[fic] Sky's the Limit Chapter 1 (2/2)
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[to read from livejournal, use cuts below]
Title: Sky's the Limit
Author:trenchkamen (via ms_asylum fic-journal)
Fandom: Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 4
Rating: This chapter PG, eventually NC-17
Spoilers: Persona 4 (anime and game)
Pairings: Naoto/Kanji, Chie/Yukiko, Rise/Yu (Souji)
Genre: Post-game, character study, romance
Words: 10,964
Summary: Philemon says it is possible for anybody to unlock the Wild Card ability, and draw multiple Personae from the collective unconscious. It will be integral to an impending challenge. But it is easier for some than others, and to unlock that ability, the user must strip her ego and immerse in the psyche of people utterly unlike herself.
Part 1
"I'll walk you home."
"It's--don't--uh..." She looked at him quizzically. He swallowed. "Isn't it out of your way?"
"I don't mind."
They walked back to the Shopping District, rounding the corner north by Tatsumi Textiles. Rain slid down the asphalt in sheets, oil-refracted rainbows. When they stepped under the narrow awning, Kanji handed Naoto her umbrella and straightened his shoulders. He was suddenly struck by the very uncomfortable idea that Ma might be in the shop, where she could see him through the large windows. He excused himself, leaned in through the sliding doors, and sighed. The shop was dark. He closed the door behind him and cleared his throat.
"I, uh, know it's kind of late, but you're welcome to come up if you want to..."
"...to?"
"Uh." He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. "I dunno. Hang out, I guess."
Naoto didn't respond. He finally worked up the courage to look at her. She was looking away as well, chewing her lip. Her hat was pressing her hair over her eyes, so he couldn't tell much else. His stomach dropped.
"You mean, to your room?"
"Uh." He looked around, listened to see if he could tell how far back in the house his Ma was. "Sure, yeah. To hang out. You know."
She was silent for a moment longer, then looked up.
"I don't want to intrude."
"Seriously, it's not any trouble."
He and Naoto slid through the dark shop across the broad entryway, stopping at the shin-height threshold to remove their shoes. Kanji looked around, listened with bated breath for Ma, and heard her far back in her room. Naoto leaned in with him.
"Why are you being so secretive?" she whispered. He grabbed her by her narrow shoulders, to a small protest, and marched her past the drying racks and stepwise shelving toward the stairs. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered how much shorter she was without her shoes, barely level with his chest, how tiny she was in his hands.
"Kanji-kun?" Ma called. "Is that you?"
Kanji cursed under his breath and pushed Naoto harder toward the stairs. "Go, go--"
"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.
"Kanji-kun?"
Ma stepped into the storefront and flipped on the light, just in time to see Naoto digging her heels into the carpet, as a reflex of protest, and Kanji pushing on her shoulders. He immediately dropped his hands and stood up straight. Naoto adjusted her cap and glared at him, arching one eyebrow. Ma saw Naoto and looked surprised, blinked, and gave Kanji a quizzical look. Kanji stared at the carpet and scratched the back of his head. Ma was already in her dressing gown, and she hated to be seen disheveled by visitors. She was very old school, that way. She was also very old school in her insistence in being a host to everybody who came to the house, which usually entailed serving tea and biscuits and sitting around the kotatsu and having awkward small talk.
She was--probably; he had never tested this--also very old school insofar as having girls in his bedroom would be concerned. And then he remembered that he did not know if Ma knew Naoto's true gender.
"Hi, Ma."
"Oh, Naoto-kun, it's good to see you again."
She touched the brim of her hat and nodded, her usual greeting. "Tatsumi-san. I am sorry for the intrusion."
Her voice had dropped as low as she could make it. Kanji silently thanked every god, Persona, and anything in between that might be listening that she was so damn perceptive.
"Oh, dear, it's no intrusion at all."
"Yeah, so uh." Kanji steered Naoto toward the stairs again. "We've got to start studying."
"You already have homework on your first day of school?"
Kanji grunted an affirmative. Naoto looked carefully from Kanji to his mother, and back, and walked up the stairs. Kanji bolted up after. He closed his door behind him and sighed.
"I'm sorry about that."
Naoto made a non-committal "hun" noise. She was standing awkwardly in the doorway, looking around. Kanji swallowed and slid past her. He had absolutely not been expecting any guests this evening. Well, at least he could say his room was relatively clean, especially for a guy. He was pretty good about that. But now he was viewing it through an outsider's eyes, and realizing again how utterly strange it was. It was long, narrow, and the roof sloped down to the near wall, housing a skylight that currently cast slanted, gray evening light. Rain pattered loudly on the thin tiles, splattered across the skylight. It smelled of rain and damp wood, the slight mold-smell that settled at the back of his nose he could never rid the room of. His exercise equipment was cast off to the far corner, free weights stacked under a simple bench, next to his shelving units filled with various fabrics and yarns and textile equipment. Various plush animals, some of which he had sewn himself, were perched on top of shelves, on his old POS TV, on his bed. His dress form was in the corner, currently half-pinned with a muslin draft. Probably most incriminating, his one bookshelf was filled with shoujo manga, all the way down to one bottom shelf with a few scattered 'real' books, if they could be called that--light novels, kids' fantasy books, a few books that might conceivably be called literature. He watched her anxiously as her eyes moved over everything, taking it in, categorizing. He could see her brain working, drawing conclusions. He finally set his bag down.
"It's, um, kind of a mess, but..."
She shook her head distractedly, still picking over the far wall. "It's fine." She turned her head toward the bookshelf and stepped toward it, looking more closely. Her brows furrowed a little. It wasn't the look of recognition.
"I don't recognize many of these titles."
"...really?" He looked over. Certainly, he had some more obscure series, but most of them were very recognizable titles. "You didn't read any of this when you were a kid?"
"Not the shoujo manga, no. It was... for girls. I was trying to distance myself from that." She laughed silently. "I had a lot of internalized misogyny to deal with."
"Internal... what?"
"Misogyny*. Literally, hating women."
"Oh." Kanji paused for a long time. "Do you... did you, I mean, like, hate women?"
"Not as you are thinking, no. I guess I hated any feminine aspects of myself, because I had internalized society's messages to the effect that anything feminine is lesser, weaker. That's how it is, you know. Women are considered cool for liking masculine things, or 'transcending' their femininity, like it's a bad thing, but guys who like feminine things are considered... frivolous. Like it's a joke." She laughed. "But I'm sure you're well aware of that."
"Yeah!" He leaned forward eagerly. "I know exactly what you're talkin' about. 'cept I never had the words to explain it. Feminine or masculine, woman or man, none of that shit matters. Stuff is just... stuff. Like knitting, and stuff. Who decided that shit's feminine, anyway, way back when? What's 'feminine' mean, anyway?" He thought for a moment. "And who decided feminine stuff's bad, anyway, way back when?"
Naoto laughed. Kanji turned red and withdrew a little, feeling quite stupid, though his stomach curled at seeing her smile so broadly.
"That's a wonderful question."
She turned and kept walking slowly around the room, hands folded behind her back. Kanji shifted and clenched his hands in his pockets. She stopped in front of the workout bench and stared at the poster just above. It was old, sloughed-through white where it was creased and dog-eared, but huge, and an amazing find. He'd helped the old record store pack up a few years ago when they went out of business, back when Giga Macho had moved in, in exchange for getting to look through the dusty stacks of old poster rolls in the back room. The image was slightly grainy, faded, clearly blown up for poster size. Mishina Eikichi--Michel, as he called himself--was singing, balanced with one foot on a floor speaker, fierce and bright-eyed, clearly loving being on stage. Feral roar, curling up his lips around fangs. It was classic subversive punk; he was still wearing his school uniform, an unearthly shade of aqua, but mixed with a black armband with the band logo, bright blue hair, blue lipstick, classic heavy eyeliner. The tunic he wore beneath his jacket looked like a skirt over his pants, red tribal hem over black. Michel had inspired Kanji to pierce his own ears.
"It's a band," he finally said, after no comment was forthcoming. "Gas Chamber. Uh, old indie punk band. You've probably never heard of it."
Naoto didn't respond. Kanji scratched the back of his ankle with his toe and continued:
"Old record shop where I got it, they used to carry indie bands like this, small print runs. Stuff that's usually only known in the area where the bands live, you know? I mean, now, all that stuff's on the internet, but they were doing it back way before. Back when it was way harder as an indie artist to make it."
"Mm." Naoto stared for a while with her hands on her hips. Kanji tilted his head and watched.
"Is something wrong?" he finally asked.
"I get the feeling that I've heard of this before."
"Well, it's a band. I mean..."
Naoto shook her head and cupped her jaw, rubbing her cheek with her forefinger. "No, no. There's something more significant than that."
She stared for a moment longer. Finally, she turned around and sat on the end of the workout bench, took off her cap and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Never mind. It will come back to me, eventually."
They talked for a while, after that, Naoto sitting on the bench, Kanji sprawled on the couch. Naoto thought that thing he was talking about--how small bands can now get off the ground with internet, get people to pay for downloads, and make it pretty good without having to go through record companies--was an example of what she was calling 'democratization' of art and information, all possible because of the internet. It was amazing, the way she could make stuff that sounded boring and hard really interesting, and really easy to understand. He found himself listening with his mouth hanging open a little bit, nodding, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. Part of his brain told him he wasn't playing it cool enough, was being too obviously eager and engaged, but he didn't care. Naoto never made him feel judged, or like he had to put up a front. Ma had brought in tea, and Naoto had left hers untouched, so engaged was she in talking, eyes bright. Her face lit up in a way he seldom got to see, unmitigated passion. Her boyish, raspy voice sounded strained, as though she was not used to talking this much at one stretch.
"You have a shockingly good grasp of economics, you realize," she said. "You seem to think you're not very bright, because you do poorly in school, but you have a... functioning, I guess you'd call it, functioning grasp of things a lot of students utterly lack. Regurgitating information isn't an indicator of actual intelligence."
"Yeah, but..." Kanji blinked. "You... you do good on all those tests. You're the top student in our year."
Naoto shrugged. "They're simple. I mean--" Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean to imply that people who don't do well are stupid."
Kanji huffed and kicked at the rug. "Doesn't matter if they're simple or not. You still gotta do well on them to get into university, or anything. 'sa fucking miracle I made it into high school."
"Well, what do you want to do after you graduate?"
Kanji shrugged and stared at the far wall, huffed. This was absolutely not the direction he wanted things to go.
"Don't know," he finally said. "Thought about art school. Learning more about sewing, making stuff, things like that. Don't know how I can make a living doing that. Mechanic, maybe. I could get into that. Something where I get to work with my hands, or make stuff." He finally looked over at Naoto. "What about you? You still want to do that whole detective gig?"
Naoto thought for a moment. "Yes, but sometimes I wonder if I limited myself too young. There are lots of ways I can make a living by solving puzzles." She turned her cap over in her hands, huffed. "Being a detective's always been my dream, but it's not... well, achieving your dreams doesn't always make you happy. There's got to be more."
"...NANA," said Kanji. He sat up and half-pointed at Naoto, who looked puzzled. "I've got some stuff I need to lend you."
He scrambled over to his bookshelf and fingered out several volumes. The first few volumes of NANA. Sailor Moon--maybe that was best to give her before giving her deconstructions of the magical girl genre, like Magica Madoka, but Naoto was smart; she'd likely get the irony. Oh! Utena, absolutely Utena, all six volumes. He pawed those out and stacked them on top of NANA, looked over the large stack, and sat back, thinking.
Naoto walked over and leaned over his shoulder. He froze; current ran up his back, tingling, where he felt her heat; his stomach fluttered. She smelled--clean, that was the best way to describe it, like men's deodorant and rain and dust, but undertones of female, something distinctive, something Naoto. Or maybe he thought that now because he knew her gender. Her breath barely ghosted over the nape of his neck. He swallowed and scooted out of the way.
"Here!" It came out strange, strangled. He cleared his throat and slid the stack toward her, staring at the floor. Why am I blushing what the fuck I've been blushing all day--"These, uh, are some of my favorites. I think you'd like them."
Naoto knelt down and took the first book off the top of the stack, turned it over. She looked curious, a little confused. Blinked.
"They're really good," Kanji blurted. "Really. I know they look kinda silly, but they're really good."
Naoto studied the next book without comment. A pulse in Kanji's stomach was hammering. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms, trying his best to look utterly indifferent. Fucking amazing, how you can be so hypersensitive to any sign of criticism from somebody who makes you feel so accepted. What the fuck is up with that?
"You're sure it's okay to borrow these?" she finally said. Kanji exhaled.
"Yes, yes! Absolutely!"
It was getting late, and Naoto said she had to get going. They went downstairs and Kanji riffled through the kitchen drawers for a spare plastic bag she could use for the books. He tied the straps off neatly and held the bundle as she slipped on her shoes, regaining two inches of height in the process. Outside, the rain had stopped for the late evening fog, though the eves were still dripping. She tucked her umbrella under the arm holding her school bag and took the bundle with her free hand. Her fingers brushed the back of Kanji's hand, and while he felt his heart jump, she paused for a moment, almost flushing, and blinked, looking away for a moment, looked back with a genuine, slightly sardonic grin.
"Thank you for the books. And for everything. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah." Kanji didn't care that his face had cracked into a huge, stupid grin. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He waved and watched as she quickly disappeared into the fog, walking downhill toward the lower shopping district. He stared in the direction she had gone for a while after, though the fog quickly refilled her path, and he fancied he could see the slightest weight of substance, the slightest mask of disturbance, where she had cut through. He felt her distance in his chest. Finally, he sighed, stretched his shoulders, and walked back inside.
Ma was waiting for him at the kitchen counter. She nodded toward the table in the living room.
"I was just making tea. Why don't you join me?"
Kanji huffed through his nose, took a deep breath, and clasped his hands behind his back. He had promised himself he would not snap at his Ma anymore--that childish, selfish bullshit was behind him now--but defensiveness was making his shoulders tense; his biceps twitched, and he clenched his hands harder. He watched as Ma added tea leaves to her old clay teapot, focused on the chip in the ceramic at the tip of a wisteria blossom. That chip had been there as long as he could remember, idiosyncratic. Rain pattered distant on the roof; the smell seeped up through the wooden floor. The kettle whistled, and Kanji imagined he could smell the rust-dirt of hot metal as she poured boiling water over the leaves.
"Sit down, Kanji."
Kanji knelt on one of the cushions and stared at his fists on his knees. His back crawled as his mom brushed past him. She set down the teapot and two cups, and carefully arranged her kimono around her as she sat down across the table and sighed.
"Well, isn't this lovely?" She smiled and poured tea in Kanji's cup first, then her own. "There is nothing better than tea on a rainy day."
"I'm sorry I brought somebody home late without telling you," he blurted. He looked up when she did not respond; she was calmly blowing on her tea as though she had not heard him. He cleared his throat. "If that's what this is about."
Ma set the teacup down and folded her hands in her lap. "Well, you're awfully defensive about such a small thing. It's almost like you feel guilty."
"I-ah..." Kanji scratched the back of his head. "...I know you hate surprise visitors, when you're already dressed down."
"I wouldn't say hate." She took a long drink of her tea, paused for a moment with the cup under her nose, inhaled, and set it down carefully. "I know you're of an age where any kind of relationships, even friendships, between men and women, are fraught with difficulties. There are too many hormones involved, and you're not always thinking clearly."
Kanji stared down at his clenched fists for a while, swallowed.
"Aren't you going to drink your tea, dear?"
"Why're you bringing this up all of a sudden?"
"Kanji." Ma tilted her head down slightly and arched her eyebrows. "I know Naoto-kun isn't actually a boy."
Kanji sighed and scratched the back of his head. Ma calmly finished her tea, waiting for him to respond. The silence stretched.
"How did you know?"
"Oh, honey. News gets around in a small town. And I've always suspected she was a girl."
Kanji gulped down his tea in one swig and set the cup down heavily. He started to unfold his legs to stand. "Well, I'll help you clean up here--"
"Sit down."
Kanji collapsed back onto his ankles. Ma poured him and herself more tea, moving slowly and deliberately.
"I know there's a lot that goes on in your life I don't know about," she continued. "And that's fine. We all have our secrets. But you can't have girls in your room with the door closed, or when I'm not awake."
Blood rushed to his cheeks. He inhaled through his teeth and clenched his sleeve. Ma waited patiently, serenely.
"It's not like that," he finally said. His voice was slow, shaking. "We're not... dating, or anything like that. We're just friends."
"Mm-hm."
"We're not going to... do anything."
"Well, then there shouldn't be any problem."
"Well, what if I liked guys?" He realized he was half-shouting. "What would you do, ban guys from staying over?"
Okay, that was stupid; he was just digging himself in deeper. He clenched his fists and stared at the tabletop, shaking.
"Should I?"
"No!" He stood, stomped, and flung his hand out. That ain't what I meant--"
Ma regarded him, unamused, but not at all scared. He sucked air through clenched teeth and flung his fist down, shifting from foot to foot, restless with anger. His muscles were taught, crackling; he desperately wanted to discharge the energy by punching at something, breaking something. He clenched his hands behind his back and kept kicking at the floor.
"So, we have an understanding?" Ma finally said.
Kanji growled, bit back a full roar, and stomped, hard. Ma took a deep drink of her tea and sighed.
"You really are getting too old to throw tantrums."
"Wha--" Kanji's voice split. "I'm not throwing a tantrum!"
"Yes, you are."
Kanji sputtered. Ma finished her tea, stood, and gathered the teaware onto the tray.
"I'm just mad! What, I'm not allowed to get mad anymore?"
Ma arched her eyebrows at him on her way to the kitchen. Kanji growled, low in his throat, and grasped his right wrist harder. He stomped out of the room toward the stairs.
"Kanji-kun?" Ma called after him. "Do we have an understanding?"
"Get bent!"
He slammed the door to his room, and it reverberated down the woodframe house. He took several deep breaths, shaking, slid down the door, and buried his head in his hands. The rage seeped out of him almost immediately, replaced by a cold, nauseating shame that crawled down his spine to the pit of his stomach. It tasted metal on the back of his tongue, brought a surge of bile.
So much for getting more mature, anyway.
-------------------------------------------------
It was fully dark when Naoto returned to her apartment, but navigable in the light from the streetlamps. She dropped her cap, school bag, and jacket into one of the kitchen chairs, hefting the weight of the manga package. She did not realize how furrowed her brows had been until she sank down onto her bed, package beside her, and rubbed between her eyes.
She unknotted the shopping bag loops, and the first few volumes in the stack slid off, a crackle of plastic. She picked one up--Shoujo Kakumei Utena, volume 1--and stared at the cover, flipped the pages with her thumb. Smell of paper, hint of Kanji's house. She took a deep breath, set it down, and went out into the living room.
Glowing blue butterflies hovered over her laptop.
She stared for a moment. Her eyes were blurry, probably from standing up too quickly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, waited for the blankness to roll from her brain. Rubbed her eyes. Her vision was now clear, but the butterflies were still there, hovering, fluttering gently in blue light, shedding blue dust. One flapped its wings furiously and spiraled up and down in the column, then hovered again.
Her fingers twitched, hovering toward her pocket, though she wasn't carrying her gun. She cautiously padded toward the computer, tense, and leaned over on the counter. The screen was blank, reflecting the blue glow, the on-light blinking in standby mode. The hair on the back of her neck, on her forearms, rose, follicles going tight, and something light crackled across her tongue. She took a deep breath and wiggled the mouse.
The screen flickered on. She had not been expecting the Windows log-on, but she was still slightly shocked not to have it light up in full. The black slightly back-lit, tinge of grey, and a simple log-on in blue glowing font showed up. It was the same blue as the butterflies.
Collective Unconscious Server
Log on
Name: |
I, ______________, give my word that I will take full responsibility for my actions and decisions.
The cursor was blinking in the 'name' slot. Naoto typed her name, the hiragana compressing to kanji as she completed the compounds. As she typed, the characters appeared in the blank space in the contract. She stared at the screen for a long time, at the cursor blinking after her completed name, at the small box at the bottom labeled "continue". Her heart pounded, sour.
Finally, she clicked on the box.
-----------------
*The word Naoto uses here is actually the English loanword, 'misogyny'. The Japanese word for the term would have been clear to Kanji, as it literally means "hating women", but the implications are different. Naoto has been reading online literature that differentiates.