One spring day a cat wandered into the archery range.
There wasn’t anything remarkable about that. Cats wander where they wander. But it was a change in the air, an inciting incident. The cat became a target; a victim to the dissatisfaction of others.
Normally he wouldn’t say anything. No matter how much of a mess of the place they made, no matter how mad it would make Keito, no matter how much he wanted this place to remain his untouched sanctuary, he would never say anything. But those boys-- older, restless, forces of nature with nothing of value to call their own-- had found a new game. A different game. One he couldn’t just shut out by filling his head with fantasies and symphonies.
It all happened so quickly. When one of the delinquents had grabbed one of the archery bows from its stand and levelled an arrow at the cat, his stomach turned. He moved without thinking. They jeered at him, yelled at him to stay out of it, it was just a cat, what was he getting so worked up for? Put it down! Let it run! If it really wants to live so badly then it shouldn’t have crossed their path! They were angry, frustrated, and all they wanted was to take out their frustrations on something-- anything.
So they started chasing him. Pushing him. Trying to get him to let go, trying to force him down.
He tried to run, still holding the frightened cat to his chest. He tried to be careful of the fresh burns singing its paws and tail but it was such a big cat, he thinks even Sena would have trouble holding it up while on the run.
But then suddenly he fell-- no one even pushed him, he just slipped-- and gravity pulled him ruthlessly to the ground.
When he regained consciousness after a while he was all alone. Except for the cat in his arms meowing loudly over and over and over, help us help us help us.
He couldn’t move. His arm, the arm he had landed on, was screaming, burning, throbbing in pain. It was bent in an odd way that he’d never even seen before, and the warmth seeping from it was red and sticky. The cat kept meowing and that was all he could hear in his head. He was grateful that she was still there with him, she hadn’t left him alone. Her meowing, his wild heartbeat in his ears, the steady pulsing pain in his arm, all together it sounded like a song. He wanted to write it down. He couldn’t find any pens or paper so he would have to make due with what he had, or else surely it would go from his mind and never return. He would use the sticky red on the ground-- truly he was really lucky for it to be here!
Lucky… he was lucky…. The cat was safe now, and at least one of his arms was still working. More importantly this experience-- all this pain that he felt-- he had never experienced such pain before. It wasn’t a tragedy at all, but a valuable source of inspiration. He was happy! Grateful, even!
That he could write such a beautiful masterpiece out of such a painful experience!
He didn’t want to be mad. He wanted to get along, so.
Definitely.
Truly.
He was happy.
He had to be happy.
If he wasn’t happy about it then he would have to cry.
[ IMPORTANT NOTES
- if the memory is confusing in any way it's just because his memory is bad i swear it's not because i'm bad at writing this is written to be intentionally confusing promise - this is the cat. she's okay now she's leo's cat now and her name is Little John she has kittens later she's a good girl. ]
You have to know. You have to find out yourself. After all, you had told him that you would take care of it yourself, you didn't need his help, you didn't need him to interfere with your business. He was wrong, you told him. He didn't understand anything at all!
But there are doubts in your heart. Since a while ago, dark seeds that took root and began to fester as you tried your best to ignore them, to smile and pretend like nothing was wrong. You don't want to doubt them. You should believe in them, your comrades in arms. After all, you all shared the same goals, the same dreams. Or at least that's how it should have been. In the end, because of the decisions of a certain angelic emperor, your entire unit was forced to split off into pieces… and after that you were made into the leader of the remnants that were left behind.
It was only after you were given the crown that you started to see the cracks. The missed practices, the infighting, the wasted funds, the duels staged to humiliate and beat others down using your songs-- your weapons.
You hate it. You're exhausted. You feel suffocated. You feel like you're standing on your own, in the middle of a crumbling stage with all eyes on you, watching and waiting to see how you break. And you know, deep down, that it's not a question of "if"-- but when. The crown is too heavy, and the dark seeds that settled underneath your skin have started to take root, to bleed you dry until there's nothing left of you but a tired husk.
Which is why you have to rip them out.
You have to ask them yourself, every single one of them, face-to-face.
You can't just let yourself be protected anymore.
So you call a meeting with your beloved former comrades-- the ones who had been forced to split off from your unit to form their own. You still care for them. You still want to be friends.
"Who am I to you?"
You ask the first one -- the standing leader. He's startled at first. After all, who does something like that out of the blue? It's just like you to ask something like that all of a sudden, He says with a smile. How funny! Isn't it obvious that you're friends? He really likes you! You're so talented! You're a genius!
But words are just words. Anyone can say anything. Anyone can just lie.
So you smile back, and you ask again. "What about my songs? When it comes right down to it, what would you choose?"
He doesn't understand at first. So you continue.
"If you love me and you want to be my friend… then I won't let you use my songs ever again. But if you become my enemy… then you can use my songs for free, whenever you want, as much as you want."
"Oh." Without hesitation, "Then obviously I would choose your songs!"
You honestly wish that you could feel surprised. That you could feel anything other than the cold dawning of realization in your chest.
But you ask every one of them. One by one, you pull them aside and ask the same question. You fall into the worst trap that doubt leaves in your heart-- the sliver of hope that you might be wrong. That at least one of them had felt the same way you felt-- that at least somebody here might actually care about you, that they might actually love you the same way you loved them.
But they were right all along. And every single former member of your unit rejects you.
They reject you with a smile, and with praise.
"Your compositions really are masterpieces."
MEMORY #2:
"So you’re saying the reason we lost so badly in our last performance... was all because of me…?
“It’s your fault for not being able to follow along with my songs” You really just said that, King?"
Your heart sinks at "King". Even though you've been called King countless times by now, you've never heard it from him. The boy in front of you now, looking at you with a scornful gaze that just barely hides the edges of hurt in his eyes.
"... so you've stopped calling me by my name too, huh." You try not to sound as brittle as you feel. "But I guess compared to everyone else, you held out for a really long time. Of course you would, you're more hardworking than anyone, and you've got more talent and ability than average. But you couldn't take it."
He doesn't respond. Good. You keep going, your words formed like knives to cut.
"Not even you could manage! What should I do now? What am I supposed to do? I don't even know anymore! Got any ideas? You're smart, after all, and you always taught me important things! So I’ll put some faith in you and just ask this one last question… why? Why did things turn out like this?"
The boy snaps back in defense, unable to take the abuse anymore. "That's exactly what we're trying to figure out right now, right? Don't run away from it, and stop blaming everything on others. No, actually just stop making it sound like everything's my fault! I gave it everything I had! Because I liked you, and I liked your songs! I worked so hard to make everyone else -- to make everyone in the whole world like them too! Even as everyone else who once called themselves our comrades got sick of it and left, I stayed and I sang!"
It isn't fair at all. You know it, but you can't stop. You're hurt and frustrated and you feel so useless-- so powerless to stop everything from falling down around you. It can't be your fault, right? It has to be his fault-- this perfect, beautiful, wonderful boy who has always stood by your side, who has always taken care of you, who has always protected you-- everything is his fault!
He blames you for writing gloomy songs-- artistic and incomprehensible songs that are difficult to sing and even more difficult to listen to. But it's his fault you can't write happy songs anymore! Since you keep losing he's just mad all the time! Everyone else had already abandoned you, no one but him ever really wanted to listen to your songs, so why should you be happy when he isn't happy? He is your only light.
"I’ve reached my limit, you know! Just smile for my sake already!!" You snap, "You're the only one I need! If you can't even do that for me, I'll… I'll fall apart! I'll be rusted and useless and covered in scratches! And all because you wouldn't be the sheath to protect me-!!"
He looks disgusted as he responds, his angelic face twisting into a scowl. "What are you even talking about? There’s no way I can smile in this situation, right? Are you just feeding off me to sustain your composing or something? And now you’re even complaining I’ve lost my flavor? Who do you think you are? I’m not your slave or your food… actually I've always wanted to say that to you, but I never did! All because you were my friend. Someone equal to me, someone important, my very first—"
"Oh, so you actually did like me a little? That’s the first I’ve heard of it! Tell me sooner!" You cut in, sharp and full of poison. "Even though it wouldn’t have made a difference in how everything turned out in the end. It was just a matter of when, right?"
After all the two of you were destined to end like this. It was inevitable. You played right into that emperor's designs.
"It’s just meaningless no matter what masterpieces I make! Everyone will just assume we're some terrible, hateful lot! No song will reach their ears or their hearts! Not even their brains! No one will ever love us! This keeps happening over and over and I can’t take it anymore! Everything’s over, all of it!!"
Your voice is starting to break. You're starting to break. You can't take it anymore.
Your beautiful muse, filled with anger and with pride-- your only friend who has always known everything, who has always known what to do-- hesitates for a moment.
You wonder if he realizes yet. Just how final the death knells in your songs have become, the sheer absurdity in continuing to dance on the stage that was set for you and him.
Maybe he doesn't always know everything after all.
"And you want to say the fact we got driven into this corner is also my fault...?"
"Isn’t it? This is what you wanted! I was just happy having fun singing with everyone! It’s because you had eyes only for the top! Because you wanted to strut around and massacre everyone you didn’t like! So I tried to make a path for you! The only thing I can do is compose, so I put my whole heart into that! And this is what happened! I thought that if I made some amazing masterpiece, it would move even those guys who hate us, and maybe they’d come to like us!"
As if by the sheer force of your frustration and your pain, the floodgates have opened. Your eyes burn, vision blurring through tears as your shouting turns to something closer to a desperate wail.
"But they didn’t! I couldn’t manage it... I was never a genius! Even though you believed in me, even though you loved me, I couldn’t do anything at all!!"
He says your name, then. Stunned and uncertain how to respond. You've never really cried in front of him like this.
"I-I’m going home!" You stammer. Maybe it's the tone of his voice, or maybe it's the fact that you're finally crying, but somehow the sheer weight of everything you just said has caught up to you. "I dunno what I’m even saying anymore! Sorry! Forget everything I said - the king’s orders are absolute!!"
"Wait, don’t you hate being called that?"
You don't answer.
"Are you listening? Heeey, look, I said too much as well! I’ll apologize, so let’s talk it out properly, okay? Hey, do you hear me?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
FOR PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESS
There wasn’t anything remarkable about that. Cats wander where they wander. But it was a change in the air, an inciting incident. The cat became a target; a victim to the dissatisfaction of others.
Normally he wouldn’t say anything. No matter how much of a mess of the place they made, no matter how mad it would make Keito, no matter how much he wanted this place to remain his untouched sanctuary, he would never say anything. But those boys-- older, restless, forces of nature with nothing of value to call their own-- had found a new game. A different game. One he couldn’t just shut out by filling his head with fantasies and symphonies.
It all happened so quickly. When one of the delinquents had grabbed one of the archery bows from its stand and levelled an arrow at the cat, his stomach turned. He moved without thinking. They jeered at him, yelled at him to stay out of it, it was just a cat, what was he getting so worked up for? Put it down! Let it run! If it really wants to live so badly then it shouldn’t have crossed their path! They were angry, frustrated, and all they wanted was to take out their frustrations on something-- anything.
So they started chasing him. Pushing him. Trying to get him to let go, trying to force him down.
He tried to run, still holding the frightened cat to his chest. He tried to be careful of the fresh burns singing its paws and tail but it was such a big cat, he thinks even Sena would have trouble holding it up while on the run.
But then suddenly he fell-- no one even pushed him, he just slipped-- and gravity pulled him ruthlessly to the ground.
When he regained consciousness after a while he was all alone. Except for the cat in his arms meowing loudly over and over and over, help us help us help us.
He couldn’t move. His arm, the arm he had landed on, was screaming, burning, throbbing in pain. It was bent in an odd way that he’d never even seen before, and the warmth seeping from it was red and sticky. The cat kept meowing and that was all he could hear in his head. He was grateful that she was still there with him, she hadn’t left him alone. Her meowing, his wild heartbeat in his ears, the steady pulsing pain in his arm, all together it sounded like a song. He wanted to write it down. He couldn’t find any pens or paper so he would have to make due with what he had, or else surely it would go from his mind and never return. He would use the sticky red on the ground-- truly he was really lucky for it to be here!
Lucky… he was lucky…. The cat was safe now, and at least one of his arms was still working. More importantly this experience-- all this pain that he felt-- he had never experienced such pain before. It wasn’t a tragedy at all, but a valuable source of inspiration. He was happy! Grateful, even!
That he could write such a beautiful masterpiece out of such a painful experience!
He didn’t want to be mad. He wanted to get along, so.
Definitely.
Truly.
He was happy.
He had to be happy.
If he wasn’t happy about it then he would have to cry.
[ IMPORTANT NOTES
- if the memory is confusing in any way it's just because his memory is bad i swear it's not because i'm bad at writing this is written to be intentionally confusing promise
- this is the cat. she's okay now she's leo's cat now and her name is Little John she has kittens later she's a good girl. ]
FOR MEMORY GAME 10/2019
You have to know. You have to find out yourself. After all, you had told him that you would take care of it yourself, you didn't need his help, you didn't need him to interfere with your business. He was wrong, you told him. He didn't understand anything at all!
But there are doubts in your heart. Since a while ago, dark seeds that took root and began to fester as you tried your best to ignore them, to smile and pretend like nothing was wrong. You don't want to doubt them. You should believe in them, your comrades in arms. After all, you all shared the same goals, the same dreams. Or at least that's how it should have been. In the end, because of the decisions of a certain angelic emperor, your entire unit was forced to split off into pieces… and after that you were made into the leader of the remnants that were left behind.
It was only after you were given the crown that you started to see the cracks. The missed practices, the infighting, the wasted funds, the duels staged to humiliate and beat others down using your songs-- your weapons.
You hate it. You're exhausted. You feel suffocated. You feel like you're standing on your own, in the middle of a crumbling stage with all eyes on you, watching and waiting to see how you break. And you know, deep down, that it's not a question of "if"-- but when. The crown is too heavy, and the dark seeds that settled underneath your skin have started to take root, to bleed you dry until there's nothing left of you but a tired husk.
Which is why you have to rip them out.
You have to ask them yourself, every single one of them, face-to-face.
You can't just let yourself be protected anymore.
So you call a meeting with your beloved former comrades-- the ones who had been forced to split off from your unit to form their own. You still care for them. You still want to be friends.
"Who am I to you?"
You ask the first one -- the standing leader. He's startled at first. After all, who does something like that out of the blue? It's just like you to ask something like that all of a sudden, He says with a smile. How funny! Isn't it obvious that you're friends? He really likes you! You're so talented! You're a genius!
But words are just words. Anyone can say anything. Anyone can just lie.
So you smile back, and you ask again. "What about my songs? When it comes right down to it, what would you choose?"
He doesn't understand at first. So you continue.
"If you love me and you want to be my friend… then I won't let you use my songs ever again. But if you become my enemy… then you can use my songs for free, whenever you want, as much as you want."
"Oh." Without hesitation, "Then obviously I would choose your songs!"
You honestly wish that you could feel surprised. That you could feel anything other than the cold dawning of realization in your chest.
But you ask every one of them. One by one, you pull them aside and ask the same question. You fall into the worst trap that doubt leaves in your heart-- the sliver of hope that you might be wrong. That at least one of them had felt the same way you felt-- that at least somebody here might actually care about you, that they might actually love you the same way you loved them.
But they were right all along. And every single former member of your unit rejects you.
They reject you with a smile, and with praise.
"Your compositions really are masterpieces."
MEMORY #2:
"So you’re saying the reason we lost so badly in our last performance... was all because of me…?
“It’s your fault for not being able to follow along with my songs” You really just said that, King?"
Your heart sinks at "King". Even though you've been called King countless times by now, you've never heard it from him. The boy in front of you now, looking at you with a scornful gaze that just barely hides the edges of hurt in his eyes.
"... so you've stopped calling me by my name too, huh." You try not to sound as brittle as you feel. "But I guess compared to everyone else, you held out for a really long time. Of course you would, you're more hardworking than anyone, and you've got more talent and ability than average. But you couldn't take it."
He doesn't respond. Good. You keep going, your words formed like knives to cut.
"Not even you could manage! What should I do now? What am I supposed to do? I don't even know anymore! Got any ideas? You're smart, after all, and you always taught me important things! So I’ll put some faith in you and just ask this one last question… why? Why did things turn out like this?"
The boy snaps back in defense, unable to take the abuse anymore. "That's exactly what we're trying to figure out right now, right? Don't run away from it, and stop blaming everything on others. No, actually just stop making it sound like everything's my fault! I gave it everything I had! Because I liked you, and I liked your songs! I worked so hard to make everyone else -- to make everyone in the whole world like them too! Even as everyone else who once called themselves our comrades got sick of it and left, I stayed and I sang!"
It isn't fair at all. You know it, but you can't stop. You're hurt and frustrated and you feel so useless-- so powerless to stop everything from falling down around you. It can't be your fault, right? It has to be his fault-- this perfect, beautiful, wonderful boy who has always stood by your side, who has always taken care of you, who has always protected you-- everything is his fault!
He blames you for writing gloomy songs-- artistic and incomprehensible songs that are difficult to sing and even more difficult to listen to. But it's his fault you can't write happy songs anymore! Since you keep losing he's just mad all the time! Everyone else had already abandoned you, no one but him ever really wanted to listen to your songs, so why should you be happy when he isn't happy? He is your only light.
"I’ve reached my limit, you know! Just smile for my sake already!!" You snap, "You're the only one I need! If you can't even do that for me, I'll… I'll fall apart! I'll be rusted and useless and covered in scratches! And all because you wouldn't be the sheath to protect me-!!"
He looks disgusted as he responds, his angelic face twisting into a scowl. "What are you even talking about? There’s no way I can smile in this situation, right? Are you just feeding off me to sustain your composing or something? And now you’re even complaining I’ve lost my flavor? Who do you think you are? I’m not your slave or your food… actually I've always wanted to say that to you, but I never did! All because you were my friend. Someone equal to me, someone important, my very first—"
"Oh, so you actually did like me a little? That’s the first I’ve heard of it! Tell me sooner!" You cut in, sharp and full of poison. "Even though it wouldn’t have made a difference in how everything turned out in the end. It was just a matter of when, right?"
After all the two of you were destined to end like this. It was inevitable. You played right into that emperor's designs.
"It’s just meaningless no matter what masterpieces I make! Everyone will just assume we're some terrible, hateful lot! No song will reach their ears or their hearts! Not even their brains! No one will ever love us! This keeps happening over and over and I can’t take it anymore! Everything’s over, all of it!!"
Your voice is starting to break. You're starting to break. You can't take it anymore.
Your beautiful muse, filled with anger and with pride-- your only friend who has always known everything, who has always known what to do-- hesitates for a moment.
You wonder if he realizes yet. Just how final the death knells in your songs have become, the sheer absurdity in continuing to dance on the stage that was set for you and him.
Maybe he doesn't always know everything after all.
"And you want to say the fact we got driven into this corner is also my fault...?"
"Isn’t it? This is what you wanted! I was just happy having fun singing with everyone! It’s because you had eyes only for the top! Because you wanted to strut around and massacre everyone you didn’t like! So I tried to make a path for you! The only thing I can do is compose, so I put my whole heart into that! And this is what happened! I thought that if I made some amazing masterpiece, it would move even those guys who hate us, and maybe they’d come to like us!"
As if by the sheer force of your frustration and your pain, the floodgates have opened. Your eyes burn, vision blurring through tears as your shouting turns to something closer to a desperate wail.
"But they didn’t! I couldn’t manage it... I was never a genius! Even though you believed in me, even though you loved me, I couldn’t do anything at all!!"
He says your name, then. Stunned and uncertain how to respond. You've never really cried in front of him like this.
"I-I’m going home!" You stammer. Maybe it's the tone of his voice, or maybe it's the fact that you're finally crying, but somehow the sheer weight of everything you just said has caught up to you. "I dunno what I’m even saying anymore! Sorry! Forget everything I said - the king’s orders are absolute!!"
"Wait, don’t you hate being called that?"
You don't answer.
"Are you listening? Heeey, look, I said too much as well! I’ll apologize, so let’s talk it out properly, okay? Hey, do you hear me?"
You're too ashamed. This argument is over.
You just want to disappear.