Her time in the Game Room had been quiet, if not relaxing, though she’d done her best to meditate and relieve some of her emotions during the shift. Dragging herself around while at the point of crying out her frustration and sorrow wasn’t going to help anyone, not herself, and least of all the people she wanted to help. Once again, she had to push that stuff behind the veil in her heart and not let it distract her.
But it suddenly became twice as hard to do when the nurse who came to collect her surprised Tsubaki with the announcement that she had visitors this week! Wouldn’t that be a nice way to end the day?
It was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. To Tsubaki, it felt like someone had poured ice into the top of her head.
Someone to see me…? Someone? She didn’t understand it, not any of it, not what she’d read about visitations or what the Iris thing on the intercom was saying. She’d never dealt with these ‘visitors’ before. Were they fake? Were they real? Were they… graduates, former patients? Were they illusions built from memory? Were they harmful or harmless? What were they, and why would they appear, if not just as a terrible attempt to break the prisoners’ resolve? All Tsubaki could say with relatively surety was that this had to do with her… other self… Watanabe Miyu, the identity the hospital had given her. Beyond that, she didn’t know. She couldn’t predict what would happen.
Tsubaki hesitantly looked around at the others waiting in the lobby, but the situation didn’t warrant conversation. They were each in their own private moment, it felt like.
She, certainly, was a jumble of bewilderment and uncertainty on the inside as she finally picked a seat and clasped her hands in her lap. There was wariness in the mix, too, a desire to protect herself from another of Landel’s curveballs so that she didn’t end up feeling the outcome with such depth again. But not knowing what was coming made a promise like that hard to keep.
Still, outwardly the girl looked contained enough while she waited.
She didn't have to wait long. The door opened moments later and a middle-aged couple walked through. The man's face seemed open and honest and the woman's a close reflection of the girl who sat waiting. He wore a simple kimono, only slightly different from the yukata worn around their home. The woman followed quietly beside him, a warm smile on her Asian features. She too wore a kimono, though the colors had faded and she was nowhere near as bold as her husband and his pride for the traditional.
There was no hesitation in his step as he led the way and stopped just short of his daughter. "How's my little girl?" he asked, the creases of a smile just barely touching his lips. Her mother smiled warmly enough for both of them.
The nurses started guiding other people in--people wearing clothes that weren’t the Landel’s uniform or like the styles seen in Doyleton, which was almost strange to see now, a taste of the outside world that seemed so far out of her grasp. Tsubaki didn’t want to stare at them, but she suddenly felt so awkward, so unprepared; she didn’t know where to look, or how to situate herself, and the seconds ticking by only made the feeling worse. Who was coming for her?
But any peace of mind she managed to knit together for herself slipped apart the moment Tsubaki glanced toward the door at movement and saw who was entering next. They were meant for her, she knew.
Because they were her parents.
Right there, her parents, looking every bit as she knew them, nothing hinting at otherwise. She’d been expecting an emotional attack, something she wouldn’t immediately be able to see through, but this was… Had she seen them anywhere else, she wouldn’t have thought twice. They felt like her parents in a way that kawarimi didn’t, even if she was unable to sense their souls.
Tsubaki was dimly aware of standing up. “D--” Her voice stuttered once, barely audible. “Dad… mom… Is that you?”
But would I still be able to tell if it were as perfect an illusion as Free’s?
She recognized them, or seemed to. Her mother looked relieved and took a few steps forward to clasp her daughter's hands. Her grip was firm but feminine and she squeezed her daughter's hand once before speaking.
"That's right Miyu. Your father and I wanted to come see you. The doctors said we had to wait a little while for you to settle in first, but-"
The man cleared his throat and offered a half smile, "I knew you wouldn't forget us." They'd said Miyu's condition might be getting worse, but when it came to treatments, this place was the best. There was nothing they wouldn't do for family, even moving halfway across the world just to make sure their daughter got better.
"Things alright here?" he asked, "I know it's all a little foreign, but they're top notch here. We'll have you feeling a lot better in no time."
Their words brought on a flash of pain, though she did nothing to reject her mother's--her mother, not something else?--advances. It even smelled like her, like the flowers that grew around their manor.
But... Miyu. The doctors. Settling in. They saw her as Miyu, a... sick daughter. Whatever wrongful identity she'd been given like everyone else who was imprisoned here and missing their real lives, their real loved ones. The concern in their eyes was for an unwell girl kept in a mental institution, not Tsubaki, trapped in a treacherous web by an unknown enemy.
So why was her mom here, smelling like their flowers? And her dad...
She gently squeezed her mom's hand back, dropping her gaze to their joined hands so that she didn't have to look at her dad's face. They were the same hands that'd helped her dress when she was small, and that'd brushed her hair and taught her how to draw thread through a needle. "... Mm," Tsubaki agreed, unable to argue. Her tone was soft. "I... It's good to see you. I could never forget you." That was the truth, in spite of how everything else she wanted to say to these people would be lies to their ears, and everything she didn't want to say, lies to herself.
It was obvious to her mother and certainly her father, that Miyu would rather not talk about some things. She'd always been a proud girl and while being sick was nothing to be ashamed of, it was hard enough on her already. He pushed a couple of chairs over, one for himself, one for Miyu's mother, and took a seat, fiddling almost immediately for the long, slender pipe he kept in his sleeve, though his wife had to tap his hand before he got much further. With a sigh, he put it away, mumbling something about having far too many strong-natured women in their family.
"We still get letters from Bobby every week," her mother reached for a plain paper bag. There were no letters, but she pulled out a book with thick pages, the cover decorated with formal lettering and cute paper cut outs. "The boy from next door. He used to come by everyday after school and you'd play for hours."
Poor thing didn't have much of a home life, but Miyu had always watched out for the exuberant youth. "It was his idea actually, to put together some pictures." She gave a short laugh. "Of course, we had to put in some of our family and your other friends too. If Bobby had his way, the whole book would've been nothing but the two of you."
It was hard not to keep her gaze on the floor and rivet it there, but doing so would be an attempt in vain to run away from something she had to face. Asking to be taken out of the lobby, faking sick… She couldn’t fall to that. Tsubaki had to endure. Even so, she busied herself with adjusting her own chair, keeping her eyes off what she instinctively knew was in her dad’s sleeve as she moved it a little closer.
There was a small, gross relief that neither had tried to embrace her further.
She sat, returning her hands to her lap, waiting for whatever her mother was going to show her. It felt surreal, worse still the moment her mom said ‘Bobby’. Like she was in a play where nobody but her knew it was a play. Like she were with the staff. Who was Bobby? Tsubaki didn’t know any Bobby! So why was this woman who resembled her mother in every way talking like Tsubaki would have fond memories of him? And the album she brought out wasn’t familiar in the slightest.
Tsubaki’s heart plummeted, because she could guess who this ‘Bobby’ was supposed to mean to her. “If Bobby had his way, the whole book would’ve been nothing but the two of you.” She wanted to duck her head and grimace. Black☆Star with an English name… what would he think of that?
But apparently this was Black☆Star they were talking about.
Her expression remained candid and passive. “Oh, really. A scrapbook? That’s so sweet of everyone, thank you. Am I allowed to have it?” She wished they would say no; she didn’t want to touch it. The more she heard, the more she saw the people before her as strangers.
Miyu's parents were quiet, but observant. Her mother smiled a little brighter though, when Miyu seemed excited about the scrapbook. She'd have to tell Bobby later how much her daughter had enjoyed it.
"Of course you can have it sweetheart," she told the girl, turning the book to face her and offering it up. Miyu's father leaned forward, trying not to appear as curious as he was about the contents of the book.
"Your father took most of the pictures, so I'm afraid he's not in very many of them. Go ahead."
[agh, failing forever, sorry. D: will try to be quicker!]
The nurses had never let her hold onto any personal items before (not unless they were hidden away in her room, where they seemed not to recognize the presence of suspicious things). She didn’t know if the album was the kind of ploy that went all the way back to the Head Doctor and his scheming, or if in her parents‘ minds--her visitors‘ minds--it was meant to help jog “real” memories. Or just be a comfort…
“Graduates,” the source over the intercom had called visitors. Graduates of the program. But Tsubaki knew that her flesh-and-body parents had never been part of some twisted program, not in her world. Being in a different world could mean… what? Were they products of the hospital? Could there be different versions of a person? Could they be… actual parents of a Miyu here? A ’Bobby’? Names weren’t important, and in essence neither were memories, but still… how could these people be the same?
Tsubaki was at war with herself.
Taking the book into her lap, she forced a bigger half-smile for her mother. How could they be…? She’d rather not look inside, but short of refusing outright, Tsubaki didn’t have much of a choice. They were waiting on her. For a second, though, all she could was rest her hand on the front cover. “I’m a little nervous…” she confessed, by way of explanation. There was no way to describe her true turmoil.
With an apprehensive breath, she then opened the album to the first page. Her eyes focussed on a smaller, chubbier her, and the younger features of her parents. Baby photos… of me?
"Don't be," her mother replied, but allowed her daughter to take the first step and open the book herself. Just that small movement forward, that she was willing to give it a try meant enough. "There's nothing scary. Just you and the people who care about you."
As Miyu opened the book to the first page, her father glanced over the old photos, a nostalgic expression on his face, that hardly noticeable smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. "Hard to believe she was so small. But it's a relief you took after your mother instead of your old man," he added with a chuckle.
A part of Tsubaki couldn’t forget what the Institute had done (did), couldn’t be so naïve. Hadn’t ever been so naïve. It was something of a privilege she could try and give to others, but it’d never been for her. That was why she couldn’t shake all that was wrong with these visitors, in the rational part of her mind.
But if it were so simple as just accepting what was being offered, it’d be easier. It wouldn’t create so severe a maelstrom inside her.
Tsubaki started down at a baby her. “I remember this,” she confessed, the barest touch of unidentifiable emotion in her tone. And she did--from pictures she’d seen in her home, of the exact same moments in time. There were even… Her fingers rested beside a photo of her at an older age, donned in a yukata and one of her mother’s hair pieces. There were even pictures she recognized from the blurry, faded-out memories she carried in her own mind.
She pulled her gaze up, seeking her dad’s face. The joke was just so him, it stung in a different way, a desperately loving way. She’d missed her family so much more in the last week, being here and not there… A pained smile touched her lips, one that was somehow still happier than the ones before it. The tears were closing in on her, threatening to overstep the line she’d drawn and prick at the corners of her eyes.
A genuine smile crossed her father's face and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to better see the pictures. For all his noisy declarations and other strange habits, Bobby'd had a good idea in bringing the photos by for his daughter. True, she seemed on the verge of tears, but she was also making progress, remembering things as they ought to be.
He reached forward to give her a reassuring muss to her hair. He'd have given her one of his awkward sort of hugs if they hadn't been sitting, but it was enough to get the message across. She would always be his daughter and he would always be proud of her.
"Missed you too little girl," he told her, letting out a slow sigh. Emotional things weren't really his specialty, but he tried.
She didn’t know why… why she was the one here, in the circumstances she was in, facing the seemingly impenetrable fog that was Landel’s Institute’s mysteries, why she was being visited by these perfect images of her parents, or why she couldn’t name them true or false.
Maybe there were no answers. Maybe there was no way of telling.
But Tsubaki was there, and the touch of a hand on her hair had her bowing her head into it ever so slightly. The pain she was carrying around within her had turned a little bit sweeter, despite everything. That was real.
For a moment, it--the surprise, the confusion, the qualms, the sadness--all boiled down to that.
A long exhale left her in turn; her eyelashes lowered. “Are you…” So many questions to ask. So many she wanted to ask. Couldn’t ask. “Are you troubled?” she finally finished, opening her eyes again to focus on them. Perhaps a strange and frivolous choice, given what was going unsaid and what her role was supposed to be, but the words felt the most right on her tongue. The most truthful, even if the answer would be less so, in that regard.
Troubled? Her father rarely showed much emotion. And it would hardly be fitting for them to place the worry and blame all on Miyu. They were her parents, after all. The doctors had explained that it was no one's fault, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. A parent would always wonder if there was something more they could've done to prevent their child's pain.
But her concern for them was touching. "We miss you," was all her father said. Her mother shook her head slowly, though she let some of the worry show in her eyes. "You don't have to fret about us Miyu. Your father and I are fine. We've just hit a rough spot lately, you know? But we'll get through it together."
Levelling them both with a look, she turned over their words. We miss you.
She believed them, she did. The sentiment rang as clear as a bell in her heart, and received an echoing response. They… were worried, and full of love. Mistaken identity or not, it was there, directed at her.
… From ‘her’ family.
“Mm,” was Tsubaki’s eventual response. She nodded. “We will.” If there was any way to make that true, she’d like to make it a reality… whatever the case was, whatever the truth she couldn’t yet see was. Still… “I’m sorry you can’t have your daughter back now, but I’m trying my best. So don’t worry.” She was sorry about a lot of things, but this kind of simple comfort was something Tsubaki could give, despite everything had happened in the last past week… in the last twenty four hours.
It didn’t hurt as much as so many other things had.
The nurses seemed to be motioning some of the other patients to finish up with their visitors. It was too bad their meeting had to be so short. Her father glanced over and then back to his daughter, giving a sigh as he rose from his seat. Goodbyes were the hardest, especially when they'd waited so long to be able to see her again.
"We'll come again real soon," he promised, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
Miyu's mother left the book with her daughter, offering a sad sort of smile before returning to her husband's side.
Her father hesitated a moment, as if unsure if he should continue. "I know you've had some rough spots in the past, but your brother said he'd really like to see you soon too."
He patted her shoulder once and squeezed it gently before letting go. "Think about it, alright? Take care sweetheart."
And just as quickly as they'd come, her father and mother turned to leave, her mother casting a worried look behind her as her father led them out the door.
But it suddenly became twice as hard to do when the nurse who came to collect her surprised Tsubaki with the announcement that she had visitors this week! Wouldn’t that be a nice way to end the day?
It was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. To Tsubaki, it felt like someone had poured ice into the top of her head.
Someone to see me…? Someone? She didn’t understand it, not any of it, not what she’d read about visitations or what the Iris thing on the intercom was saying. She’d never dealt with these ‘visitors’ before. Were they fake? Were they real? Were they… graduates, former patients? Were they illusions built from memory? Were they harmful or harmless? What were they, and why would they appear, if not just as a terrible attempt to break the prisoners’ resolve? All Tsubaki could say with relatively surety was that this had to do with her… other self… Watanabe Miyu, the identity the hospital had given her. Beyond that, she didn’t know. She couldn’t predict what would happen.
Tsubaki hesitantly looked around at the others waiting in the lobby, but the situation didn’t warrant conversation. They were each in their own private moment, it felt like.
She, certainly, was a jumble of bewilderment and uncertainty on the inside as she finally picked a seat and clasped her hands in her lap. There was wariness in the mix, too, a desire to protect herself from another of Landel’s curveballs so that she didn’t end up feeling the outcome with such depth again. But not knowing what was coming made a promise like that hard to keep.
Still, outwardly the girl looked contained enough while she waited.
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There was no hesitation in his step as he led the way and stopped just short of his daughter. "How's my little girl?" he asked, the creases of a smile just barely touching his lips. Her mother smiled warmly enough for both of them.
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But any peace of mind she managed to knit together for herself slipped apart the moment Tsubaki glanced toward the door at movement and saw who was entering next. They were meant for her, she knew.
Because they were her parents.
Right there, her parents, looking every bit as she knew them, nothing hinting at otherwise. She’d been expecting an emotional attack, something she wouldn’t immediately be able to see through, but this was… Had she seen them anywhere else, she wouldn’t have thought twice. They felt like her parents in a way that kawarimi didn’t, even if she was unable to sense their souls.
Tsubaki was dimly aware of standing up. “D--” Her voice stuttered once, barely audible. “Dad… mom… Is that you?”
But would I still be able to tell if it were as perfect an illusion as Free’s?
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"That's right Miyu. Your father and I wanted to come see you. The doctors said we had to wait a little while for you to settle in first, but-"
The man cleared his throat and offered a half smile, "I knew you wouldn't forget us." They'd said Miyu's condition might be getting worse, but when it came to treatments, this place was the best. There was nothing they wouldn't do for family, even moving halfway across the world just to make sure their daughter got better.
"Things alright here?" he asked, "I know it's all a little foreign, but they're top notch here. We'll have you feeling a lot better in no time."
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But... Miyu. The doctors. Settling in. They saw her as Miyu, a... sick daughter. Whatever wrongful identity she'd been given like everyone else who was imprisoned here and missing their real lives, their real loved ones. The concern in their eyes was for an unwell girl kept in a mental institution, not Tsubaki, trapped in a treacherous web by an unknown enemy.
So why was her mom here, smelling like their flowers? And her dad...
She gently squeezed her mom's hand back, dropping her gaze to their joined hands so that she didn't have to look at her dad's face. They were the same hands that'd helped her dress when she was small, and that'd brushed her hair and taught her how to draw thread through a needle. "... Mm," Tsubaki agreed, unable to argue. Her tone was soft. "I... It's good to see you. I could never forget you." That was the truth, in spite of how everything else she wanted to say to these people would be lies to their ears, and everything she didn't want to say, lies to herself.
Could she even think of them as her parents?
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"We still get letters from Bobby every week," her mother reached for a plain paper bag. There were no letters, but she pulled out a book with thick pages, the cover decorated with formal lettering and cute paper cut outs. "The boy from next door. He used to come by everyday after school and you'd play for hours."
Poor thing didn't have much of a home life, but Miyu had always watched out for the exuberant youth. "It was his idea actually, to put together some pictures." She gave a short laugh. "Of course, we had to put in some of our family and your other friends too. If Bobby had his way, the whole book would've been nothing but the two of you."
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There was a small, gross relief that neither had tried to embrace her further.
She sat, returning her hands to her lap, waiting for whatever her mother was going to show her. It felt surreal, worse still the moment her mom said ‘Bobby’. Like she was in a play where nobody but her knew it was a play. Like she were with the staff. Who was Bobby? Tsubaki didn’t know any Bobby! So why was this woman who resembled her mother in every way talking like Tsubaki would have fond memories of him? And the album she brought out wasn’t familiar in the slightest.
Tsubaki’s heart plummeted, because she could guess who this ‘Bobby’ was supposed to mean to her. “If Bobby had his way, the whole book would’ve been nothing but the two of you.” She wanted to duck her head and grimace. Black☆Star with an English name… what would he think of that?
But apparently this was Black☆Star they were talking about.
Her expression remained candid and passive. “Oh, really. A scrapbook? That’s so sweet of everyone, thank you. Am I allowed to have it?” She wished they would say no; she didn’t want to touch it. The more she heard, the more she saw the people before her as strangers.
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"Of course you can have it sweetheart," she told the girl, turning the book to face her and offering it up. Miyu's father leaned forward, trying not to appear as curious as he was about the contents of the book.
"Your father took most of the pictures, so I'm afraid he's not in very many of them. Go ahead."
[agh, failing forever, sorry. D: will try to be quicker!]
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“Graduates,” the source over the intercom had called visitors. Graduates of the program. But Tsubaki knew that her flesh-and-body parents had never been part of some twisted program, not in her world. Being in a different world could mean… what? Were they products of the hospital? Could there be different versions of a person? Could they be… actual parents of a Miyu here? A ’Bobby’? Names weren’t important, and in essence neither were memories, but still… how could these people be the same?
Tsubaki was at war with herself.
Taking the book into her lap, she forced a bigger half-smile for her mother. How could they be…? She’d rather not look inside, but short of refusing outright, Tsubaki didn’t have much of a choice. They were waiting on her. For a second, though, all she could was rest her hand on the front cover. “I’m a little nervous…” she confessed, by way of explanation. There was no way to describe her true turmoil.
With an apprehensive breath, she then opened the album to the first page. Her eyes focussed on a smaller, chubbier her, and the younger features of her parents. Baby photos… of me?
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As Miyu opened the book to the first page, her father glanced over the old photos, a nostalgic expression on his face, that hardly noticeable smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. "Hard to believe she was so small. But it's a relief you took after your mother instead of your old man," he added with a chuckle.
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But if it were so simple as just accepting what was being offered, it’d be easier. It wouldn’t create so severe a maelstrom inside her.
Tsubaki started down at a baby her. “I remember this,” she confessed, the barest touch of unidentifiable emotion in her tone. And she did--from pictures she’d seen in her home, of the exact same moments in time. There were even… Her fingers rested beside a photo of her at an older age, donned in a yukata and one of her mother’s hair pieces. There were even pictures she recognized from the blurry, faded-out memories she carried in her own mind.
She pulled her gaze up, seeking her dad’s face. The joke was just so him, it stung in a different way, a desperately loving way. She’d missed her family so much more in the last week, being here and not there… A pained smile touched her lips, one that was somehow still happier than the ones before it. The tears were closing in on her, threatening to overstep the line she’d drawn and prick at the corners of her eyes.
“I missed you,” Tsubaki said to them.
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He reached forward to give her a reassuring muss to her hair. He'd have given her one of his awkward sort of hugs if they hadn't been sitting, but it was enough to get the message across. She would always be his daughter and he would always be proud of her.
"Missed you too little girl," he told her, letting out a slow sigh. Emotional things weren't really his specialty, but he tried.
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Maybe there were no answers. Maybe there was no way of telling.
But Tsubaki was there, and the touch of a hand on her hair had her bowing her head into it ever so slightly. The pain she was carrying around within her had turned a little bit sweeter, despite everything. That was real.
For a moment, it--the surprise, the confusion, the qualms, the sadness--all boiled down to that.
A long exhale left her in turn; her eyelashes lowered. “Are you…” So many questions to ask. So many she wanted to ask. Couldn’t ask. “Are you troubled?” she finally finished, opening her eyes again to focus on them. Perhaps a strange and frivolous choice, given what was going unsaid and what her role was supposed to be, but the words felt the most right on her tongue. The most truthful, even if the answer would be less so, in that regard.
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But her concern for them was touching. "We miss you," was all her father said. Her mother shook her head slowly, though she let some of the worry show in her eyes. "You don't have to fret about us Miyu. Your father and I are fine. We've just hit a rough spot lately, you know? But we'll get through it together."
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She believed them, she did. The sentiment rang as clear as a bell in her heart, and received an echoing response. They… were worried, and full of love. Mistaken identity or not, it was there, directed at her.
… From ‘her’ family.
“Mm,” was Tsubaki’s eventual response. She nodded. “We will.” If there was any way to make that true, she’d like to make it a reality… whatever the case was, whatever the truth she couldn’t yet see was. Still… “I’m sorry you can’t have your daughter back now, but I’m trying my best. So don’t worry.” She was sorry about a lot of things, but this kind of simple comfort was something Tsubaki could give, despite everything had happened in the last past week… in the last twenty four hours.
It didn’t hurt as much as so many other things had.
She smiled for them again.
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"We'll come again real soon," he promised, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
Miyu's mother left the book with her daughter, offering a sad sort of smile before returning to her husband's side.
Her father hesitated a moment, as if unsure if he should continue. "I know you've had some rough spots in the past, but your brother said he'd really like to see you soon too."
He patted her shoulder once and squeezed it gently before letting go. "Think about it, alright? Take care sweetheart."
And just as quickly as they'd come, her father and mother turned to leave, her mother casting a worried look behind her as her father led them out the door.
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