radio414

This Thing by King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard Fiiiiiiiiiiine you can have Tank!. But only because I like figure skating. Tank! by Yoko Kanno and The Seatbelts

Roundabout by Yes Is it a meme? Yes. Is it a banger? Also yes.

Can't believe I didn't think of this before. This isn't "Post And I'll Give You A Song You Like", so feel free to reroll. Just because I like it doesn't mean you have to.

Two things stuck out to Melissa and she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to address them, or even what order they were supposed to be addressed in the first place! The first (because one of them had to be -- there wasn’t a specific reason why one was a greater question than the other) was, well, where was the Duel Team Meeting? Melissa didn’t know -- how could she? -- but she was pretty sure the library wasn’t it. “Do be careful next time,” Gabriela had said. “I’m trying,” Melissa said. Melissa's second concern was: were they really doing the whole small talk rigamarole? After she'd already decided that they shouldn't? Sure, it was mostly a lie she told herself -- that the other party wasn't interested in chit-chat so why bother? -- but it was certainly a comfortable one. Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't, especially with someone she'd talked to before, she just, well, you know, she'd rather not. “How… are you on this day?” Gabriela had said. “I’m- I’m actually very well right now, thank you,” Melissa said. “How are you?” But that didn’t really resolve the first concern which, now that she thought about it more, certainly seemed like the bigger one. The library was, what, basically on the opposite side of campus from the gymnasium and most of the related duel arenas, right? So what was Gabriela doing here? “Are you-” “Lost?” was the third word Melissa wanted to say, but she managed to catch herself in time. The question was too incendiary, and Melissa knew she didn’t have the requisite social skills to defuse the conversation once it was set ablaze. But at the same time, she stumbled over the pivot, which in turn caused her to alternate between frankly awkward silence, the standard “uhms” and “ahs” and repetition of those two words until it wasn’t actually clear there was actually going to be anything after them. As always, the moment was probably shorter than it seemed, but also as always, that was only because the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Melissa eventually did stick the landing, at least, as well as she could manage. “Are you- Are you going to your team meeting now?” It was a start, at least. “I was actually going in that direction if you don’t mind the company.” Where?! Where was she going? A good portion of Melissa’s brain was screaming at her, begging her not to go through with this. The worst-case scenario -- the most likely scenario, even -- was that they’d just both get lost together. She felt obligated to Gabriela, yes, but that didn’t mean - no, she didn’t want to finish that sentence. The sentiment was there, and Melissa hated that it was, but still… She was a good person! Why was even a simple act like this so hard? The only investment was time, which Melissa had plenty of. If she had an obligation to Gabriela, that was because Gabriela was in that rare category of people Melissa had gotten to know without any external factors. This wasn’t like Jun and Yusuji et al. -- as nice as their friendship was -- where even an accidental meeting meant you were friends with all of them, nor was it like Connor or anyone else in the Community Service Club where Melissa associated with them out of a common interest, no, Melissa met Gabriela fully because of Melissa’s own actions. That had to mean something. It was that latter, thankfully larger part of Melissa that smiled and offered her hand out, beckoning Gabriela to follow her. It seemed neither of them knew exactly where they were going, but maybe they could find out together. “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” -Isaiah 30:21 (NIV)

Have mercy on me, Oh Lord, a sinner. Wipe away my transgressions, and let me be reborn anew in your glory Help me turn away from sin, and move towards your eternal light. Are my efforts in vain, Lord? Will tomorrow be the same as yesterday and the day before? Am I destined to be pulled apart, torn between service in solitude and spreading your word? Nevertheless, let it be as you, not I, would have it. If I must drink this cup, your will be done. In the name of The Father, and of The Son, and of The Holy Spirit, Amen Melissa woke up at three-whatever in the morning for no particular reason at all, and, for that same lack of reason, couldn't get back to sleep. It wasn't an uncommon experience for her -- in fact, on multiple occasions, she'd just given up trying and instead was up and out the door before even the crack of dawn! -- but that didn't make it any less of an issue. There wasn’t a remedy that worked, either. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t tried, though. She knew, for example, to stay off her phone and to avoid eating too close to the end of the day and to breathe in a specific pattern and all sorts of other things, but nothing was consistent enough to matter. Sometimes, her brain just insisted on being awake, lost in its own idle thoughts. Not that her idle thoughts were very interesting. She hadn’t had any dreams recently to reflect on, it was still too dark to properly look at anything in the room, and getting anywhere close to thinking about the events of the day (outside of a quick prayer, of course! But even then...) was just asking for another breathless trip to the restroom. Instead, she ricocheted off various topics, from a song lyric that just would not leave her head, to listing off obligations she had, to adjusting her position from on her back to her side and back again, all the way back to that persistent song lyric. What eventually stuck out, though, a line of a poem she’d only heard a few times and was honestly surprised that she still remembered: At night, turn back your sheets And climb into your bed And WHACK! Your little rock Will hit you on the head It was that classic of Sunday School syllabi all across Ambrosia: the prayer rock! It was the perfect arts and crafts project for it, anyway. The requisite materials were simple enough: some decently-sized rocks (fist-sized was optimal, but Melissa had seen it done with smaller), some paintbrushes, paint, some ribbon, and small printouts of the accompanying poem. Once you painted your rock with whichever symbol or bible verse you wanted, you got it all tied up with a little poem to remind you how to use it. Using it was simple. You put it on your pillow so that when you went to sleep, you’d remember to pray. When you were done praying, you’d put it on the floor so that you’d step on it when you got out of bed in the morning and pray again. You’d put it back on your pillow and so on and so on and so on. It was a useless piece of clutter, really. At that age, children that prayed at sunup and sundown didn’t need any reminders, and the children who didn’t certainly weren’t going to start just because a rock told them to. And yet… Melissa’s rock, from way, way back, back when she hadn’t yet decided that attending the concurrent adult-oriented Bible study was a better use of her time, had been a dark grey stone, the darkest of the ones available, with a golden yellow cross painted on top. No frills, no accompanying Bible verse, nothing. Just that. She lost it soon after -- she didn’t need it, after all -- but the image had clearly stayed with her. And now, in the middle of some random night, Melissa found herself getting nostalgic for the thing. Not that she suddenly had a need for it. It was probably for the best that it was just in her memory and not a physical object she could lose somewhere in the dorm, probably confusing whoever eventually found it. But she liked the idea of losing it in her mind, dropping it onto some mental beach where it could only be affected by the surrounding elements, which in turn would grind away at her prayer rock, bit by bit. First, the paint would fade away -- perhaps it would wash off in the rain or the waves -- but the rest of it would slowly follow. Everything her imagined nature threw at it -- from wind to tides to even animals chipping at it with their beaks or claws -- would slowly erode away the stone until there was nothing left. Dust to dust. Wednesday, September 20, 909 PD Feast of The Martyrs of Korea “[Job] said: ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart.The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.’” -Job 1:21 (NIV) Idle hands were the devil’s plaything, so the saying went, but Melissa still tapped away at her phone for want of anything else to do. If she were doing anything important, it might be different, but no, she just scrolled through old text messages as if she’d glean anything new from them. From: Melissa To: Elizabeth Hey, it’s Melissa. I keep running over that conversation we had yesterday in my head. I’m afraid something I said might have scared you off. I know, I know. It’s stupid. But if I ever do something that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me, okay? It had taken three or four revisions before Melissa had been content enough to send that message along, and even then she still had some reservations. Like the message said, it was stupid -- hadn’t she refused to send something similar the day before? -- but she wouldn’t have stopped thinking about it if she didn’t. It took an uncomfortably long time for Elizabeth to respond (something that didn’t help), but she did respond: From: Elizabeth To: Melissa I was going to say the same thing. So that was how that had gone. There were more messages in that chain, mostly messages like “Hey, how are you?” or the standard response: “Fine, thanks”, but her phone kept buzzing to remind her of the other series of messages she'd have to go over eventually. Despite her predictions, despite how little interest Melissa herself had managed to generate for the Community Service Club, they'd still managed to pull in six new members for their first meeting the previous day. Six new people! So instead of a small group pushing some desks together to sit in a circle, everyone in the half-filled classroom had to face forward as Connor went over introductions and the general agenda. Icebreaker question: What’s your favorite icebreaker question to answer? Answer: None of them please why are you making me do this they’re all the worst. Melissa didn’t exactly make the best first impression. Even though the classroom was only half-full, she still felt claustrophobic. The worst part, though, was how Connor had set up a group chat for all ten of them. Because it was ten people, they only really talked about community service matters a tenth of the time at best, and the rest was, well… Wow its 2 weeks in and classes alreaady suck Lol I know right? When am I ever going to use this? Anyone want to meet up? Maybe play some games? And so on. Melissa looked up from her phone. The library really was a nice place to be, now that Recruitment Week was over, at least. There wasn’t really anybody else there besides a few of the more diligent students, and none of them were particularly interested in bothering anybody else. All in all, it was a good spot to take a break, and today’s had been, despite the idle stress at the end, a good break indeed. But she couldn’t stay forever. It wasn’t that Melissa had places to be (she didn’t), just that she decided she wanted to walk around for a bit. She gave a quick nod to the person at the front desk as she headed out, then stepped through the doors out into the open air… …aaaaand, moments later, also Gabriela, who Melissa barely avoided crashing into by the skin of her teeth. Melissa let out a small “whoops!” as she just caught herself, and stumbled off to the side. She didn’t fall, but she almost did. “Sorry, your- your majesty,” Melissa said. “Um, we seem to keep running into each other, don’t we?” What else was she supposed to say? She couldn’t exactly talk about the weather with royalty. But she still felt like she had to say something. It was her fault, after all; she could have been paying more attention (right?). Was her posture off? Melissa did a quick, unpracticed curtsy to make up for it, and thought a quick prayer, hoping she’d be easily forgiven.

Let's start with video games, because, well, video games. Like music, I don't really have a specific genre that stands out specifically, but I can give a list of ones I remember recommending to other people in real life. Things like The Beginners Guide (and The Stanley Parable before it), Night in the Woods and Anatomy. That doesn't necessary represent everything I play, but if you put a gun to my head and told me to pick three (technically four) video games, those would probably be the ones. Overall, I've been drifting towards smaller experiences. Like, I've enjoyed myself every time I pick up something like Nier: Automata, but I've slowly found myself just not having the time. Even when I do commit to a longer game (Night in the Woods is 20-ish hours, for example). I run the risk of dropping it as soon as something in real life comes up that keeps me from finishing it. So if I can play something in one sitting, that's infinitely preferable for me. But let's talk about tabletop games. I'm from the Midwest, USA, so I'm contractually obligated to mention Euchre, the best four-person trick-taking game that only uses 24 cards. Speaking of cards, I have a binder full of Magic: the Gathering cards just off to the side of where I'm typing, which is, you know, probably indicative of something. In terms of actual board games, I haven't really gotten the chance to play as many as I'd like, but here's three I get really nostalgic for from time to time: Power Grid, a Euro game about buying power plants (sometimes, you even get them to run!), Cosmic Encounter, a game about aliens with vastly different mechanics behind them trying to colonize each other, and Skull, a very pretty bluffing game you can play with any old bar coasters if you're in a pinch. I'd talk about tabletop roleplaying, too, but despite having, like, twenty plus different systems saved on my computer, I don't really play all that much. I used to run one-shot Microscope games, though, and Fiasco was always a favorite. I'm also holding out hope that I can get a De Profundis game running soon, though that might be a little speculative at this point. I think that's all the kinds of video and analog games I play? I'd like to know what this "otherwise" category might be... That seems like two separate questions, so I guess I’m gonna treat it like two separate questions (and also spoiler them because they’re pretty long): Thoughts on the RP Section: The RPs I’ve Been In:

Ooh, Casper had even found the eggs, how lucky! Hannah had taken the intervening time gathering all the other ingredients: bread, milk, cinnamon, what have you. She wasn’t really working from a recipe, just a vague recollection of what worked the last time she’d made french toast which was… wow, had it really been that long ago? Huh. In any case, she thanked Casper both for his offer and as she took a few from the massive carton and was just about ready to actually for real this time have breakfast when someone else entered the kitchen. Hannah flinched! Casper had managed to calm her down a little bit what with the shared experience of coffee and now also cooking, but the caffeine had reawakened those nerves, so hearing a second unidentified person humming behind her just about sent her shooting right out of her skin. It was only when they started talking that Hannah finally settled down. “Hey, let the others know to gather here in, mm... 2 hours? Yeah, I should have everything ready by then~” Then: “Hey, make sure to come to the kitchen in 2 hours! We're going to have a party~!” A fourth! The edge, that constant tension had subsided, finally, replaced by the comforting sensation of being in a group. There weren’t any introductions yet, so it wasn’t like she knew them knew them, but it was, you know, a good first step. She had to start acknowledging them at some point, anyway. “Oh! Uh, am I in the way? Sorry, I can- I’ll just be outside then, I guess.” It was an odd sort of acquiescence, and Hannah immediately wondered why she had done it. She knew she shouldn’t have. She knew she could easily just stay in her one spot and at worst there’d be that occasional “Lemme just sneak past ya,” or “Oops! Excuse me.” Maybe it was how the newcomer just seemed to take over the entire kitchen as soon as they entered and suddenly she felt out of place. Hannah also noticed that Casper stayed where he was. Was it really just her? In any case, her mind was made up. She gave a quick nod to each of the new intruders as she left, but didn’t really do anything more than that. What else could she do? Well, step one was to not run into the fifth person just entering the area. “A party? Did I hear that right?” the new-newcomer said, projecting like she wasn’t talking to the one person right in front of her, who’d almost had to get out of the way. But this one had the decency to introduce themselves also, so Hannah responded in kind. “Hi! I’m Hannah Elliot, the Ultimate Auteur. Um, I don’t know exactly going on with the party business, but they seemed to know what they were doing so I kind of just, you know, let them at it. I was just going to wait out here if you wanted to… also do that, I guess?” “Auteur?” Talia paused for a moment, before shaking her head a tiny bit as she glanced back towards the kitchen, sighing gently. “I suppose it’s not too important to go asking why… Those two weren’t together, right?” Her voice was soft as she said that, directing her question solely at Hannah. “Oh, yeah!” Hannah said, “It’s a French term that means ‘author,’ though it more broadly refers to the sole creator of a piece of media. You see, back in the nineteen forties, some film critics realized- you don’t care. Okay.” It was her fault, really, latching on to the first sign of interest like a moth to a flickering candle. Talia was clearly more interested in other things. Talia chuckled. “You can tell me more about it when things are a little less tense, how’s that sound? It’s not that I don’t care, just...” “No, I get it,” said Hannah. She beckoned -- though perhaps a better verb was “pulled?” -- Talia over to a corner of the Dining Hall, sat down, and said, “So I met one of them already. The guy with the eggs was Casper Keller, the Ultimate Therapist. But he was here when I got here. Um, the other one- the other two, I guess -- did you see the other girl when you came in? -- they got here after and started talking parties. I guess the answer is no, then? The answer to your question, I mean.” Hannah noticed Talia’s hands were fidgeting with her bow as she sat down, plucking the string almost like an instrument. “Okay good,” Talia said. “If… Casper wasn’t with her then we have someone in there watching the food. I don’t want to believe that anyone would… go along with what that damn bear is saying, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, you know?” “Well, the coffee wasn't poisoned, at least when I had some,” Hannah said. “Unless it was iocane powder or something like that.” Did iocane even exist in real life? Hannah wasn't sure. “I’ve had the same fears though, don't worry.” Despite Hannah’s reassurances to the contrary, Talia did have a point. Maybe they should still be in there? No, surely between two people who probably hadn’t even met yet, they couldn’t both be killers, right? And yet, Hannah was at least curious as to what they were doing. There wasn’t really any way to be discreet about it, though, which was a problem. The solution was obvious, though: Just don't even bother! Instead, Hannah excused herself from Talia's company, walked right back into the kitchen, and said, to nobody in particular, “Hey, are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

Right! Right, shoot the bear, of course! Of course that would work. Hannah had just been overwhelmed with the whole “someone’s probably going to kill you” aspect that she’d completely overlooked the obvious solution. And then after that, like, they’d have all the time in the world to overcome whatever else was keeping them in the school, no murder required. Or even, if they were really lucky, they could just leave. Wouldn’t that be something? In the meantime, the other girl had taken it upon herself to go forward with the conversation, starting with introductions. Aya Kuroi, the Ultimate Storm Chaser. It was a profession Hannah was only familiar with by reputation. Or maybe just, like, a single lyric in that one TV commercial (“I love tornadoes,” the guy said/sang). And Aya was the ultimate version of that. That was pretty cool. Maybe they could bond over their shared love of getting just the right shot. Maybe they’d argue about what lenses they preferred and break up over that before making up within the hour. It was a nice thought, at least. But she was getting ahead of herself. First, she had to reciprocate the introduction. “My name’s Hannah Elliot,” Hannah said. “Um, when I was accepted, the letter said ‘Ultimate Director,’ but, like, I do a lot more than just directing for a lot of my stuff. I mean, I write, produce, sometimes score, sometimes- aaaaaaand you’re gone.” It was true. While Hannah was off monologuing about how great she was, Aya had wandered off to some other kid. She’d probably said something to that effect, too, and Hannah just hadn’t heard it. The other shout, the “Spread out and let’s figure out what’s going on here!”, she heard loud and clear though, so she left that pair to their own devices and went out to the rest of the school.Hannah took some of that in-between time while wandering around to actually look at her eHandbook. “Hannah Elliot,” the thing said as she booted it up. It was nice to confirm that she grabbed the correct tablet, but she was more interested in other things right now. For example: Rule #4: Violence against Headmaster Monokuma is strictly prohibited! Along with this, breaking any security cameras or monitors is also prohibited and will be punished accordingly. So maybe shooting the bear wouldn’t work.When Hannah looked up from her eHandbook, she found herself standing at the entrance to what her map said was the Dining Hall. Which reminded her: she hadn’t really had the best of breakfasts, had she? At the very least, the prep time could give her some time to think things through a bit more clearly, and the extra meal would help give her the energy do whatever she needed to do. And hey, maybe nobody had come here yet. She could be the first to scout it out and report back. “Hello?” she said as she entered, her eyes lazily scanning the room in search of anything that might talk back, eventually focusing on a boy lounging in one of the seats, a small cigarette in his hand. He took a little glance towards the door as Hannah entered, before putting it out a small portable ashtray. “Oh, hello!” Hannah said. “Looks like we had the same idea, coming here.” “Eh? I suppose so, hello.” He stood up slowly, his hand shifting to rub at his neck for a moment as he turned to look Hannah’s way. He scooped up the ashtray and slid it into his pocket, “I wasn’t sure what I would find here, but I needed to sit down after… Well, that entire ordeal. I’m Casper Keller, I’m the Ultimate Therapist.” “Hannah Elliot,” Hannah said, sticking her hand out. “Ultimate Dire-aaah --” It wasn’t worth ranting a second time. “-- Ultimate Auteur. I was just coming to make an actual proper breakfast. Starting with coffee, at the very least. Did you want any?” A small grin appeared on Casper’s face as he took her hand and gave it a little shake, “We’ll get along just fine, I already started a pot of coffee in the kitchen. It should be good enough for you to get a cup if you want one…” Hannah was already on her way over. “Alright, well, I don’t have the biggest sample size yet, but you are officially my favorite person so far,” she said. And Casper was right. Right there, just as she crossed the threshold, was a huge pot, all hot and ready and waiting for her. After that, only one (immediate) problem remained. “Is there cream and or sugar anywhere? Do you know?” she called out through the kitchen door. “Sorry, I’m kind of basic when it comes to coffee.” She could hear Casper groan even before he followed her inside. “The fridge has creamer and some milk if you like that in it…” he said. “Sugar…” He stepped over to one of the cabinets over the counters, opening it up to dig around for a moment, before pulling out a massive bag of sugar, “...Yeah, there’s plenty of sugar for us.” “Oh, neat,” Hannah said. “And mugs…? Oh, here they are.” There were so many! And of so many different sizes and shapes, like, that was apparently a consideration among the biggest coffee connoisseurs? “Whatever,” Hannah mumbled. She looked back over her shoulder. “You were getting one too, right?” She grabbed a pair of the medium-sized mugs and filled them both up, leaving room in hers for the equivalent of her preferred two creams and five sugars. Once she was satisfied, she gave Casper a warm smile and brought the mug to her lips. And then she remembered: Casper might be trying to kill her. Slowly, as calmly as she could, Hannah lowered her mug back down, and said, “Actually, this is stupid, but do you think we could drink at the same time? It’s dumb, I know, but… yeah.” Casper, Hannah noticed, was one of those nerds who took his coffee black, which was fine. But she also noticed he cared a lot less about the whole “One of us could have slipped poison in this while the other wasn't looking” idea. He lowered his own mug with a slight smile on his face and said, “So that bear’s got you on edge, huh? I guess I can’t blame you… It’s the reason I went off for a smoke once everything there was done.” He held up the cup, motioning towards her as he did, “To our health… And our survival in this strange school.” He took the lead, closing his eyes and bringing his cup back to his lips, and began to drink. “To our health,” Hannah echoed as she took her own sip. Once that was finished, she once again put down her mug and said, “Alright, now for phase two: Breakfast. You want anything cooked? I bet there’s a griddle in here somewhere and I’m craving some french toast.”

“I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.” Isaiah 43:25 (NIV)Melissa frowned. Not because she thought she was being bought out or bribed or whatever Hitomu thought he was doing (he had to be joking, right?), nor because it was clear he hadn’t paid any attention to anything Melissa had said since she’d approached the table (she was used to being ignored), but because, well… Well, okay, it was both of those things, and if she hadn’t already met Gabriela, she’d probably have taken them as a sign that she should just run off and… yeah. Instead, she tried to focus on the actual problem. Step one was repeating herself, a little louder this time. “It’s alright about the chips. I just went and-” And then Gabriela made her presence known again. “Of course not!” she said, and despite having just asked the question Gabriela was responding to, it still took a second for Melissa to remember what it was. It took several seconds after that, too, for Melissa to wade through the Gabriela-isms to the actual answer. To be clear, that wasn’t something she minded doing. Melissa still felt attached to Gabriela in some way. Who invited her from nosebleed seats all the way down to midfield? Who bought her chips and selflessly replaced them seconds later? Melissa didn’t treat these as events to feel self-righteous about, but as links of trust between the two, links that could only get stronger with age. Failing to put forth the prerequisite effort to understand each other would certainly break that trust. So even exhausted as she was from Elizabeth and the… events following Elizabeth, Melissa was still willing to soldier on. It turned out that this was her duel team audition. How nice! That was much better than Melissa’s fear. It was unfortunate that she had to face Hitomu, but the way Gabriela was acting, Melissa guessed this was what she preferred anyway. “The physical cost of your transgression is paid, but one does not slight somebody of my caliber and importance and have that black mark erased so easily." Melissa turned to Hitomu, adding, “Well, I forgive you, at least. Um, no Watapon required.” She was willing to forgive spiritually, too, even if Gabriela didn’t. Her stomach gurgled a little, and Melissa realized Hitomu had mentioned something about lunch, a meal she hadn’t had yet. “Um, I think I’ve been here long enough that I should order something,” she said. “I’ll, uh, I’m going to go do that.”

:thinking:

I'm in. Still don't want my name changed though.

Hannah could rattle off so, so many reasons that sunsets were better than sunrises. For example, even though golden hour lighting was the same no matter what time it was (or, at least, similar enough), getting ready for those single filmable moments was so much easier when there was a whole day ahead to prepare and go over camera coverage or blocking or anything else that needed doing. So it went without saying that Hannah was an evening person and, when obligations didn’t require otherwise, slept in late. J.J. Abrams only needed four hours of sleep a night? Well, J.J. Abrams was a hack who relied way too much on a sham marketing tactic that promised disappointments instead of quality - Anyway. It wasn’t that she couldn’t meet her morning responsibilities, it was just that, well, she might not be paying the closest attention. “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee” was a good way to describe it, and today, Hannah had not had her coffee. The only reason she’d managed to bring everything she’d wanted -- all inside a durable, if rather worn, purple backpack slung around her back -- was because she’d done the majority of her packing the night before and “Don’t forget your backpack” was so much easier to remember than “Don’t forget this and this…” and so on. But it was still enough effort that she’d still arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy in a daze. She’d only managed to get to the auditorium by following everyone else and once she got there, instead of socializing with her classmates like she should have, could only pace the perimeter of the gym in hopes that that might get some blood flowing. It didn’t work. The only thing that worked was the bear. And even that didn’t work right away. Like, the types of films Hannah normally made didn’t involve that level of animatronics, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ignorant of their existence. So when the thing -- it said its name was Monokuma, right? -- popped out, it was merely an odd addition to an odd school. Some of the others’ reactions matched that assumption, too. “Come on, bring out the headmaster already!” somebody said. What finally got Hannah’s attention, and, consequently, got her actually awake, was what came a few moments later, when Monokuma said, “From now on, you sixteen students are going to live the rest of your lives here at the school; you will no longer be able to leave this place!” Part of her -- a larger part than Hannah would have liked to admit -- was just worried if she’d packed correctly or not. Like, she remembered feeling appropriately ready the previous night, but was she ready ready? Would it be too awkward if she just started digging around in her backpack taking inventory? The rest of her, well, that was the part that started to wake up. The rest of her life? At school? There were only two kinds of films made at schools, and they’d both been done. They were passé. She had to get out of here, Hannah decided. Only, as soon as she’d arrived at that conclusion, Monokuma spoke again. “If you reaaaally wanna leave... You gotta kill someone! That's the game!” And that’s what finally gave Hannah’s brain the swift kick to the metaphorical shins that it really needed. There were sixteen people in the gymnasium, and if this was really happening, that meant only eight of them could feasibly leave alive. Of course she wanted to be one of those more-fortunate eight, but there was no way… no, she couldn’t even think it! And if any one of them decided she was an easy mark… “No, no no no no no…” Hannah said under her breath. Her head was on a swivel, eyeing every other person- well, counting Monokuma, she was every other moving thing in the room. She even flinched when someone else finally spoke up. “I’ve got a question. Is this an out of season April Fool’s joke?” Monokuma’s denial immediately smashed the remaining glimmers of hope Hannah might have had, though, to be fair, she wasn’t sure what she would have done even if it were all some gag. It wouldn’t have been worse than the reality of the situation -- it couldn’t have been! -- but still… And then the girl had the audacity to ask for a gun! What was her deal? All she got was a tablet -- actually, it looked like everybody was getting a tablet -- but what was really chilling was Monokuma’s words after that. “Anything can be a weapon!” he said. And, despite herself, Hannah immediately tried again to do a mental inventory of what she’d managed to pack the previous night. If anything was a wea- No! No! There were countless creators who had done sickening, despicable things, sometimes not even in the name of art, and Hannah had always considered herself unmeasurably distant from those monsters. To even think about killing someone to escape would be to take a step in their direction, and that was not something Hannah was about to let happen. Monokuma had already presented the alternative earlier. “Build a communal life and grow as people!” he’d said. But Hannah had already dismissed that option, so what was a girl to do? The words “Get out” rang in her mind, or maybe she mumbled them under her breath. And to do that, she’d have to participate in Monokuma’s little game, at least for the moment. But if she ever saw an opportunity… any opening at all… Because of her panic and subsequent resolutions, Hannah was later in the line to get her Student Handbook. She didn’t turn it on just yet, though. Instead, she started over towards the girl on the bleachers, the one who’d spoken up first. Hannah wasn’t entirely sure why she chose her. Maybe it was the rebellious way she approached their headmaster, maybe it was just running towards the first person who stood out, but Hannah had made a decision, and she wasn’t going to be swayed by anything if she could help it. One thing did need clearing up, though… “Hey!” Hannah said as she started climbing up the bleachers. She said another “Hey!” as she got even closer, just to make sure she had the girl’s attention, even if she didn’t wait for the girl to respond. “Hey, you were kidding about wanting a gun, right? Like, you’re not seriously thinking about killing someone, right?”

“What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don’t they come from your desires that battle within you?” -James 4:1 (NIV) Melissa still wasn’t really sure how to deal with Gabriela’s “lamb” comments, but she was too exhausted to really dig into the theological implications and instead could only focus on the more pressing “She’s referring to me”. “Lovely” and “little” were nice adjectives, though. Much better than the “lost” she used to be. Also comforting was Gabriela’s promise of a higher station. It wasn’t that Melissa actually wanted the position -- she was perfectly happy- well, she was happy enough where she was -- but the idea that it was offered to her was a nice relief. She wasn’t a complete miserable wreck just yet. The only other thing that stood out was the “chip defiler,” Hitomu. The week between that particular incident and the present had blurred the more specific details, but she did remember it. She also remembered not really holding a grudge or anything, so why the worry? “It’s alright about the chips,” she said, addressing both Gabriela and Hitomu in equal measure. “I, um, yeah it just took another visit to concessions to fix. I kind of feel bad for the cleaning staff, though…” Then something clicked in her head, and a question barrelled past her mental defenses. “Did you- that’s not what you were dueling over, was it?”

“What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.” -Job 3:25-26 (NIV)It was only after Elizabeth cleared off the table and left did Melissa realize she should have at least assisted with the cleaning process. After all, it was she who had brought all the stuff over, the least she could do was help remove it. But no, instead she had to sit there in almost-stunned silence as Elizabeth rattled off some excuse about appointments with other friends (must be nice), moving in between the trash can and the table with such a rushed efficiency that it was clear she wanted to be as far away from Melissa as possible. Of course it was an excuse, yes. With how vague it was, how could it be anything else? The worst part was how Elizabeth had referred to their conversation. Their “episode”, she had called it. Melissa could name a hundred different terms that were better than that. “Conversation”, for example. “Encounter”. “Meeting”. “Talk”, even. So there were two interpretations that came from that, Melissa reasoned. Either Elizabeth misspoke, but misspoke in a way that required her to reach deep into a thesaurus, missing all the better ways she could have expressed her hurry, or she simply didn’t care for the encounter and wanted to be rid of it, using a word only vaguely coded in malice to avoid making Melissa -- to her, a stranger -- angry. The simpler answer, to Melissa, was obviously the latter. She checked her phone, searching for any other insight. Maybe Elizabeth only realized her mistake once she’d left and was too embarrassed to go back and apologize. Melissa could sympathize with that. But the only new messages on her phone were of Jennifer desperately begging for company over at the Community Service booth. Nothing from Elizabeth. Way off in the other corner, Gabby said, “Is that the kind of thing you were expecting?” And the answer was no, not really. But as the moments -- mere seconds, probably, even if they felt like so much more -- ticked on, that expectation faded away, replaced by that all-too-familiar feeling of alienation. She’d really tried that time, too. it’s me, elizabeth Melissa immediately straightened up in her seat and began typing a reply. Hey, it’s Melissa. Sorry you had to rush off like that but I hope things work out for you. I really do. I know we just met and all but seriously, text me if things get rough. I don’t know your story, but at least I can be a good listener. That’s all I know how to be, honestly-- No, that was stupid. She’d only end up overwhelming Elizabeth like she had when they were face to face. She held the “backspace” button on her phone until all that remained was the “Hey, it’s Melissa.” part and just sent that. “Why are you doing this?” Gabriela said. Melissa could feel another stomach ache coming on. She was pretty sure she knew the answer; Elizabeth had asked her a similar question and Melissa had answered pretty clearly then but was that the right answer? “I care,” she’d said. And she did -- again, she was pretty sure, at least-- but why did she care? Because if she cared for the wrong reasons, she was just being self-serving at best and actively harming towards a vulnerable person’s psyche at worst. The questions piled on. Melissa could fend off a few of them with answers like “I’m part of a Community Service club, of course I had to help!”, “Anyone in my position would have done the same!”, or “I’m a good person!”, but those were vague in their own right, and only served to either push the question down the line or worse, add more unanswered (unanswerable?) questions to the pile. And through all this, the main question still remained. “Why are you doing this?” Gabriela had said. And she certainly hadn’t meant it in relation to Melissa, but Melissa had heard it, and of course had to go and ponder its meaning towards her. The question echoed again and again between every thought. “Why are you doing this?” “Why are you doing this?” “Why are you doing this?” … Melissa’s actions in the CoffeeCards bathroom were eerily similar to those she’d done just over a week ago at the stadium during the Rose/Masked Duelist kickoff duel, so much so that it’d be easier to describe the differences between the two panics. CoffeeCards did have that “artisanal hand-crafted foam soap” that smelled of lavender even long after you washed it off, for example, so that was nice. It was something that Melissa took full advantage of. But her fixation on a single thought, as opposed to the multitudes that had challenged her the previous week, meant that the panic was harder to appease and while she didn’t throw up this time (another plus!), that only made her stomach ache take longer to subside. When Melissa exited the bathroom, whatever was going on between Hitomu and Gabriela seemed to be wrapping up. “You lose, your majesty,” Hitomu said. So, so much of Melissa just wanted to crawl away. She knew with the crowds and the noise and all the other things she hated outside that she’d never make it back to her dorm, but so, so much of her wanted to try. The other, louder voice in her head called her forward, though. And again, Melissa found herself mumbling under her breath with protests like, “You’re intruding in on their conversation and for what? Just to check in?” and “You know what Gabriela is like. What are you doing?” but it seemed like today was a vicious cycle kind of day. Curiosity, empathy, whatever it was (probably the latter. Her protestations were right: she did (at least, kind of) know Gabriela), it drove Melissa forward. The worst part was, she didn’t even know what to say when she got there. At least with Elizabeth she had a question in mind! But no, when she arrived, all she could do was stand over the board state and gawk like some tax collector waiting to be called down. Eventually (again, it was probably only seconds, but it definitely felt longer), Melissa managed a “Hi.” All she could do after that, though, was hope that it was enough.

Thomasin May Farros

Ultimate Auteur

The single coherent thought Melissa could manage as Elizabeth shot out of her chair was not related to Elizabeth’s profanity, nor was it related (directly, at least) to the various sentences that followed. Instead, she recalled the previous week, when the girl by the burger truck -- Akari, right? -- had had a similar reaction to Melissa approaching her. It couldn’t just be her, right? She just was trying to help. And yet… It took a moment, too, for Melissa to parse what Elizabeth had been saying. Some of it -- the first bit -- seemed to be the realization of her worst fears. “The coffee’s a bit stale,” Elizabeth had said, as if that was everything. “I’m fine. I just don’t like stale coffee,” she could have said. But there was also her introduction and the implicit invitation that came with it. “Um, okay. I guess I can get you sugar,” Melissa said. Already, Melissa was having second thoughts about her decision. “Stupid stupid stupid!” she thought, or mumbled, or… whatever. Instead of, you know, committing to either of the two obvious options presented to her -- staying or leaving -- she’d fallen slap-dash in the middle: walking away with the promise to return. All she was doing was prolonging the choice. Why couldn’t she commit? Even worse was the fact that CoffeeCards had way, way too many sweetener options. Melissa personally didn’t care -- whatever was available worked for her. But she knew some people did. Some people preferred the yellow kind, some people thought the yellow kind gave you cancer, some people thought the pink kind was better than anything else, and some people thought that whatever was in those green packets was the way of the future. There was also a bottle of honey, too, and Melissa was pretty sure that that didn’t normally go in coffee, but was she sure sure? The solution, of course, was to grab a handful of everything -- she grabbed some of each creamer too, just to be safe -- and walk back, arms full of just… stuff. It was a little difficult getting everything set out in a way that didn’t cover any of Elizabeth’s cards, but she managed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Melissa said through the whole process. “Uh, you don’t have to use all of this.” But then, of course, was the other half. The “introduction” half. The time spent on trying to help had provided the sunk cost. It was an easier decision, even if it was still a little painful to make. “Um, my name is Melissa,” Melissa said. “We haven’t met, though I did, uh, I did see you, what was it, a week ago?” Elizabeth could only help but cock an eyebrow and chuckle a bit as the girl, who still had no name, as far as she knew, came over with armfuls of… well, it appeared to be anything with a hint of sweetness. She rushed to quickly move her cards off to the side into a small pile so that they would be out of the way of any potential catastrophe involving creamers and milk. Elizabeth’s cards were, of course, double sleeved with the best you could get from the card shop down the road, but they were far from indestructible. “I- ah- oh no that’s-” Beth made a series of awkward hand motions and half reaches over to the girl to assist her in putting the various sweeteners on the table, to no success. This was the issue with lying, no matter how small: Elizabeth hated sugar in her coffee most days, and the stress of the most recent duel, as well as her emotional run-ins with Yushiro and Ashley, had been rather unkind to her diet; she was far from in the mood for sugar in the first place. But what was she going to do? Let this girl bring the whole service station over to her table and not use it? Even worse, was she only going to use one kind? Elizabeth didn’t even know what the yellow packet tasted like, but she was positive she read something in the news about it causing cancer. As Elizabeth weighed her options, she noticed a certain warmness fall over the room, as the small of her back began to perspire, Am I sweating right now? She continued to look at the various sugars, then back to the girl, and then to her coffee. Panicked, Elizabeth reached for the plain sugar and some honey and quickly poured it into her coffee. She gave a small smile to the girl, and took a sip: it was horrendous. Who the f--- puts honey in coffee, Elizabeth? Was all she could think to herself as the girl finally identified herself, post sugar fiasco. “Oh, you saw the duel, did you? Wish I could have given you something more exciting then, Melissa. Whole performance was a bit of, well let’s say it wasn’t very good now, was it?” her accent hung on the vowels for a bit longer than normal, as if she was unsure or thinking about something while the words were coming out of her mouth. She looked back to Hitomu and the other girl near him, “I’m surprised you’ve not joined her with the winner over there. Bit more deserving of the attention if you’re here to talk about the duel, no?” she took another sip of her coffee, not remembering that she had previously ruined it with far too much honey. A grimace crept across her face, trying her absolute best to hide it, in combination with gently tap dancing around the actual question asked. Melissa frowned. The whole ordeal with the sugar had distracted her a little, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t actually asked anything about the duel. Yeah, she’d brought it up, but… In the background, she could hear Gabriela voice. “...sugar is a poison that was limited in our land,” she said. That got her really worried. With all the different kinds CoffeeCards offered, who was to say any of them weren’t imported from... Romvania (right?). That, plus Elizabeth’s face (she’d clearly asked for sugar, right?) and… and… No! She had to focus. Elizabeth had apologized- well, expressed regret, right? The least she could do -- the least she could do -- was at least respond to that. “No, um, I actually don’t do excitement that well, to be honest. I, uh, do you remember that Masked Chopper during the duel? How it tossed a knife into the crowd and Hitomu had to say ‘Sorry!’ and all that? That was enough- that was more than enough excitement for me. Um…” She trailed off, a little unsure of how to continue. “Um, but you’re not- no, I guess I won’t talk about that then.” A single question -- the single question -- floated back to the front of her mind. Now that they were into the swing of conversation (as much as was possible for Melissa, at least), it seemed a little intrusive, almost too intrusive, but it also refused to be dismissed. It forced itself past the anxious lump in Melissa’s throat and came out almost like a single word. “Areyouokay?” She hated herself for saying it, and immediately tried to cover it with phrases like, “Sorry,” and “I know I said that already, but, um,” but the damage had been done. It had been said. For all her gamesmanship, tactical avoidance, faces, diversions, whatever you would like to call it, sometimes, there was no defense against persistence. Elizabeth seemed to be running into a lot of that lately. On one hand, it was comforting; she had been approached by two separate strangers as of late who both seemed concerned with her well being. That was nice! But on the other, and perhaps the more dominant thought, was she really that broken looking? Had it gotten so bad that even the unknowing stranger could identify that she was a mess? Elizabeth's half smile from the sugar episode faded, and a deep sigh quickly accompanied it. She had become exhausted by this conversation before it had even begun because of how many times she's had this exact talk before. It truly wasn't Melissa's fault, but the days always seemed longer when she went down this road. “I've had better days, Melissa. Not many people who have been dealt my hand would be very chipper, especially not after losing a highly publicized match, as infantile as that may sound.” She moved her coffee off to the side and gathered her cards into a deck again, doing anything to keep her hands busy as the nerves began to creep into her chest again. She adjusted her bangs to keep her occupied, all while fiddling with her bag to open it and return the cards from whence they came, more pointedly attempting to avoid Melissa's stare that Elizabeth was positive would be inquiring about her body language. This was Elizabeth's least favorite part about the “are you okay” talk; the part where the person inquiring knew that you were obviously not okay, and where they didn't say anything because who could possibly predict something so innocuous could turn into a full-on breakdown? It wasn’t like they'd been a part of this mental circus every day for the past two years, and they certainly hadn't had the “are you okay” talk bi-weekly. Why would you, if you were a normal person? Aft- Elizabeth stopped herself; “What I can't figure out, I guess,” turning towards Melissa, throat beginning to once again become sore from sadness, “Is why people keep asking me that like they care?” "But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds," declares the Lord, "because you are called an outcast, Zion for whom no one cares." -Jeremiah 30:17 (NIV) After everything, after hanging flyers on the community board, after making the impossible decision to approach the only-not-a-stranger-by-reputation Elizabeth, helping her with her coffee (no matter how unappreciative she seemed after the fact about all that), and sitting down with her, all Melissa had left was a rather thin stack of Community Service club flyers. She looked down at them and found that, without her being aware of it, she’d crumpled them into a ball. She was shaking. And, sure, that was normal for most conversations Melissa had had, but this one felt different. Sure she was nervous, sure she wanted to scream, but the normal accompaniment, that “fight-or-flight-without-the-fight” feeling wasn’t there. “Cower” was normally the remaining option, but that wasn’t there either. “Now! Captain of the Duel Team,” Gabriela said, far off in the other corner of the room, “we must do battle!” “I do care,” Melissa said. How dare Elizabeth say that she didn’t? “No, I mean, okay, you don’t know me but I don’t say things I don’t mean. I- I don’t really say anything at all, really, if I can help it. And okay, I guess you don’t have to believe that either, but, I don’t know, if I said, ‘Trust me!’ you probably wouldn’t accept that and on and on and on up the chain and we’d get nowhere and do you know where I’d be at the end of that? I’d be miserable! And yeah, I’m miserable, uh, about five-sevenths of the week anyway, but I try! “I don’t kn- do you know how I try? To not just, just wallow, sink into the earth and...?” Melissa made a gesture with the paper ball in her hands. “I care. I care so much. Sometimes I care too much and I wonder why I’m doing what I’m doing, or freak out at how many sweetener options there are at a service table and I’m stuck wondering which one I’m supposed to bring this one person -- this one person -- who I notice might need somebody to talk to.” Melissa was running out of breath. “It’s- would I rather that somebody they talk to be anybody else? Of course I would. Of course I would. I- last week, someone dragged me into a conversation I wasn’t ready for and- and I spent minutes -- full minutes! -- in the bathroom afterwards just screaming into my hands.” She made another gesture with the paper. “But it didn’t look like anybody else had noticed you, talked to you, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” It was only then that Melissa realized what she was doing. What she’d done. The damage control “ohs” and “sorrys” immediately came out, but they were in obscured by some pretty heavy breaths. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. The only other thing she could manage to say was to repeat herself. “I do care, Elizabeth,” Melissa said. “I care.”