dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

[Kakyoin's smile thins, which is on-script enough; he's not supposed to readily trust anyone, after all, and lo - he still doesn't. He knows this one; this man's face pops up over and over again in the crystal clear pool that is every single one of his memories, things he shouldn't remember because people don't take a brief trip to hell and then wake up to repeat the same day over again. People especially don't do that a lot.

So while his mind races, trying to remember every scrap of this man, to determine whether he's one of dozens of people who's gutted him in the streets, Kakyoin half-bows again, sidestepping around him to lead them to a mat to sit on. There are some girls dancing - geisha - and he ignores them, only sliding a brief glance towards the oldest one, clearly the Madam of this place. Somewhere around here there's a false wall that slides back to lead guests down the yakuza storyline, but that's not what Kakyoin intends to go for today.

Drinks, then. He waves for one of the girls to bring cups and considers his companion. Hmm.]

What's your name?

[He knows, impossibly, but it's always good to know if you're being lied to right off the bat. Besides all of the other bizarre, impossible lies that make up his entire life, right now. Details.]

Jean-Pierre Polnareff.

[Perhaps he ought to figure out a more natural name for this setting, but given he's so painfully white, why bother? He glances to the side for a moment, admittedly somewhat distracted (how can he not be) before focusing his attention back on Kakyoin.]

Yours?

[Ah. For a moment Kakyoin is taken aback, but then, he's spent days or weeks or who knows how long harboring this slow-building, simmering hatred for the things that visit this place, so he expects something... He doesn't expect this moron to just play along every time like it's normal.

That's annoying in its own way. A different way. What the fuck.]

Kakyoin. [gaze...] Drink your wine.

[Really, they're just supposed to sit here and wait for someone to come give Polnareff a Task, but Kakyoin knows, he'll start chattering sooner rather than later... hmm.]

Bossy.

[But he's grinning as he reaches for his wine, fingers a little large on the delicate cup. It's sweet, more alcoholic than he's used to, but that's no bad thing. It just means he's got a flush by the end of the first glass (and you're really not supposed to drink it that fast, but also, shut up).]

You this bossy to everyone, or am I special?

[Wow.

Important: Kakyoin doesn't tell him to drink more slowly, but then, Kakyoin never does that. Hubris, white boy. He sips his own cup, pausing just slightly as he remembers everyone in a rush, at once. How long has he even been here? Too many memories—]

I think you might be different. [not special, shut up] What are you doing this far from home?

[He absolutely takes that as special, and it shows in his grin. This is interesting, they've never had a conversation like this before.]

Thought I'd come see how pretty the girls were this side of the world.

[A beat, and then, with a wink:]

Turns out the boys aren't so bad either, huh?

[Listen. He just wants to get Kakyoin to fluster, that's all.]

[Oh, he's already changed his mind! Polnareff is just an idiot! Kakyoin rolls his eyes, and pointedly does not think about how this conversation is... going well? He does not, at present, want to murder anybody.

So, pros.]

You know that never works. Can't you think of something else?

[Hmm.]

It never works?

[Because he's clumsy and loud and bright, but he isn't actually stupid.]

What?

[Hmm? --Oh. Well then. He sips his drink again, very subtle.]

Well— [There's a tell tale sound of a door sliding back somewhere near, and god, really? Quest narratives, now? Is nothing easy?]

Why don't we go... somewhere? I'll explain.

[Hosts can't hurt guests, right? Right? That's one of the main appeals here: you can do anything you want and there's no repercussions, because none of this is real. You can rape or maim or torture, and sure, maybe it says something about your psyche, but no more than, say, fucking around in a video game. Right?

--probably, he thinks, and gets up, grabbing the wine (rude!) and nodding at Kakyoin.]

Lead the way.

[Bad idea. Hugely bad idea, going off with a man who's been sketchy at best up til now, but it's far more interesting than what's about to happen (you there, sir, are you-- but the speech dies on the host's lips, her big eyes blinking curiously as Polnareff fails to engage in the most basic of storylines).]

You still haven't asked your question, you know. Don't think I forgot.

[They slip into the back. It's not strictly off-limits-- nothing is, here, that's the point-- but it's at least not meant for public use. It's a little back office, the room dimly lit, the mats on the floor a little more worn than the ones in front. It takes Polnareff a bit too long to figure out how to sweep his yukata in such a way that he can kneel properly again, but he gets there.]

Or's this just a way to get me alone.

[It's got the shape of flirting, at least, although there's something in his tone that suggests he's got something deadlier in mind. Indeed: his body is tensed up, just a little.]

[Kakyoin waves off yet another host on their way into the back; no, his little gesture says, find someone else, I need this one, leave us alone. He isn't in charge here but he has sway enough to buy them at least a little privacy. The other hosts will improvise around their absence; someone else will have to look threatening-but-cool-about-it in the doorway for the time being.

He slides the door shut behind them and looks at it for a moment, considering. He could do this cleverly, perhaps - maybe ask Polnareff something like "how is your sister doing?" which would be just innocent enough to get away with but specific enough to flip a few switches, he thinks. He could also smack him upside the head so he stops spouting cheesy lines until Kakyoin Gets Answers, but that's too much in line with just another narrative.]

You wouldn't forget. [Hmm.] I haven't, either. I think.

[Then he turns, folding his arms and looking down at Polnareff, not kneeling just yet. This could be very, very stupid, he knows that. Unless some of his memories really have been scrubbed into nothingness, Polnareff has never done anything completely fucking insane to him— but he's still a guest. And all things considered, Kakyoin has literally never been somewhat vulnerable with anybody, so this is stressful and he deserves a break.

...Okay, but first.] I'm not going to stab you, you know.

[.......]

We've met before.

[It could be a question.]

Oh, well, so long as you promise.

[That's very dry and very sarcastic and very much not thought about, because his mind is too busy frantically coming up with explanations for this. A new storyline? Some weird glitch? Maybe it's an Easter egg thing, if you come often enough you get this weird little backstory, but--

No, his intuition states. No, that isn't it. This isn't playing out like the normal heavyhanded writing. No one would be interested in this, because it's not exciting or lascivious or dangerous. It's just . . . strange, and disquieting.

So. So what, then? The alternative is that it's not what should be happening, that Kakyoin (and who else?) is going off-script, and that's-- he shouldn't be able to do that. They're not sentient, that's the whole point. They're creatures, nothing more, no more alive than a Roomba, that's why you can do whatever you want with them, kill them or rape them or burn them alive, it doesn't matter because it's no more objectively horrifying than dismantling a toaster. And yet--

If this is what he thinks it is-- if Kakyoin remembers him, if he's aware this has happened before-- then that brings a whole host of implications with it. But it might not be that, it might not, and so--]

Yeah.

[Soft.]

You remember how many times?

[He's not going to outright state he's been to this fake park more than once, but maybe Kakyoin just remembers him as a repeated wanderer. Maybe it's just a mild glitch.]

Why, are you embarrassed?

[That's- okay, that's teasing for the sake of teasing, but give him this-- he's having a weird time. He scoffs as he finally comes over to join Polnareff on the mats, arms still crossed. Guarded. But he's fine enough for jokes, so that's a... sign. Of something?

If that wasn't clear enough, though:] I remember. You come here often enough.

[He says it like maybe Polnareff just likes this particular inn, instead of beelining to Kakyoin whenever he spots him in the street. It's fine. He shifts a little, uncomfortable.]

I remember that you haven't stabbed me in the stomach. You're too busy telling me about your sister, I guess.

[There are a lot of mixed feelings here; Kakyoin still doesn't trust guests of this place, obviously, but he's put forth these things to see if Polnareff is going to believe him... or just change his mind and decide to stab him this time, to stop whatever this is.

So. Hm.]

[It's a little easier when Kakyoin's down on the floor with him. It doesn't make it easy, of course, and brings a whole new slew of problems, but at least he doesn't have to crane his neck.

He tenses at that last statement, unsure if it's meant as a taunt or just a way to test the waters. He isn't sure, and so he stays rigid, his eyes narrowed as he watches Kakyoin move. And it's eerie, isn't it-- remarkable, people say, incredible-- how lifelike he is. You wouldn't know he wasn't human, not from first glance. It's the little things: the rise and fall of his chest, the faint hint of a pulse in his throat. The flush to his cheeks, the way he's perfect in his imperfections. Like a person, a real person, except of course he's not, and yet--]

How long have you--

Where do you think we are?

I— I don't know.

[And he doesn't, not really. Before recently it was just the Lotus Petal, it was Edo, it was some kind of home. Now, though, that feeling is still there; fondness and familiarity and some degree of safety, despite his own role as a dangerous boy who works for dangerous people. He still feels it, but it's like looking at something through a fog now. Different. False.

So where the hell is this? He looks at Polnareff, brow furrowed.]

I know where this is supposed to be. [But it almost physically hurts to think about, like someone's torn a hole in his mind that's not large enough for all the information flooding into it, which, well-- who knows, that might be literal, to a point.]

Where... [No, no, he's a foreigner either way, that means nothing. Better:] What year is it?

[He should lie. Lie, tell him it's 1610, and then run and get some park official and tell him that there's something freaky going on with the hosts. Apparently they're sentient, maybe we should knock off the whole murder and rape thing?

But they won't. He knows that already. Why would they? The money this place must bring in is off the charts; god, he's pretty sure there's plenty who'd be fine with this being populated by real people, so long as it didn't get them in legal trouble. Why stop because a host questioned things? Way easier to just wipe his memories-- or worse, just put him out of commission.

It's easy, when you think of it like that.]

2019.

[The year slips off his tongue far easier than it ought to.]

We're in the United States. America, you know? Halfway round the world. Not Japan.

[2019.

Well.]

What the fuck?

[Good thing he's supposed to be a nasty boy, otherwise he might have trouble swearing about how completely impossible and bullshit this is. It isn't - he remembers waking up on the operating table in that glass room - but what the fuck?]

Why? Not-- What is this place for?

[He's been gleefully murdered by random strangers, so like, he can guess. But make his day.]

. . . anything you want.

[It's not that he's ever really done anything immoral. He's mostly in it to fuck around and maybe kill some bad guys (which isn't, by definition, immoral, because they were bad guys). But it's still wildly uncomfortable, facing a host and having to explain what this place is.]

Anything. That's the point. You go in and you can play along with a bunch of different stories, or you can fuck around, or just--

[Christ.]

Do things you wouldn't be allowed to do in real life. Legally, morally . . . anything.

[...At least it's an honest answer. Kakyoin can give him that much credit - he's not trying to gloss over this place. Kakyoin remembers the things people have done to him and the things he's witnessed people do to the others-- the girls outside, his fellow thugs...

He shifts uncomfortably again, and tucked behind the fold of his sleeve, his opposite hand closes around the handle of his knife. He has this. He probably deserves to use it by now. Would it even work? Should he try?]

...Anything. [He repeats it darkly, then, eyebrows raised,] You keep coming here to drink and play hero.

[It's only a criticism in the, like, Kakyoin way. Polnareff could be Worse.]

[He flushes dully. There are far worse things he could do, it's true, but there are also far better. But he's left at a bit of a loss; Geil is dead, and that's all well and good, but now the journey that's propelled him for years is gone, so what does he do with himself? Save play hero, and drink, and-- and this is important-- seek out one host in particular.]

And so what if I do?

[Oh, the speed at which this reaction makes him feel better is probably something to watch out for. He smirks and, still mercifully behind folds of fabric, lets go of his knife. There will be no misplaced revenge stabbings here, congratulations.]

Just a reminder. Now that you don't have to tell me the stories over again, maybe we can get something done.

[--what?

He blinks at him, honestly taken aback, because they've just gone from hey, everything you know is a lie to hey, the joke is actually on you, Polnareff! It's jarring, and he's almost certain that isn't the end of the conversation, but still, jeez.]

Like what?

[Kakyoin may have skipped a few steps in the middle without looping Polnareff in, such as the part where he's decided he'll trust him in a... limited sense, for now. And the part where he's probably going to need someone else who's aware of what really goes on here, because—]

I can't believe you have to ask. [figures..... SO fleshy of him] I'm not going to stay here and let these people do whatever they want to me anymore.

[He raises an eyebrow, the question unasked. Help him break out of prison, buddy.]

I don't even know if you can survive out of here.

[It's not a no, but at the same time, they probably should think about this for like . . . three seconds.]

And this place is expensive, I can't just sneak you out, they're gonna be watching.

[Hmmm . . .]

We're gonna have to do this right. With a Plan.

[This is thinking time-- Kakyoin is immediately ready to object to these, uh, very valid points, but never mind, he's going for it. A plan... Well, he's doing this, and maybe later he'll go into full dramatics about how he'd rather die on his own terms than the same way, again, for someone's pleasure, but not now. Focus.

He looks down at himself. Well they've dressed him conspicuously, there's no way this is the fashion in 2019 very-much-not-fucking-Japan, so-]

How do I get something else to wear? That sounds like a good place to start.

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