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simplegenius042 · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday & Last Line/s

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @voidika @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @aceghosts and @inafieldofdaisies

Tagging @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @shellibisshe @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who'd like to join.

Guess who finally got their documents working again! Anyway, WIPs and Last Lines for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles. Specifically; a WIP for Jurassic World: Before The Storm and The True Sinners, and a Last Line for two Classroom Of The Elite fics and Silva's Hope and No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden. Kind of a lot, but I've missed this so much. You can find these below the cut:

Here's a WIP for Chapter 2 of Jurassic World: Before The Storm:

Regret.

That is what overcame me when I followed Lisa off the ramp of the ferry.

Once I stood on sturdier ground, the unforgiving heat swept over me quickly.

Lisa had told me to put some summer clothes on; the sleeveless shirt and accompanying short skirt that she had paid for had been her initial suggestion. But I didn’t want to wear those. I didn’t want strangers to see how scrawny and soft I was. And the loose long-sleeve shirt, long baggy pants and my jumper were just too cozy, even if they were more for the colder months.

The uncomfortable temperature had me reconsider if this was a small lapse in judgement.

But no one was paying me much mind, so maybe the clothes helped. If that’s right, then maybe a little heat wouldn’t be so bad.

“Jackie,” Lisa gritted my nickname past her teeth, impatient towards my slow pace. I hadn’t realized that my baggage would be so heavy. I obliged her by picking up the pace.

Though I sped up in pace, Lisa was swifter, and the increasing amount of people clustering together made it more difficult to stay behind her lead.

Luckily the crowd started to dissipate.

I rushed to be by Lisa’s side, lugging my baggage with as much force as I could. The sun lifted an unwanted blanket of hot air over us, and I could not find it in my heart to appreciate the climate. In response to this uncomfortable pressure, I unzipped my jumper. I took a glance at Lisa and found her attention elsewhere.

Here's The True Sinners WIP, where Silva's planning murder while making coffee... but who can blame someone whose recently been kidnapped by the resident ginger soldier:

Jacob dragged Silva through the halls of the old veteran's center, his right hand gripped onto the hem of her dirty coat.

They reached what she assumed to be his office. Jacob opened the door and unceremoniously threw her forward inside. She caught herself from falling, twisting around to face her captor.

He shut the door behind him, the handle's lock clicked in a twist. Jacob crossed his arms as he regarded her, face thinned into a stoic mask.

Blue eyes raked over her disheveled body, specifically how she positioned herself; legs spread apart and slight bent, her left arm spread forward in preparation while her right arm remained closest to her hip, and her dull grey eyes glaring at him. Focused.

He sharply exhaled through his nose, almost like a whistling snort. He leaned against the wall next to the door, eyes on her. Silva didn't drop her guard, not even when he gestured over to a small table.

"Coffee," Jacob tells her. Silva remained in her stance, though confusion did etch across her face.

Jacob gestured once more to the small table. Silva hesitated, eyed Jacob's stature. She took a brief glance over to the table, not enough to lose Jacob in her peripheral though, and opted not to change her stance either, just in case.

She spotted a kettle and some paper cups, and what she assumed to be a jar of grounded coffee beans.

She swiftly placed her eyes back onto him, uncertainty and anticipation brewing within her. Jacob must have noticed, as he stated, "Get yourself a cup of coffee. And if you get one for me, I might be open to explaining your purpose here."

Her eyes narrowed, but refrained from speaking. Silva wasn't sure what his game was. She focused past him to the office door.

She silently exhaled, taking small steps toward the table, grey eyes always on Jacob in case he made any sudden moves.

Once she planted a gloved hand on the small tabletop, she gave one more glare towards him before reluctantly turning her back to him.

With an ear out for any inconspicuous movements Jacob could make, Silva quickly pressed a knuckle against the kettle. Finding it lukewarm, she flicked down the switch.

She dared another glance at Jacob while the kettle heated up, only to stiffen when their stares connected. A palish blue invading her dull grey. A contrast to the sharp grey of Father and the pale hazel of Paul.

He was a militar man. The green forest jacket with the Americana flag was enough to tip her off when they first met, but the ambush... the training grounds of the veteran center had all confirmed her suspicion.

She had been unprepared when she fought back during the raid, only managing to catch him off guard with an admittedly surprised hit, but nothing that could have incapacitated him with his support running at her.

But now they were alone... and once she heard the rising whistle, she twisted her fingers around the handle of her new weapon.

Here's four Last Lines, two each for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles.

The first Last Line is for a Classroom Of The Elite chapter in The UnTitled Stories (a collection of short fics). Ayanokoji and Horikita have lunch together:

"So," I had paused to swallow down the crumbed fish before I asked you, "The first step is to rehabilitate the failures?"

It hadn't been an unsound plan. In fact it was quite logical, which made sense, in hindsight.

"If you've grasped that, you can guess what I'm about to propose," you had told me, and you were correct. The implication was as easy to notice like a car speeding down a crossing.

My initial response was to decline. The word 'no' was on the tip of my mouth, but I refrained. I took a glance at you, and reconsidered my reply.

Knowing you thus far, you would never have allowed me to get as close as you'd already let me back then if I had rejected your proposal. You had made sound points and made your intentions clear. While I had no ambition to reach Class A, as it had not been my goal, you were a curious oddity that I wanted to learn more about. And helping you meant getting one step closer to the answer I sought.

So, I made the only acceptable answer.

"Okay, I'll help."

"I thought you'd say-," you had paused mid-sentence, my words being swiftly picked apart in your mind as you realized what I had said, "Wait, seriously?"

"Dead serious," I parroted your words back. I'd imagine the look of momentary shock should have been amusing, though I couldn't find much humor in the displace as my chopsticks picked up the rest of my crumbed fish.

The second Last Line/s is for a "What If?" Classroom Of The Elite scenario where Amasawa and Yagami went with Ayanokoji to the school. Anyway, have Class D's reaction to the trio:

As Ayanokoji began to depart from his desk, he paused. Horikita heard him let out a sigh, and much to her confusion, dropped his bag on top of his desk.

"What are you-?" Horikita wanted to question, but Ayanokoji soon interrupted her.

"Accepting my fate," he disclosed, not with much emotion, but certainly not his regular monotone.

Horikita blinked at him, shaking her head in confusion, "Huh?"

Ayanokoji only pointed toward Class 1-D's door in response. She turned her gaze toward it, the sliding door left ajar by the few students who left for break. She wasn't sure why...

She stopped her thoughts when she heard it; the rushing steps of someone fast approaching. It wasn't until a familiar magenta-haired fiend slid in front of the door way, cast her gradient dark-red eyes onto her target and propelled herself inside the classroom at such unnatural speed.

"Senpai~!" the twin-tailed girl cheered out as she threw herself at Ayanokoji, who (reluctantly) welcomed her with deflated open arms. The girl tackled Ayanokoji, the force causing both of them to crash to the floor. The ruckus caught the remainder of Class D's attention.

Before Horikita could process what she just witnessed, she heard another rush of footsteps towards the doorway, but this one slowed down to reveal the second of Ayanokoji's companions; a boy with brown hair and green eyes, softly panting and non-discreetly leaning against the frame to recover from the chase.

The third Last Line/s is for Silva's Hope, and Silva gets a short break and a new friend:

"Hey, Dep, so... you hungry?" Boshaw asked, fidgeting with the beer bottle in his hand. Silva glanced at him, raising a brow, "I was gonna heat up the leftover pizza I had in my fridge, and since you're crashing the place, I'm just wondering if you want some."

He seemed anxious, giving her a forced smile as he awaited her answer. At the mention of food, the rumbling pain in her gut demanded she attend to its needs. Silva blew out a relenting exhale.

"Honestly Boshaw... I'd love some pizza," she told him, and she saw how his brown eyes lightened up; like how Elsa was given permission to do a dangerous stunt or Hurk given the go-ahead to blow a Peggie chopper out of the sky. Or given the thumbs up to set something ablaze.

With that reminder, she quickly added, "As long as it's not reheated with your flamethrower. Understood Boshaw?"

Boshaw blew out a playful huff as he stood up on the trailer's roof, "Nah, I learnt my lesson last time I did that. Gets too charred. Don't worry, I've got a microwave laying about inside. And ya can call me Sharky, Dep."

Silva chewed the inside of her cheek, but after some thinking, couldn't see the harm of calling him by his preferred name, "Alright Sharky... as long as you call me Silva. I'm doing a lot more than what's in a deputy's paycheck. Deal?"

She opened out a gloved hand for him to shake on, and it lightened her mood to see the wide cheerful grin as he took her hand, and managed to pull her up onto her two feet, "You've got a deal there, Silva."

The final Last Line/s is for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, and have a crumb of Hudson and Pratt content... as they chat waiting for a passed-out Coroner!Silva to wake up:

Watching how quietly [Silva] slept on as Pratt had loudly chugged down his coffee, Joey couldn't disagree with Pratt's comment, regardless of how ill-mannered the jest was.

She's almost like a corpse, she conceded, frowning at the soft breathes she could barely see part their coroner's lips, the egg-shaped timer ticking beside the dark-haired woman's head, within arm-length.

"Hudson, you need to relax. She's a grown woman, remember? She's made the decision to deal with her personal issues herself," Pratt yapped on, and shared a thought, "Not the best way to deal with any issue, true, but it really isn't up to us to interfere if it hasn't affected her job thus far. Besides, you've got to admit she's a bit fun when she's tipsy. Night-outs are never short of entertaining when she's around. Cheeky and funny, too."

Joey gave Pratt a deadpan look, and sighed, "I don't know Pratt. You ever wonder why she drinks though? It worries me. We're pretty much the only ones here she goes out of her way to talk to, with exception to Earl. And she's just cooped up in here, surrounded by... death."

She gestured around the morgue, to the units housing whatever bodies were brought in this week. Once again, she settled her gaze on the deep bags under Silva's eyes, a combined result of the coroner's known insomnia and the amount of effort in she puts to stretch herself thin in overworking herself. Joey huffed, a somberness in her voice, "It's so... isolating. She never shares anything outside her personal life either, and we're the closest people to friends that she's got. It's not normal."

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simplegenius042 · 6 months

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Late WIP Wednesday & Six Sentence Paragraph Friday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 @direwombat @voidika @nightbloodbix @aceghosts and @adelaidedrubman

Tagging @strangefable @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @minilev @g0dspeeed @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @titiagls @derelictheretic @afarcryfrommymain @megraen @shallow-gravy @onehornedbeast @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @wrathfulrook @shellibisshe @chazz-anova @purplehairsecretlair @florbelles @inafieldofdaisies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @skoll-sun-eater @starsandskies @vampireninjabunnies-blog @yokobai and @thewanderer-000 + anyone else who wants to join in. Here's the taglist.

Three WIPs for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and six sentences paragraphs for a little Classroom Of The Elite AU fic not related to any of my series as of now (though I do have a separate fic in the making for The UnTitledverse). You'll find these under the cut:

Here's a WIP prologue for The True Sinners, where Joseph, per the Voice's orders, seeks out the Tarot Card Holder to tell him of his family's fate in a clearer form than the Voice can give as well as the identity of the Muse. The Voice had only given Joseph one warning; to take the Tarot Card Holder's words with a grain of salt, though his Tarot's knowledge is indispensable for their... newest wrench in the plan, the Holder himself should be considered untrustworthy and far beyond the human he had once been. Enjoy Joseph trying to keep his cool as the newest dickhead in the series, the Tarot Card Holder, tries to strike our favorite prophet's nerves down below:

The humming continued on as the Holder seemingly glided along the wooden planks from inside his stand. Joseph could not see his legs from underneath the extensive robes he wore, and watched in silence as the Holder, with his disproportionate size, did not disturb the various items he skimmed past in his little shop.

Hooded back turned to his customer as he rummaged through his piles of oddments, Joseph cleared his throat, proceeding with the matters he wished to discuss, "I've come here to seek your help, actually."

He received no response or reaction from the Holder, who ceased his humming in favor of grumbling, callously picking items up and throwing them away.

Seeing that didn't get the Holder's attention, Joseph continued, "It's of the upmost importance. The Lord had guided me here to help me understand what it is I'm not seeing in my visions. The old world is on the brink of a great Collapse that will-."

The Holder piqued up at that, stopped rummaging through his messy mound of junk. His hooded head slightly turned towards Joseph, indicating his attention had been reached, and his deep voice rumbled out, "A Collapse you say?"

Joseph let out a breath, briefly smiled to himself as he proceeded to explain, "Yes. I have seen visions of a Collapse that will end the current world and-"

"-And bring forth a new one, wipe the slate clean, etcetera, etcetera," the Holder interrupted, tone radiating mild annoyance as his hand motioned with haste, "I know what a Collapse is. I'm just confused on why that sadistic prick of all mechanisms wants a last resort of horrifying proportions like that to come this early in such peace."

Joseph blinked, brows furrowed as he sets his aviators back up. He watched the as the Holder's robed arm returned to dig around once more. The Holder stopped his movements, tugged at the object he found, and yanked it out of its little hidey hole.

Finally turning to Joseph as the stacks of trinkets collapsed and collided into clatters behind him, the Holder paid it no mind as he approached the front of the stand to see Joseph, face-to-face.

Or rather mask-to-face, considering the Holder's porcelain disguise.

The Holder leaned over the counter with one arm, and even without the stool Joseph sat on, or the size of the stand giving its owner an extra foot in height, he understood that the robed clairvoyant would still be two feet taller than him.

Joseph felt slightly intimidated being looked down upon by such a huge person, especially with all the Lord had said of this person. And yet, Joseph still held onto his faith. As long as he had faith, he would be safe from whatever vile temptations this man had.

"Whatever peace you may think is occurring isn't set to last for long," Joseph insisted, "And the Lord had guided me here. In His own humble admittance, in his own infinite wisdom-"

The Tarot Card Holder snorted with a shake of his head, "More like desperation."

Joseph breathed in a calming patter, just as his beloved had once taught him, "I am here seeking your help to know the fate of my family. A fate that he himself cannot foresee anymore."

The Holder hummed, resting his chin on his gloved palms, the triangular hood holding up like a strong tent, undisturbed by the motion, "And so it sent you to me of all creatures. You both must truly be desperate to get a win for once, huh?"

Joseph face crinkled as he eyed the Tarot Card Holder with weariness. A "win"? What is he talking about? Is this the deceit the Lord had warned me of?

"I don't know what you mean..."

The Holder's eyes, barely seen through his mask, bore down on Joseph. Letting out a huff of air, the Holder explained.

"I figured," he started, "But I must ask, how well do you know of the Muse chosen to take the role of "Hell"?"

Joseph did not comment on the words the Holder spewed out of his forked-tongue as the Voice had instructed, but he did close his eyes in thought, remembering the words and visions the Voice had shared with the Father. The fire. The Garden. Himself. And the ever-shifting future of his siblings, their life and their deaths. That was not the reason to why the Voice tasked him with seeking out the demeaning figure of the Holder.

No, he recalled, it had been the inconstant shape of Hell's figure which led God to push me towards this very stand. He remembered how volatile Hell's setting, form, and voice was within those visions.

"Nothing at all," Joseph admitted conclusively.

"I see," the Holder noted as he tilted his head, the mask betraying no emotion, revealing no humanity, "And yet you said you were here to know of the fate of your family. You do know the knowledge of someone's identity and the fate of loved ones don't exactly coincide correctly, right?"

As the Holder placed his hand from his chin to the counter, Joseph gawked in surprise as the Holder stood taller from within his stand, adding an extra foot in height than what Joseph initially believed. However, this stupor was momentary, as Joseph hunched forward, hands clasped together as he placed them on the counter, his rosary stuck between them.

"I am here to know the fate of my family and the identity of this "muse", this Hell who haunts my mind," Joseph elaborates, neck aching at having to look up so high at the broader figure, "I was under the impression you could provide me both."

The Holder chuckled, shaking his head as if he was admonishing a child, "You neglect the cost of such knowledge. If you've come seeking the Tarot's help free of charge, then I'll be the first to gleefully tell you that you can't have both. Pick one or the other, and hand over whatever possession you have on your person to complete this exchange."

The Holder glances from Joseph's face, which scrutinized the Holder, to his rosary to roaming around the rest of his body.

"Unless... you have another possession to offer alongside the one in your hands?"

Joseph caught on, glancing to the rosary in his hands, gripping it until his hands drained pale.

He avoided the Holder's eyes, and the larger of the two softly hummed, whether in understanding or waning patience of the exchange Joseph couldn't bring himself to focus. The Lord never mentioned this...

"It didn't tell you, did it?" The Holder deduced, chuckling, "Ah yes, such exchanges as these require you to offer something of equal value in return. Often time a gift from a loved one, regardless if they reside in the mortal realm... or have already departed."

Joseph brushed the ornament of the cross, the beads digging into the palms of his hands as he held on to it, like he was holding her hand again.

She always had faith. And she shared that faith with me, giving me back something I thought tainted and lost to the words and hands of Old Man Seed. Gifting me a piece of her, an immortalized memory, like the ink on my arm.

And he was expected to let it go?

"Why?" Joseph breathed out, voice so timid that he was surprised when the Tarot Card Holder scoffed in response.

"Why else?" his baritone voice drilled into Joseph's head, not so dissimilar from the Voice, yet this was more... cold indifference on the Holder's part. Irritation reeked out of his words, an annoyance that has grown over time from spending the many years, perhaps decades, answering the same questions over and over again.

In the Holder's eyes, Joseph was no different from any other person seeking out the Tarots' wisdom.

Taking Joseph's silence as lacking an answer himself, the Holder explained further, "A possession that was a gift from another is far more valuable to the individual than it would be if they got something for themselves. The level of care one must put in to preserve such gifts, makes it harder to let go."

The Tarot Card Holder's broad shadow encompassed Joseph's body, the shorter man hesitantly looking up to find the Holder had leaned closer to his face. And in the empty chasms of the masks sockets, Joseph spotted the dim glow of inhuman gold irises glowering into his pleading blue.

"So, Prophet. Are you willing to give up her rosary for the sake of your family? Or will you give it up for a stranger's face and name?"

Here's a WIP for The Waters Of Life Flow, my Fallout 3 fic in the A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore series. Imagine wanting to find your dad with your best friend but some strange, blindfolded woman hijacks that plan to get you to show her around the Wasteland that you've only set foot on (and can't back out under what may have been a threat of "consequences"... however vague that can be considered a threat). This is still in its early stages of development. Anyway, Alph and Amata walk Marissa "Ress" Bishop to Megaton as seen below:

The heat of the sun simmered down on the trio as two begrudgingly walked in front of one, a situation more likened to a warden keeping watch of her wards rather than two "locals" giving the "newcomer" a tour as their unofficially branded captor insisted.

Alph glanced to Amata, his best friend taking the heat outside the air-conditioned vault as well as he is. He could guess that her jumpsuit was itching against her skin as badly as his own was, the material clinging too close for comfort, the blue clothes damp from sweat.

He chanced a look back to the woman behind them, the glaze of her long platinum blonde hair shining with an ethereal beauty, almost like how he envisioned angels would have from Dad's descriptions.

However, Alph wasn't foolish enough to neglect the memory that this woman was anything but angelic. He saw how she killed those crazed people at the school. While not ungrateful for saving them, forcing both him and Amata to walk her around the area with his old, yet still functional, Pip-Boy was a different story entirely.

Especially since there is practically nothing noteworthy marked on my map, but she wouldn't know that.

Which was true, the two maps on his Pip-Boy only showed the markers that indicated the only Pip-Boy wearers in the vicinity, and the trails had made. The surrounding area around his marker was dark on the map.

Amata helped him mark down the coordinates of their Vault and he had the foresight to mark down the location of both the school and what had once been a neighborhood.

And now we're on our way to "Megaton"... or at least where I hope it is.

Alph snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a curious hum. His focus returned, and he realized that the woman had noticed his gawking, in spite of the fact she was still wearing a blindfold.

When she gave him what he assumed to be a friendly grin, he couldn't help but remember the manic one she wore when she slaughtered their captors. Freaked out by the bloody image, he turned his eyesight straight ahead, focused on maneuvering around the boulders in scattered around them rather than the woman behind them.

He heard her snort behind them, and Amata turned her head slightly to look back at the woman, but paused in the action, and shook her head as she kept forward.

Her face was flushed, dark skin boiling under scorching sun. He wasn't any better, with his lighter skin turning an uncomfortable red. How in the actual fuck is the psycho behind us not dying in those clothes?

Though the better question would be to ask how her pale skin hadn't been burned to a crisp from the flamethrower that mohawk guy blasted at her earlier, but he chalked it up to just defective equipment... for now.

He heard Amata gasp beside him, grasping his arm as she pointed forward.

"I-I think this is it!" she stated aloud, relief and joy flowing out of the laugh she let out. Alph focused forward, really missing his glasses, but through his blurry vision, he could see a mass of metal welded together to form a gate. There was also a robot out the front of it, the corpse of a giant insect full of charred holes only a few feet away from it.

Alph smiled, checked his Pip-Boy, and saw that the predicted coordinates were a match. He almost let out a chuckle.

Until he felt the hand of that woman pat his shoulder, then he soon lost his smile.

"Good job you two," she congratulated them, arms slinging over both their necks, "I knew you'd make perfect guides. Now unless you don't mind burning in daylight, I suggest you get a move on. Capiche?"

And here's six paragraphs for a small Classroom Of The Elite AU fic I've been working on, a little "What If" canon divergent scenario I've come up with. Essentially it boils down to "What if Kiyotaka Ayanokoji was accompanied by Takuya Yagami and Ichika Amasawa to the Advanced Nurturing High School?" as a ploy orchestrated by Atsuomi Ayanokoji to see how the masterpiece can perfect the two fifth generation students to be equal to him and give these two a chance to help Ayanokoji adapt socially. I haven't ironed out the exact details of how this is done, but I mostly wanted to write a fic where Ayanokoji was like an older brother-like figure to both Amasawa and Yagami (...in his own way) and how this would fuck up the plot. Also, my man Yagami needs a win after being done so dirty in the source materials. I will be combining elements from the anime, manga and light novel because I'm insane like that (especially for Yagami and Amasawa). Anyway, here's the six-paragraph introduction:

The bus ride had been uneventful thus far. We passed by Cherry Blossoms and the dwindling city buildings of Tokyo, and as a vehicle of public transport, occasionally pulled up at stops to pick up further passengers; few were casual citizens, most were high-school students.

I fell under the latter; amongst the seated boys and girls wearing white shirts under red blazers with gold trims, though with definite differences in the uniform depending on the student's sex, was myself, standing with one hand on my backpack, the other on the straphanger above me. I involuntarily shook as the bus drove on the road to my new location.

I kept my idle gaze out the bus window, the flurry change of Tokyo's scenery from declining pink to the increase of concrete tempting me the chance to ponder on whether the sociopolitical status of Japan's society met the standards of equality, but I had held off on following that thought, especially with two eyes fleeting glances at me from the seats behind.

I found their staring difficult to ignore, more annoyingly so due to my keen awareness of the fact. I had wanted to remain inconspicuous, but their fidgeting would bring unwanted attention towards me, and on themselves, if they were too frequent. Perhaps not consciously, but subconsciously the rest of the students could become curious or worse, intrigued by my presence if the two continued their prolonged stares.

Though I couldn't exactly fault my kohais; regardless of how ridiculous the notion was, their observation of me was not unfounded. For Ichika Amasawa and Takuya Yagami, I was an enigma, a living legend in their generation. Not only a name, but a title, a successful set of data that they were expected to surpass in the curriculum.

I wasn't so concerned about Amasawa, as her apparent admiration of me likely outweighed any desire to do anything against me. Yagami though... despite his gentle demeanor, I suspected he was hiding his true thoughts of me underneath the surface.

Nothing I could do now; we were all on the same bus, heading into an unknown ocean of variables and outliers. A consequence of Matsuo's kindness upon taking care of the three of us, I suppose.

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