After all the clonespiracy ends I want to see a montage of Cosima on a boat just chilling getting baked in a pirate costume while trying to talk to the ocean floor. Delphine is in the water swimming with dolphins.
y'all i figured out what i’m gonna do (probably)! i’m gonna take a break and not go to uni during the next semester, instead i’ll try to clean up my life, come out to everyone and catch up on some things i haven’t fully understood yet. it’s not the nicest thing to have to do but i think it’s the decision that’s best for my mental health. i’m already feeling quite relieved having this idea in mind and i’m also not terribly stressed about the other two exams this week. and this means i’ll also have more time to make music, maybe do some language work and other things i like. that’s all i just had to tell someone C:
For @seitosokusha. This isn’t the story I promised you, but instead based on one post you made ages ago and I dunno if you actually wanted it but I hope this makes you smile.
He knows this area really well, is the thing, but suddenly there’s a tower where no tower should be. It’s far in the distance and shrouded in fog and it definitely wasn’t there an hour ago.
He blinks and the world around him fades back into focus.
This isn’t Spain Hill.
He’s on top of some sort of skyscraper now. That’s interesting. Most of the buildings here are a good dozen stories taller than any where he’s supposed to be.
He’s on a rooftop, though, so he immediately walks to edge and looks around. It’s all skyscrapers, far as he can see. He knows Tokyo fairly well, but this isn’t anywhere he recognizes.
And it’s quiet. It’s so quiet, too quiet, and a glance down shows why. There’s no traffic. There’s no people.
Something is very wrong here. This city wasn’t ever meant to be quiet; it’s supposed to hum with the song of busy life. Wherever this is, however he got here, it’s not his part of Tokyo.
“Interesting,” he says to himself, and then props his fists on his hips and slowly scans the rooftop. He’s stuck somewhere strange with no resources, and he’s going to change at least one of those facts.
A quick inventory of his pockets turn up his phone, which gets surprisingly good signal but no internet, his wallet, his deck of playing cards, a pin with an abstract design on it and a handful of change. It’s not much, in the wide view of things, but it’s enough to be going on with for now.
Time to explore his environment instead. The door to the building isn’t locked, like he’d thought it would be. He pushes it open and descends the stairs, cautious and slow. It seems to be, in every way, a typical building, like any of a hundred in Tokyo.
The top floor reveals it to be an office building, and he goes through every office, one by one. He finally finds something but it’s in the elevator lobby at the end of the hall, stashed under a plant.
He pokes it carefully. Nothing happens. It’s white cardboard, and he opens it with a single finger from as far away as he can manage.
Nothing jumps out, explodes, or catches on fire, so he nudges it into the open with his foot. He watches it a while, just in case, but it only sits there inoffensively like a good box should.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He peeks in.
There’s a mask, is the first thing he notices. It has eye holes and stares up at him blankly. It’s disturbing, really, but he lifts it out and runs careful fingers over it. It seems all of a piece, made of some kind of smooth ceramic. He flips it over and loses time.
He blinks back into awareness. Something’s changed. Hasn’t it? He’s not–did he miss something?
He takes a step and something crunches beneath his white sneaker. It’s ceramic, like the mask–
Oh. Oh. That’s right, there was–shit.
Something’s been messing with his memories. Something’s been inside his head. Something, he decides, scowling, is going to pay for that.
There’s a buzzing in his head, now that’s he’s listening. It’s quiet but discordant, like the tuning of an orchestra, and his fingers twitch with it. There’s something waiting where it’s coming from, he knows, and there’s a term floating just beyond his hearing.
“Angels,” he says out loud, tasting the word. It’s heavier than it used to be, an hour ago, and a voice behind his memories whispers, Ability to manipulate masks unlocked.
Oh well. That’s not his primary concern at the moment. He heads back to the rooftops and turns in a complete circle until he can pinpoint the direction the sound is coming from.
There’s the tower again. It’s big and looming, dominating the skyline, and he knows at once that’s where he has to go.
His fingers are still twitching with the desire to sort out the sounds into music, so he takes out his cards and starts to walk one through his fingers as he steps out onto a suspension bridge.
There’s a voice in his mind telling him nothing here can hurt him, and he’s far too focused on the mess of the melody to notice the height.
He doesn’t care about angels or death or winning or god, really. He just–he can’t concentrate with that awful noise inside his ears. It could be so good, he thinks, he knows; it has so much potential. What it needs, thinks Joshua as he moves towards it, is just a decent composer.