Sunday 1: Introspectre

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FIRST POST! Roleplay is now open.

Please hide long entries behind lj cuts. Thank you!



Modified posting rules (titles):

Day, number, title.

So:

Monday 1: A bright morning

the next post on the same day would be

Monday 1.2: Out and about

Following post:

Monday 1.3: An encounter!

(you can go on indefinitely...Monday 1.235 is an option...)

Next:

Tuesday 1: On the street

In the event of a mission, add Mission # to the title. So - Monday 1: Mission 1: The ant farm (location of mission)

The next week would be:

Monday 2: The day after

Monday 2.2: Cold cereal and cigarettes

Etc.

Thanks be to pichi for revisions on this.





Aya was doing something that he rarely did, although no one was around at the moment to see it.

The smile felt awkward on his face, the corners of his lips pulling at the dried clay of his cheeks and chin.

He fingered his naked ear and looked to the table beside his bed. A single gold shaft lay in its center, under the canopy of the lamp and beside his alarm.

His sister was awake. She was home.

He was no longer Aya.

He was Ran. Again.

Or maybe he had always been Ran.

His face settled back into its familiar mold, smile fading to neutrality.

He hadn't thought he would be like Omi, where the name Takatori held such meaning. He hadn't thought that it would matter, aside from the constant reminder of a past that was so starkly different from his present. No matter what he or his teammates chose to call him, he was the same person.

Wasn't he?

But Aya's eyes, his sister's, told him otherwise when they looked so earnestly at him. She remembered someone else, someone her brother could barely remember being.

He didn't care, but for a brief moment he wondered if his teammates could remember to call him Ran. He had told his sister that he had taken her name for a time, to keep her present and with him, but the Aya they knew and the Ran she expected him to be - well, he was afraid that she would be able to see the truth of himself as Aya stripped open in their eyes.

Perhaps, he reflected, it would be better if she knew.

The thought made him grip the fabric on his bed.

He wished he could see her now. She was here, she was living, he could make her laugh if he opened his door to find her. But he had told himself he would let her live, and grow, in a space not smothered by his presence.

At least, as much as he was able.

His eyes flicked to the sword on his dresser.

How long, he wondered, could he keep her sheltered?

Kritiker had changed leadership. There was a new contact, and a new leader. How well could this new entity protect them?

Manx had promised that his sister would be under Kritiker's care, at least as much as was safe for the organization's interests. But Manx was gone.

It didn't matter. She had spoken for their employers, and as far as Aya was concerned, he would hold them to that.

Slowly, he released the sheets and picked up the book he had been reading a few moments before.

"In order to grow, flowers must be planted in fertile earth. The earth is like your past. It's made of the same material as the new life it will give birth to, but it cannot be resurrected. Till your memories like the earth, but let them rest..."