barbs
Level 9
IGN:
spellcasters
List your discord name and tag (name#0000):
My discord tag is barbs#6430.
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?
I do! It's important to note that I'm extremely reserved and seldom unmute, but if I'm required to speak you'll certainly hear me.
Your time zone and current country of residence:
I hail from the United States and my time zone is Eastern Standard Time (EST).
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
This is my first community team application.
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?
Yes, as long as my removal is supported by a fair and understandable reason.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team.
As it stands, I'm very nitpicky and critical when it comes to my own work, which may present a hindrance if I'm brought onto the team. To put it simply, I have trouble completing or even beginning to write because I've already set a high expectation for the finished product—one I think I can't meet, so I let my projects collect dust. It's like I want to write, but I can't verbalize my ideas how I'd like. My hesitation to be lenient with my writing is something that's plagued me ever since I joined the server, but also something I'm steadily overcoming.
What makes you passionate about writing?:
I'll keep this answer short and sweet since you probably get the picture already—I could call writing a self-expressive tool or a pass-time and both definitions would ring true. Additionally, I produce ideas faster than I can handle, so it's nice to have a creative outlet where I can organize and dump them all.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?:
You bet! I'm no seasoned connoisseur, but I definitely have enough experience tucked beneath my belt to call myself a writer. Since the dawn of my time online, I've been producing stories (or 'lore', as it's referred to here) about fictional worlds and people, and I'm always happy to accept more opportunities to do so. SchoolRP was not my introduction to roleplaying and I lose a year off my lifespan each time someone calls my style 'DetailRP'.
In your own words, give your definition of lore:
Akin to real world history books, lore is the seed that writers sow in order for their world to come alive. Elements of lore such as culture, impactful events, geography, and social customs all contribute to the creation of a believable fictional setting.
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
"Cutting A Long Story Short" 1,097 words
"Kinoshita. Let's leave," Hallward said curtly, the hammering vertigo dancing around the young boy's conscious parting. Kinoshita Ko, with his face sullied by a crimson coating, glowered at nobody in particular. .or was his dirty look for the yōkai? He shook the paralysis from his dominant hand and brushed a thumb beneath his nose, fresh blood dirtying the stark white glove. He grimaced.
"It's over," said Kinoshita before he shook his head and skittishly knocked on wood. "Sorry, let's just go." He retrieved his trusty pen and journal; something he did quite often in Room 312. Each time he gathered his things, he felt his report pathetically plummeting into jeopardy a teensy bit more. He wouldn't have admitted his next musing aloud, but when he saw Hallward bolted to the floor like a statue, unmoving and whispering incoherently, he felt a particular feeling of relief wash over his weariness. A gratitude that this wasn't goodbye.
"I don't give a damn what you prefer," Hallward whispered. "You don't deserve an ounce of my respect."
Katō, wickedly spiteful with cauterizing wit, had only one response to offer. The door clicked and the two inhabitants of 312 turned in tune, throwing each other covert glances. Hallward's cane struck the floor as he glided across the benevolent yōkai's territory, and he was lucky to reach the door unscathed. Perhaps that was were the two joined minds. Katō Satomi and R. Hallward; masters in observation whom would rather play with their food than swallow it.
Hallward rustled with the knob. No dice.
"You're so tense, Hallward. ." Its voice could be recognized at the drop of a hat. Not shrill, but vexing. Sometimes it had been deceptively low with an echoey quality, and other times it sounded like the spirit was about to burst into a fit of insatiable giggling. Two bystander students hurried to the door, rattling the knob parallel to Hallward. Their frantic voices melted together into a foul slop, tension rising thickly in the air like oil as the cacophony raged on. . and then suddenly, like a stone thrown into a mirror, the entropy shattered. He could hear—no, feel Katō's bitter, cold presence as it bowed, closing the curtains and reopening them to present the final act of the night.
"How about we calm down?"
He abandoned the door, hissing, then snapped back at the duo with uncharacteristically high volume, "WE'RE ALRIGHT!" How could anyone be so far from the truth?
Someone distantly called out his name. With eyes strewn by aggravation, Hallward turned attention to Kinoshita, who stood at the foot of the desk. He'd been gawking at the same orderly stack of papers for a minute, jaw agape. "I. . saw. ."
"You saw it?"
"It was her," Kinoshita said. He knitted his brows in wry surprise, his fear-powered adrenaline boiling over until he began to laugh, nervousness tugging at his rickety voice. "Sorry, that's the first time I've actually seen the thing."
"Horrific, is it not?" My, Hallward had might as well been provoking Katō.
"Not really," Kinoshita delivered flatly. . that's two of them.
A smile crept along Hallward's lips. "Just some idiotic, fickle little thing. Seeing it in the suit makes everything soooo. . less frightening, doesn't it?"
Kinoshita snickered and joined Hallward in turning a blind eye to the sinister conspiracy afoot. Stupidly, he blurted, "Oooooo, I'm a little schoolgirl and there's blood on my face!"
A blissful euphoria bubbled to the surface of Hallward's head. He chuckled until they were both laughing their merry faces off. Had either of them, in a millennia, ever genuinely laughed? "Such silly writing, isn't it?" Hallward said, his eyes trained carelessly on the board. Sulfuric exhilaration set Kinoshita's imagination ablaze as he enunciated the writing with slurred laze. Their conversation spiraled into mindlessness until their giggling grew tiresome, and Hallward was the first to withdraw to the small couch beside the classroom's windows. Kinoshita followed suit, and despite having a translucent passageway connecting the room to the outside world, he had never felt so unwilling to leave.
Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy, but before he had ever stepped foot in 312 for his report, Kinoshita swore to himself that he would go mad for this case. So as he slouched into his seat, posture bent at a typical awkward angle, wasting away in his journal as he discarded its purpose and scribbled small drawings across the pages. . he had become a product of his own grave premonition.
"Feel safe. ." A beat. "Secure. ." Another beat. "Close your eyes. Rest. ."
It hadn't crossed his mind that the yōkai was speaking. He couldn't bring himself to care, even as it continued to sweetly spill poisonous ideas into her victim's psych. Kinoshita lifted his head. "Hallward, what do you keep in your filing cabinets?"
"Hm?" Hallward softly met his eyes, the warmness juxtaposing his features.
Something—or someone—disturbed the door. Oh, but that didn't matter, now did it? Kinoshita arose, skipping over to the cabinet before he slung a drawer open. "School supplies, Hallward? That isn't anything special." After much urging, he lifted a pair of unassuming scissors. "I thought the school only mandated the use of safety scissors, but these are the real deal." He playfully snipped at the air. They both found that amusing.
He held up the pair to his neck and faced Hallward dead in the eye. Wasn't that just hilarious?
The single member in Kinoshita's audience found the display delightful. Hallward apathetically acknowledged the horrific deed that was begging to unfold, but like a true sinner, he kicked back and breathed a laugh through his nose.
"Want to test how sharp those are. .?" Katō teased. Its puppet indubitably agreed.
In one swift and deafening motion, Kinoshita parted the glinting blades and dissevered his face, peeling away at raw, breathing skin and conceiving a new unearthly sight to behold. He might've incised through his eye or he might not have. It could've been clean-cut or jagged. He wouldn't know. All he could hear, see, think was the staggering pain strung tightly around his open wound, wailing for the unforgiving release of unconsciousness, but Kinoshita couldn't shut his eyes. He couldn't collapse as his scorching despair birthed fear, and he stumbled backward, dropping the scissors. They clattered to the floor and he kicked them away in the midst of his hysteric crash back into reality.
Screams caught in Kinoshita's throat, dying prematurely. He suddenly felt hands clasp his head, heard a jumbled blur of words, then uncovered his wound.
Hallward's face plummeted.
#2
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
"We Have A Winner" 1,099 words
The most renowned mysteries of Karakura are easily accessible and visible to most untrained eyes, though what lies buried beneath the surface? What about the littler spectacles that accommodate quieter parts of town? For campers and pedestrians alike, the tattered arcade cabinet submerged in sewage is enough to make them shudder with the discomfort of submechanophobia. No one bothers to dwell on the fragmented glass caving into the screen, or the hole in the damaged control panel that allows you to peer inside, to steal a disquieted glance at the machine's scattered innards, frayed wires like viscera.
Kawakami Yumi was a cashier at The Backdoor, a speakeasy that earned its establishment in Karakura during the early 1980's, but unfortunately dissolved not even a year after its opening. It was often rumored that Kawakami's sudden departure threw its business into a state of financial decline—though, the allegation wasn't too absurd. She was an attractive young woman with inconceivable charisma, kindness, and brains. Anyone would've killed to live in her skin. The prospect that she'd take a position at a dingy old bar was critically low, but perhaps that was the point. Kawakami was a diamond in the rough, the rough being The Backdoor's most dedicated regular: Yoshimura Masato.
At first, Yoshimura would only trudge in to grab a strong pint and retreat to the back of the room, where he'd glue himself to the screen of the bar's one and only arcade game, Asteroids. It became his only nighttime routine so clearly that Kawakami once stopped him at the countertop, and made conversation solely out of pity. It shocked her to her core that he actually wasn't a hermit and was actually rather pleasant. He cracked a joke once about how they both enjoyed a challenge—he was attempting to dethrone Asteroids' high score and Kawakami was never seen without her crossword puzzles. After all, it was a long-running gimmick that the game's new victor would be served free drinks for as long as they still visited. It must be emphasized that nobody in the entire building had ever gotten a score high enough to confirm the validity of that promise.
One chilly winter night, the two had talked so late into Kawakami's shift that Yoshimura offered to walk her to his apartment. "And if you'd like, the beach is only a short walk away," he'd said. She accepted his informal invitation and clocked out a moment later, joining him on their date. Their time at the ocean was relatively mundane and so was most of their talk when they got back to Yoshimura's place, and Kawakami was enlightened to find that they lived in complex buildings across the street from one another.
There was something he said to her that felt. . unordinary.
"You have no idea, Yumi." He addressed her by her given name. "When I'm playing, it's like I've been sucked right in. I. . guess you could blame this on the alcohol in my blood," he chuckled, "but there's always a point where I need to take a break because my head's begun to spin."
She hadn't fully processed what he'd said until Yoshimura noticed how she appeared preoccupied. "Is that weird?"
"Well yes," she said bluntly. "It's because you aren't the first to say that."
"We're all varying degrees of drunk."
Kawakami hummed, affirming Yoshimura's statement. Could she disagree, anyway?
A week had passed now. Though Kawakami noted how Yoshimura had progressively grown more reclusive and irritable during his outings at The Backdoor, their friendship was like a candle that hadn't gone out yet; the wick was still aflame. It was a dry shift at the register and they hadn't spoken since two nights prior, the only instance that differed from regular routine was when Yoshimura disappeared into the restroom and hadn't exited until a very worrisome half hour later. He gestured to the arcade cabinet, Kawakami shot him a toothy, cheerful grin with two thumbs up, and that was the end of their nightly exchange until he invited her for a second late expedition to his apartment room.
The sight of Yoshimura's residence unsettled Kawakami to her nerves. Countless unmarked, blank journals were sprawled across tables, vacant chairs, and bookshelves that she could've sworn had been cozily housed by other items just a week ago. . but despite each room being littered with the very same identical books, it looked as though Yoshimura was trying to get rid of them. A hefty trash bag rested with eerie silence beside the front door, and if she'd gotten the chance to peek inside the garbage bin, she guaranteed herself that she'd find even more disposed journals.
"I'm just cleaning out what I don't need." Yoshimura urged her to take a seat. She was too distracted to think much of it, but he appeared irregularly pleased with himself. It must have been something about how the corners of his lips drew back into that uncomfortable smile. Recalling it in her mind later sent a crawling sensation through her skin. The one time she truly caught a good look at his expression, it was hideous, but that would only come much, much later. Kawakami's ever-growing apprehension and the spoiled taste of her cocoa stirred together into an unbearable urge to escape. She did so, excusing herself with as much composure as she could humanly muster.
God forbid Yoshimura saw her enter the building adjacent to his, the mere concept of him knowing where she lived shocked her stiff. Kawakami internally doubled back and reassured herself that what she was about to do was out of nothing but concern for his wellbeing, albeit it was impulsive. She rung the emergency line and requested for Yoshimura's to be questioned. Whatever he kept in those journals had to be enough to raise suspicion.
They weren't. Kawakami cursed as she watched the officers depart a moment later, and she couldn't remove what happened next from her memory. From her balcony, she could see Yoshimura stood at his doorway, beaming up at her. That, and the sight she beheld when she raced back to The Backdoor in a manic state to check the arcade cabinet.
There it was; the high score under Yoshimura Masato's name. Hurriedly, she ripped out the machine's plug, found the nearest blunt object—a weighted shaker—and furiously rammed it down into the screen. The illusive one-way mirror cracked into several hundred different pieces.
Neither Kawakami Yumi nor Yoshimura Masato have been in town since 1983. Whatever heavenly spirit embodied the machine itself has certainly found a new home. . but where?
spellcasters
List your discord name and tag (name#0000):
My discord tag is barbs#6430.
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?
I do! It's important to note that I'm extremely reserved and seldom unmute, but if I'm required to speak you'll certainly hear me.
Your time zone and current country of residence:
I hail from the United States and my time zone is Eastern Standard Time (EST).
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
This is my first community team application.
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?
Yes, as long as my removal is supported by a fair and understandable reason.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team.
As it stands, I'm very nitpicky and critical when it comes to my own work, which may present a hindrance if I'm brought onto the team. To put it simply, I have trouble completing or even beginning to write because I've already set a high expectation for the finished product—one I think I can't meet, so I let my projects collect dust. It's like I want to write, but I can't verbalize my ideas how I'd like. My hesitation to be lenient with my writing is something that's plagued me ever since I joined the server, but also something I'm steadily overcoming.
What makes you passionate about writing?:
I'll keep this answer short and sweet since you probably get the picture already—I could call writing a self-expressive tool or a pass-time and both definitions would ring true. Additionally, I produce ideas faster than I can handle, so it's nice to have a creative outlet where I can organize and dump them all.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?:
You bet! I'm no seasoned connoisseur, but I definitely have enough experience tucked beneath my belt to call myself a writer. Since the dawn of my time online, I've been producing stories (or 'lore', as it's referred to here) about fictional worlds and people, and I'm always happy to accept more opportunities to do so. SchoolRP was not my introduction to roleplaying and I lose a year off my lifespan each time someone calls my style 'DetailRP'.
In your own words, give your definition of lore:
Akin to real world history books, lore is the seed that writers sow in order for their world to come alive. Elements of lore such as culture, impactful events, geography, and social customs all contribute to the creation of a believable fictional setting.
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
- You are expected to write in the third person, and narrate in a reliable and neutral tone. Do not focus your prompts specifically on one character’s perspective, but on a bigger picture.
- There is a 300-1000 word limit that applies to both prompts. Because of flow, if you need to go a little over or under, you are permitted to, but as soon as a prompt is 100 words outside the limit, you will be automatically denied.
- The effort and quality of both prompts will be taken into consideration when we accept applications.
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
"Cutting A Long Story Short" 1,097 words
"Kinoshita. Let's leave," Hallward said curtly, the hammering vertigo dancing around the young boy's conscious parting. Kinoshita Ko, with his face sullied by a crimson coating, glowered at nobody in particular. .or was his dirty look for the yōkai? He shook the paralysis from his dominant hand and brushed a thumb beneath his nose, fresh blood dirtying the stark white glove. He grimaced.
"It's over," said Kinoshita before he shook his head and skittishly knocked on wood. "Sorry, let's just go." He retrieved his trusty pen and journal; something he did quite often in Room 312. Each time he gathered his things, he felt his report pathetically plummeting into jeopardy a teensy bit more. He wouldn't have admitted his next musing aloud, but when he saw Hallward bolted to the floor like a statue, unmoving and whispering incoherently, he felt a particular feeling of relief wash over his weariness. A gratitude that this wasn't goodbye.
"I don't give a damn what you prefer," Hallward whispered. "You don't deserve an ounce of my respect."
Katō, wickedly spiteful with cauterizing wit, had only one response to offer. The door clicked and the two inhabitants of 312 turned in tune, throwing each other covert glances. Hallward's cane struck the floor as he glided across the benevolent yōkai's territory, and he was lucky to reach the door unscathed. Perhaps that was were the two joined minds. Katō Satomi and R. Hallward; masters in observation whom would rather play with their food than swallow it.
Hallward rustled with the knob. No dice.
"You're so tense, Hallward. ." Its voice could be recognized at the drop of a hat. Not shrill, but vexing. Sometimes it had been deceptively low with an echoey quality, and other times it sounded like the spirit was about to burst into a fit of insatiable giggling. Two bystander students hurried to the door, rattling the knob parallel to Hallward. Their frantic voices melted together into a foul slop, tension rising thickly in the air like oil as the cacophony raged on. . and then suddenly, like a stone thrown into a mirror, the entropy shattered. He could hear—no, feel Katō's bitter, cold presence as it bowed, closing the curtains and reopening them to present the final act of the night.
"How about we calm down?"
He abandoned the door, hissing, then snapped back at the duo with uncharacteristically high volume, "WE'RE ALRIGHT!" How could anyone be so far from the truth?
Someone distantly called out his name. With eyes strewn by aggravation, Hallward turned attention to Kinoshita, who stood at the foot of the desk. He'd been gawking at the same orderly stack of papers for a minute, jaw agape. "I. . saw. ."
"You saw it?"
"It was her," Kinoshita said. He knitted his brows in wry surprise, his fear-powered adrenaline boiling over until he began to laugh, nervousness tugging at his rickety voice. "Sorry, that's the first time I've actually seen the thing."
"Horrific, is it not?" My, Hallward had might as well been provoking Katō.
"Not really," Kinoshita delivered flatly. . that's two of them.
A smile crept along Hallward's lips. "Just some idiotic, fickle little thing. Seeing it in the suit makes everything soooo. . less frightening, doesn't it?"
Kinoshita snickered and joined Hallward in turning a blind eye to the sinister conspiracy afoot. Stupidly, he blurted, "Oooooo, I'm a little schoolgirl and there's blood on my face!"
A blissful euphoria bubbled to the surface of Hallward's head. He chuckled until they were both laughing their merry faces off. Had either of them, in a millennia, ever genuinely laughed? "Such silly writing, isn't it?" Hallward said, his eyes trained carelessly on the board. Sulfuric exhilaration set Kinoshita's imagination ablaze as he enunciated the writing with slurred laze. Their conversation spiraled into mindlessness until their giggling grew tiresome, and Hallward was the first to withdraw to the small couch beside the classroom's windows. Kinoshita followed suit, and despite having a translucent passageway connecting the room to the outside world, he had never felt so unwilling to leave.
Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy, but before he had ever stepped foot in 312 for his report, Kinoshita swore to himself that he would go mad for this case. So as he slouched into his seat, posture bent at a typical awkward angle, wasting away in his journal as he discarded its purpose and scribbled small drawings across the pages. . he had become a product of his own grave premonition.
"Feel safe. ." A beat. "Secure. ." Another beat. "Close your eyes. Rest. ."
It hadn't crossed his mind that the yōkai was speaking. He couldn't bring himself to care, even as it continued to sweetly spill poisonous ideas into her victim's psych. Kinoshita lifted his head. "Hallward, what do you keep in your filing cabinets?"
"Hm?" Hallward softly met his eyes, the warmness juxtaposing his features.
Something—or someone—disturbed the door. Oh, but that didn't matter, now did it? Kinoshita arose, skipping over to the cabinet before he slung a drawer open. "School supplies, Hallward? That isn't anything special." After much urging, he lifted a pair of unassuming scissors. "I thought the school only mandated the use of safety scissors, but these are the real deal." He playfully snipped at the air. They both found that amusing.
He held up the pair to his neck and faced Hallward dead in the eye. Wasn't that just hilarious?
The single member in Kinoshita's audience found the display delightful. Hallward apathetically acknowledged the horrific deed that was begging to unfold, but like a true sinner, he kicked back and breathed a laugh through his nose.
"Want to test how sharp those are. .?" Katō teased. Its puppet indubitably agreed.
In one swift and deafening motion, Kinoshita parted the glinting blades and dissevered his face, peeling away at raw, breathing skin and conceiving a new unearthly sight to behold. He might've incised through his eye or he might not have. It could've been clean-cut or jagged. He wouldn't know. All he could hear, see, think was the staggering pain strung tightly around his open wound, wailing for the unforgiving release of unconsciousness, but Kinoshita couldn't shut his eyes. He couldn't collapse as his scorching despair birthed fear, and he stumbled backward, dropping the scissors. They clattered to the floor and he kicked them away in the midst of his hysteric crash back into reality.
Screams caught in Kinoshita's throat, dying prematurely. He suddenly felt hands clasp his head, heard a jumbled blur of words, then uncovered his wound.
Hallward's face plummeted.
#2
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
"We Have A Winner" 1,099 words
The most renowned mysteries of Karakura are easily accessible and visible to most untrained eyes, though what lies buried beneath the surface? What about the littler spectacles that accommodate quieter parts of town? For campers and pedestrians alike, the tattered arcade cabinet submerged in sewage is enough to make them shudder with the discomfort of submechanophobia. No one bothers to dwell on the fragmented glass caving into the screen, or the hole in the damaged control panel that allows you to peer inside, to steal a disquieted glance at the machine's scattered innards, frayed wires like viscera.
Kawakami Yumi was a cashier at The Backdoor, a speakeasy that earned its establishment in Karakura during the early 1980's, but unfortunately dissolved not even a year after its opening. It was often rumored that Kawakami's sudden departure threw its business into a state of financial decline—though, the allegation wasn't too absurd. She was an attractive young woman with inconceivable charisma, kindness, and brains. Anyone would've killed to live in her skin. The prospect that she'd take a position at a dingy old bar was critically low, but perhaps that was the point. Kawakami was a diamond in the rough, the rough being The Backdoor's most dedicated regular: Yoshimura Masato.
At first, Yoshimura would only trudge in to grab a strong pint and retreat to the back of the room, where he'd glue himself to the screen of the bar's one and only arcade game, Asteroids. It became his only nighttime routine so clearly that Kawakami once stopped him at the countertop, and made conversation solely out of pity. It shocked her to her core that he actually wasn't a hermit and was actually rather pleasant. He cracked a joke once about how they both enjoyed a challenge—he was attempting to dethrone Asteroids' high score and Kawakami was never seen without her crossword puzzles. After all, it was a long-running gimmick that the game's new victor would be served free drinks for as long as they still visited. It must be emphasized that nobody in the entire building had ever gotten a score high enough to confirm the validity of that promise.
One chilly winter night, the two had talked so late into Kawakami's shift that Yoshimura offered to walk her to his apartment. "And if you'd like, the beach is only a short walk away," he'd said. She accepted his informal invitation and clocked out a moment later, joining him on their date. Their time at the ocean was relatively mundane and so was most of their talk when they got back to Yoshimura's place, and Kawakami was enlightened to find that they lived in complex buildings across the street from one another.
There was something he said to her that felt. . unordinary.
"You have no idea, Yumi." He addressed her by her given name. "When I'm playing, it's like I've been sucked right in. I. . guess you could blame this on the alcohol in my blood," he chuckled, "but there's always a point where I need to take a break because my head's begun to spin."
She hadn't fully processed what he'd said until Yoshimura noticed how she appeared preoccupied. "Is that weird?"
"Well yes," she said bluntly. "It's because you aren't the first to say that."
"We're all varying degrees of drunk."
Kawakami hummed, affirming Yoshimura's statement. Could she disagree, anyway?
A week had passed now. Though Kawakami noted how Yoshimura had progressively grown more reclusive and irritable during his outings at The Backdoor, their friendship was like a candle that hadn't gone out yet; the wick was still aflame. It was a dry shift at the register and they hadn't spoken since two nights prior, the only instance that differed from regular routine was when Yoshimura disappeared into the restroom and hadn't exited until a very worrisome half hour later. He gestured to the arcade cabinet, Kawakami shot him a toothy, cheerful grin with two thumbs up, and that was the end of their nightly exchange until he invited her for a second late expedition to his apartment room.
The sight of Yoshimura's residence unsettled Kawakami to her nerves. Countless unmarked, blank journals were sprawled across tables, vacant chairs, and bookshelves that she could've sworn had been cozily housed by other items just a week ago. . but despite each room being littered with the very same identical books, it looked as though Yoshimura was trying to get rid of them. A hefty trash bag rested with eerie silence beside the front door, and if she'd gotten the chance to peek inside the garbage bin, she guaranteed herself that she'd find even more disposed journals.
"I'm just cleaning out what I don't need." Yoshimura urged her to take a seat. She was too distracted to think much of it, but he appeared irregularly pleased with himself. It must have been something about how the corners of his lips drew back into that uncomfortable smile. Recalling it in her mind later sent a crawling sensation through her skin. The one time she truly caught a good look at his expression, it was hideous, but that would only come much, much later. Kawakami's ever-growing apprehension and the spoiled taste of her cocoa stirred together into an unbearable urge to escape. She did so, excusing herself with as much composure as she could humanly muster.
God forbid Yoshimura saw her enter the building adjacent to his, the mere concept of him knowing where she lived shocked her stiff. Kawakami internally doubled back and reassured herself that what she was about to do was out of nothing but concern for his wellbeing, albeit it was impulsive. She rung the emergency line and requested for Yoshimura's to be questioned. Whatever he kept in those journals had to be enough to raise suspicion.
They weren't. Kawakami cursed as she watched the officers depart a moment later, and she couldn't remove what happened next from her memory. From her balcony, she could see Yoshimura stood at his doorway, beaming up at her. That, and the sight she beheld when she raced back to The Backdoor in a manic state to check the arcade cabinet.
There it was; the high score under Yoshimura Masato's name. Hurriedly, she ripped out the machine's plug, found the nearest blunt object—a weighted shaker—and furiously rammed it down into the screen. The illusive one-way mirror cracked into several hundred different pieces.
Neither Kawakami Yumi nor Yoshimura Masato have been in town since 1983. Whatever heavenly spirit embodied the machine itself has certainly found a new home. . but where?
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