kim says plainly.
Few people actually find Kim reassuring. There are those who respond better to a more empathetic, active approach, those who wish to be coddled and soothed, those who need to hear gentle platitudes, those who need to be told that everything is going to be all right. Kim can't provide any of those things. He never could. But what he can provide is a soft place to fall; a quiet voice, a warm home, a steady, nonjudgmental stare.
Or a judgmental one, depending on the circumstances, but he whips that one out more on a professional basis than a personal one. He takes a sip of his own tea, expression as mild as it ever is, as though Aragaki had come here for a regular visit instead of practically collapsing outside of his temporary abode. ]
I won't make you talk about whatever that was, [ he says, steady as he ever is. ] Some things are private.
[ He knows that better than most. He glances out the window, the streetlight reflecting off of the thick lens of his glasses. ] But if you want to tell me what that was all about, I'll listen.
Few people actually find Kim reassuring. There are those who respond better to a more empathetic, active approach, those who wish to be coddled and soothed, those who need to hear gentle platitudes, those who need to be told that everything is going to be all right. Kim can't provide any of those things. He never could. But what he can provide is a soft place to fall; a quiet voice, a warm home, a steady, nonjudgmental stare.
Or a judgmental one, depending on the circumstances, but he whips that one out more on a professional basis than a personal one. He takes a sip of his own tea, expression as mild as it ever is, as though Aragaki had come here for a regular visit instead of practically collapsing outside of his temporary abode. ]
I won't make you talk about whatever that was, [ he says, steady as he ever is. ] Some things are private.
[ He knows that better than most. He glances out the window, the streetlight reflecting off of the thick lens of his glasses. ] But if you want to tell me what that was all about, I'll listen.
[It's a little funny how things work out. If Kim had simply asked him what had happened, Shinjiro would have likely clammed up immediately, grown tense and thrown up his walls. But the assurance that he won't be asked to share if he doesn't want to -- that he can simply keep drinking his tea and walk back out the door whenever he wants without explanation -- loosens his tongue just a little.
He still hesitates, even so, too used to simply hunkering down and bearing his struggles in silence on his own, but after a long moment, he sets the mug back down, staring into it instead of looking up at the older man.]
...I went to the thing, from that one network post. The fight. Brought up some old shit, I guess.
[The most downplayed possible way to phrase it, but it's a mark of the trust Kim has gained that Shinjiro got out anything at all, really.]
He still hesitates, even so, too used to simply hunkering down and bearing his struggles in silence on his own, but after a long moment, he sets the mug back down, staring into it instead of looking up at the older man.]
...I went to the thing, from that one network post. The fight. Brought up some old shit, I guess.
[The most downplayed possible way to phrase it, but it's a mark of the trust Kim has gained that Shinjiro got out anything at all, really.]
The network... oh. That. [ Kim pauses, a little awkward now. He hadn't quite paid attention to what was going on there. Sure, he'd check it every now and then, but ultimately finds the whole thing challenging -- he has no idea how to work his phone, let alone those odd games that popped up, and typing is a laborious affair as he pecks at every key with his index finger.
He really wishes he had learned how to use a radiocomputer. He'd seen the post, discarded it as thoughtless posturing that he didn't have the patience to learn how to respond to, and had promptly forgotten about it. After all, what sort of madman would actually volunteer to kill or be killed for the sake of a mystery?
He pinches at the bridge of his nose. ]
I'm still not great at using this thing, [ he says, gesturing to his communicator, screen side down on the coffee table. ] I didn't realize they actually did it. [ Hold up. ] Wait, why did you go? Were you -- involved in all that?
[ If Shinji came here straight after killing a woman, that's a different story. Not that he knows what to do with it if he did. It was clearly a consensual killing. But still. ]
He really wishes he had learned how to use a radiocomputer. He'd seen the post, discarded it as thoughtless posturing that he didn't have the patience to learn how to respond to, and had promptly forgotten about it. After all, what sort of madman would actually volunteer to kill or be killed for the sake of a mystery?
He pinches at the bridge of his nose. ]
I'm still not great at using this thing, [ he says, gesturing to his communicator, screen side down on the coffee table. ] I didn't realize they actually did it. [ Hold up. ] Wait, why did you go? Were you -- involved in all that?
[ If Shinji came here straight after killing a woman, that's a different story. Not that he knows what to do with it if he did. It was clearly a consensual killing. But still. ]
[There is a kneejerk reaction here that Shinjiro will be embarrassed by in a moment, but the moment the implication arises from that question, it escapes from his throat before he even really has a moment to think about it:]
I didn't kill her!
[His face grows a little hot thereafter, not solely because of the tea. He didn't help her either, his mind helpfully supplies. He didn't interfere. He stood there and watched her die as she asked and then went and put her corpse to rest in the gardens because it felt like the least cowardly way to react to knowing what she was going to do.
A sudden flash of her crushed-in skull overlays the apartment, there and then gone. He doesn't quite descend back into the panic, but there's a singular moment, a violent twitch of his fingers against the cup as his eyes go elsewhere, and then he's back.]
...It was just, if you're gonna pull a stupid stunt like that, might as well -- at least have people who can back up that it happened, or there's--no proof. Whole thing's pointless.
[Another twitch. A bit of the liquid sloshes out, this time, and Shinjiro sets the cup down at last, almost reluctantly.]
Besides, she couldn't just... leave her body layin' out there.
[One doesn't really need to be a detective to catch onto exactly what Shinjiro's implying about his particular role in the whole affair, but he can't quite bring himself to verbalize it, either. Especially since his focus seems to have diverted toward regulating his breathing, which has gone just a touch shallow again.]
I didn't kill her!
[His face grows a little hot thereafter, not solely because of the tea. He didn't help her either, his mind helpfully supplies. He didn't interfere. He stood there and watched her die as she asked and then went and put her corpse to rest in the gardens because it felt like the least cowardly way to react to knowing what she was going to do.
A sudden flash of her crushed-in skull overlays the apartment, there and then gone. He doesn't quite descend back into the panic, but there's a singular moment, a violent twitch of his fingers against the cup as his eyes go elsewhere, and then he's back.]
...It was just, if you're gonna pull a stupid stunt like that, might as well -- at least have people who can back up that it happened, or there's--no proof. Whole thing's pointless.
[Another twitch. A bit of the liquid sloshes out, this time, and Shinjiro sets the cup down at last, almost reluctantly.]
Besides, she couldn't just... leave her body layin' out there.
[One doesn't really need to be a detective to catch onto exactly what Shinjiro's implying about his particular role in the whole affair, but he can't quite bring himself to verbalize it, either. Especially since his focus seems to have diverted toward regulating his breathing, which has gone just a touch shallow again.]
Edited 2023-08-10 09:33 (UTC)
I didn't say you did, [ Kim says, his face as unmoving as stone.
That's a reaction. Nobody wants to be accused of murdering a woman in cold blood. That's fair enough. And what Kim said could be construed as accusing Shinji of being a killer. That's fair enough too. Still, it's the biggest outburst he's seen from the kid, and it doesn't feel as though it's coming out of nowhere. Past false accusations? Maybe. He's a street rat, that much has become obvious. He's probably used to being scapegoated for this and that. Kim takes a sip of his tea, giving Aragaki a long, measuring look, predominantly because he doesn't know what the hell to say to any of that.
To involve a kid in this grisly affair, to go through with it no matter who's watching... he can't approve of that. But vocalizing any of that won't get him anywhere except for surly defensiveness and a speedy exit. This is the sort of thing that requires tact. He sets the mug down and sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ]
You should have never been put into that position, [ he says frankly. ] I hope you know that. I would never condone this happening in the first place, but being that it did, they could have at least brought in someone accustomed to dealing with the aftermath to deal with it.
Was there anyone else with you, besides the victim and the perpetrator? Or did you have to deal with the body alone?
That's a reaction. Nobody wants to be accused of murdering a woman in cold blood. That's fair enough. And what Kim said could be construed as accusing Shinji of being a killer. That's fair enough too. Still, it's the biggest outburst he's seen from the kid, and it doesn't feel as though it's coming out of nowhere. Past false accusations? Maybe. He's a street rat, that much has become obvious. He's probably used to being scapegoated for this and that. Kim takes a sip of his tea, giving Aragaki a long, measuring look, predominantly because he doesn't know what the hell to say to any of that.
To involve a kid in this grisly affair, to go through with it no matter who's watching... he can't approve of that. But vocalizing any of that won't get him anywhere except for surly defensiveness and a speedy exit. This is the sort of thing that requires tact. He sets the mug down and sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ]
You should have never been put into that position, [ he says frankly. ] I hope you know that. I would never condone this happening in the first place, but being that it did, they could have at least brought in someone accustomed to dealing with the aftermath to deal with it.
Was there anyone else with you, besides the victim and the perpetrator? Or did you have to deal with the body alone?
I offered. She tried to talk me out of goin', even. It wasn't her fault.
[Kim tries to sidestep around any potential defensiveness on Shinjiro's part, but there's still a note of it in his response, almost too quick. It doesn't come with immediate retreat, at least; Shinjiro doesn't seem angry about it as much as he seems lost -- he hadn't anticipated it would affect him like this, with a faint tremor in the line of his shoulders even now. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea, of course, but he'd assumed it would be something he could handle. It's not as though Amada's mother is the only dead body he's ever seen in his life; dead junkies, homeless people, and criminals weren't exactly uncommon, in the sketchier parts of Iwatodai.
Then again, he hadn't been prepared to see her get her skull crushed in like that, either. He'd expected something clean, easy like a stabbing or a bullet, and the visceral horror waits for him right behind his eyelids, as though etched there by fire.]
But yeah, there were others. Bunch of people wanted to see the proof, I guess.
[For his own part, he just didn't want to be a coward and look away, knowing it was happening.]
[Kim tries to sidestep around any potential defensiveness on Shinjiro's part, but there's still a note of it in his response, almost too quick. It doesn't come with immediate retreat, at least; Shinjiro doesn't seem angry about it as much as he seems lost -- he hadn't anticipated it would affect him like this, with a faint tremor in the line of his shoulders even now. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea, of course, but he'd assumed it would be something he could handle. It's not as though Amada's mother is the only dead body he's ever seen in his life; dead junkies, homeless people, and criminals weren't exactly uncommon, in the sketchier parts of Iwatodai.
Then again, he hadn't been prepared to see her get her skull crushed in like that, either. He'd expected something clean, easy like a stabbing or a bullet, and the visceral horror waits for him right behind his eyelids, as though etched there by fire.]
But yeah, there were others. Bunch of people wanted to see the proof, I guess.
[For his own part, he just didn't want to be a coward and look away, knowing it was happening.]
i promise this is not a cry for help.
my goal is to figure out where the train that brings us here is coming from.
or if a person was on the tracks, would it automatically stop or continue.
my goal is to figure out where the train that brings us here is coming from.
or if a person was on the tracks, would it automatically stop or continue.
[ It's only natural for someone to try to defend someone so recently deceased. It's natural for that to happen even in the events of natural deaths; Kim can't count how many funerals he's been to where people wind themselves in knots extolling the non-extant virtues of the deceased. People don't like to speak ill of the dead.
And from what he knows of the young woman who died, her crime isn't malice. It's neglect. But it's folly nonetheless. If she doesn't return, she is left in the quiet peace of death, while Shinji trembled upon his doortstep, unable to keep himself together. Kim sighs, long and slow. He's not going to get anywhere pursuing that avenue of questioning.
(Not questioning. Comfort. For god's sake, Kitsuragi, you're not a cop here.) ]
And did the others assist you in dealing with the body? Did they... [ He tries to search for words. If there were others there, then how did Shinji wind up here? Did nobody think to check on him? ] Did you leave right after it was taken care of?
And from what he knows of the young woman who died, her crime isn't malice. It's neglect. But it's folly nonetheless. If she doesn't return, she is left in the quiet peace of death, while Shinji trembled upon his doortstep, unable to keep himself together. Kim sighs, long and slow. He's not going to get anywhere pursuing that avenue of questioning.
(Not questioning. Comfort. For god's sake, Kitsuragi, you're not a cop here.) ]
And did the others assist you in dealing with the body? Did they... [ He tries to search for words. If there were others there, then how did Shinji wind up here? Did nobody think to check on him? ] Did you leave right after it was taken care of?
Yeah. To both.
[A couple others had offered assistance, and when it was done, he immediately ran off on his own. It's not as though he has a home here, for people to look him up. What little presence he's had on the network has largely been his insistence that he doesn't feel inclined toward solving the mysteries of this place. Reaching out to someone is difficult when their hand isn't anywhere in sight, purposely hidden away.
On some subconscious level, that's probably why he came here. Nobody would have thought to check on him because he doesn't really know anyone, but Kitsuragi would care if he happened to come out and see him.
At the same time, Shinjiro feels like he knows where this line of questioning is going. The protest is rather without teeth when it comes, too sapped of energy for it, but there's some genuine teenage petulance in there.]
I ain't some little kid, y'know. I should've been able to handle it. Not like this is my first time seein' one.
[A couple others had offered assistance, and when it was done, he immediately ran off on his own. It's not as though he has a home here, for people to look him up. What little presence he's had on the network has largely been his insistence that he doesn't feel inclined toward solving the mysteries of this place. Reaching out to someone is difficult when their hand isn't anywhere in sight, purposely hidden away.
On some subconscious level, that's probably why he came here. Nobody would have thought to check on him because he doesn't really know anyone, but Kitsuragi would care if he happened to come out and see him.
At the same time, Shinjiro feels like he knows where this line of questioning is going. The protest is rather without teeth when it comes, too sapped of energy for it, but there's some genuine teenage petulance in there.]
I ain't some little kid, y'know. I should've been able to handle it. Not like this is my first time seein' one.
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