Hello there! Ever since last year when my mom got me Devil Survivor 2: Record Breaker on some crazy whim, I have been overly obsessed with this game. So I mean of course I have to write a fanfiction about it, duh!
Let's see... I guess I should list some basics about it. It's gonna be pretty short (for what I usually write) so if you don't like long stories look forward to that. Also the main character has the lamest of names, Starra Terr (a pun both on my fanfiction name and "starter" because I haven't played the first game hahahahahaha) and he's kind of but not like the MC in DS2. What else... If you're looking for a story where I hate on some character, sorry but the only character I'm not in love with is Mizar... cuz... cuz Mizar.
Okay! Ummm welcome!
The Fifth Day
Drawing a long, slender hand over my face, I tried to breathe. Slightly tanning skin peeked through my pinched eyes, and it was easy to see, in the cupped palm in front of me, simply that: the image of the monster we just slew.
I felt bad when we defeated them. I didn't know. I just... That was probably bad.
It certainly didn't help me. I grew distracted in battle, opened pockets of attack. Ah, it's like Yamato mentioned—If you continue with this, I'm afraid I'll lose a valuable asset. And I'm sure we don't want that. It was hard telling him what I did want and didn't want, so he rather easily decided for himself my main interests.
And what were my interests, exactly..? I wasn't so sure myself. Was anyone, at that time? Well. I doubt it.
"U-Umm..." A soft, feathery voice broke through my thoughts. I drew my hand back to my side and glanced off to the girl beside me. Io's serene, pale face, rosy brown eyes and bobbed rosy brown hair met me. She had her lips pursed together, shaking somewhat. She gave off the sense that she was cold; I scooted closer to her.
I towered a little over her, which I guess boys usually like to have when they talk with others. Girls mostly. I think. I'm still not sure. Nodding, my grin pinching my lip, I asked with my eyes for her to go on.
"Well... I was just thinking, um... Starra..." Eying this way, eying there. Shadows gathered like hands about us, and certain pockets were shady enough to suggest the coat of demons. Particularly Io glanced about there. Behind us, mostly. She would hold up and stop and look and stop again and look back at me. And then she would smile, a little shy, the sorry ready to be spoken but cowardly enough to stay in hiding.
She started again, lightly pink. "I was just wondering... u-um, if we really only have two more days of this. R-Right? I mean..." Head turned again. She couldn't bring herself to look toward me. "After that... I wonder what happens... when a-all of the..." She paused, drawing for the word. "Th-The Sep—Septentriones are all gone..."
Perhaps it's only been so long that we were shoved into the world of demons, of Septentriones, of all the other questions hanging above our heads now; I liked them. I really liked them now—Io, and Joe, and Hinako, and...
She had a soft way of doing things, Io. She liked to study. She wasn't one who wished to be moved from her place in the world, from what she wanted and what she liked—the happiness of others before her own. Simple-minded at times, but altogether sweet and adoring.
Smiling weakly, she waited as I nodded back and bumped into her. It caused a giggle in turn. A tiny Io giggle: thoughtful, gentle, whole.
Pausing. She looked up into the sky, into the spectacle of stars, and she drew in a breath again, whispering, "I wonder what it'll be like... What do you—u-umm..." She glanced down. "Do you think it'll be... a nice thing? Whe-When all the Septentriones are gone... and... wh-whatever's next is... revealed? And, hopefully, resolved?"
I nodded again. Of course...
Her face lit up in an aureole of color. Only on the edges, and not at all fully, not at all fulsome or fickle or irksome, just an Io lightness that made the others thankful for her. "Y-Yeah... I-I like to think that, too." Something nice...
Did she know that I cared about her? It... It was hard to show, but I did. A lot.
Like... a sister, I guess. I never had a sibling—and Daichi didn't count—but she was a warm presence, and I liked walking with her, talking with her in the semi-warmth of the evening, just before the curtains of night came crashing in.
She thought the Septentriones were creepy. But she had a few demons she was attached to, so. Sometimes when I mentioned how I felt about the monsters and vanquishing them to their Hell, she'd alter, stifled, on her own opinion. Face flushed, stepping back, thinking, thinking, notoriously tweaking. The poor thing. Poor, sweet Io.
Tmp tmp tmp tmp...
We both turned, each our own shade of flustered. Io squeaked as the suited creature stepped forth into a close enough distance to see. By then she's grinning, and I lifted a hand and waved, all bubbly and excitement. Then—ah, but I must—I tore down the little street and bumbled up toward him, mouthing his name clearly.
Dark glasses glisten about the eye. A smooth lip, soft whistling, one foot tapping cheerfully into the street with the pumping of my own shoes and his hand folded on one side. "Oh, hey guys! I did not expect you here, uh?" Chuckle. Joe's nodding to himself then.
Io followed after me, nodding in turn. "Well... it's always nice to see you..! Heheh..." Gently she squeezed in beside me, our shoulders bumping, her face bright and warm.
And then there was only one missing. I shook my head, bit my lip, sighed. It was nothing. Be-Besides...
"Heeeey, Starra, why's the long face? It looks kinda dorky on you—heh," Joe remarked, smooth voice pulling me back to his sight. He dominated by a good few inches over the both of us, Io and I more nearing in size.
Daichi was a little taller than me. But—But just a little. Though I think he liked that, being taller than his...
"Hey—there it is again. Dude, what's up? C'mon, you can tell us."
Then he remembered. Joe, embarrassed, tipped his dark hat toward me. The white stripes, small and thin, reminded me of the stars overhead, as he kept those pale fingers doffed with his hat and stuffed the other hand into his suit pocket, unearthing a worn-out pen and some folded-over papers. Most of it had scratches of ink without rhythm in circles; some plucked out could find symmetry, but we mostly wrote wherever the pen fell, so it was a bit of an eclectic art.
He plopped the paper in my hands. Grinning, sharing in his red tinge, I unfolded and unwrapped the parchment, grasping the pen, quickly scribbling out:
Don't worry about it!
Joe shoved himself toward my other side, and we squinted at the paper in the semidarkness. Pouting, Io rustled a bit against me, then mumbled an apology, then pouted again. Her rosy red jacket rubbed against me.
Because that's how he did things, Joe took a fistful of my hood and pulled it over my head. Curly hair crawled into my eyes and itched—a lot—as he hummed to himself, taking the pen and tacking his words.
He'd scratched out my sentence. Below it read, What's going on?
Blushing. I shook my head. Io pouted again, a soft moue in my ear. Joe tapped his foot on a distinguished bit onto granite earth, then tapped at his question, stuffing the pen in my fisted fingers that I couldn't close fast enough.
I was tempted to write some trivial problem. But... well... Io's gentle whisper, Joe's smooth, languid speech... I... well... I didn't have that. They wouldn't know.
Strangely the Septentriones came to mind as I flourished the point of the pen, pulling it into the quality pages. Their cries of gibberish, their transcendence into a plane of existence we had yet to comprehend, their incomprehensible faces as they were all but lost to the rest of the world. And... strange to think, we may have been the only ones to see it.
Swallowing, I quickly managed.
I miss him
Quiet.
They weren't... dense. My friends. It was nice, having them draw out from my pained expressions what I thought, what I felt, what I sought long for... A nice person who didn't take their words and placate themselves... so I felt... close...
But... but he...
It was stupid. I was stupid. We were teenage boys, of course he'd mention some of the girls to me. And he was himself. He couldn't read me like that—we knew each other for years, for the longest time, and when I came out my parents finally made the choice they'd been hiding to themselves for years, to drop me, whatever. His parents were cool. I liked them. I liked him—no... oh, we all knew it was more than that.
He couldn't read people. He was a bit rash. He was a bit slow.
He said he loved me.
Of course he'd be attracted. Of course he'd forget. Of course he'd lose sight of his stupid, mute boyfriend in the sea of those casually feminine woes, of course I'd stop mattering, of course he'd forget, of course, of course, of course.
I tried to smile. I think it worked.
Io wrapped her little self about me, pulled me into one of her tightly gentle hugs, her special Io hugs.
With a sigh, with a shake of his head, Joe merely smiled his sad Joe smile. The one he gave himself when he thought about his girlfriend. The one that strangely, when I saw it, felt precious, something not to be forgotten so easily. Something I wanted to hold, to protect.
Daichi had a laugh. It was his Daichi laugh.
I hadn't heard it recently. I think he was breaking down in the effects of the crisis.
I don't think it helped that I wasn't.
Gripping the pen, I wrote hard on the paper:
ITS ALRIGHT
They didn't believe me. It's whatever. I didn't think they would anyways. They were... good... at reading me.
My head tilted with the bump on my face, the grimace. But I was alright. Of course...
Taking in the sight of me, there was a lull in conversation. Joe gently cupped the paper out of my hands; he stepped back some, and whatever he saw in me must've been a bit hard for him, because he stepped back more and paused for a time.
Shaking herself, squeezing me, Io murmured her sweet lulls of tone; then she stirred too, glimpsing in the direction of our friend and watching with drawn eyes. When Joe returned he brought in with him the notion of Yamato, and the meal we just had, and what Yamato told us. Something along the lines of a... a world, a new world, a different one very unlike this, one driven on... power, I guess: merit. Hierarchy. The thought, I could tell, made Io queasy, and Joe didn't look particularly ready to accept some sort of "strength-driven ideal" just yet, or whatever was going to happen to us at the end of the Septentriones. So the words didn't last very long.
Evening peaked and drifted away, turning the spool, summoning the curtains of the end of days and with it a dark release. We were still strolling off of—Nagoya, it was at the time—and sweet Io, bless her soul, murmured something about how tired she was and bid us well in leave. "I-I'll see you tomorrow!" A smile, a voice, and she left us on the barren avenue.
Tmp tmp tmp tmp... tmp tmp tmp... tmmpp...
And then it was Joe, and then it was me. He seemed to shake off some long-held thought, like the occasionally, mildly-intriguing stone, only to finally roll his eyes upon me and say: "Starra, I gotta tell you a little something... I... ahh.
He turned away. A large, shady building stood out in the midst of collecting void, the high light of the hospital piercing like a tower shining down on this purgatory, lifting and calling in hopes of redemption. His face would pinch a bit when he looked that way. "My girl... well. You know. She's gotten me to try and pull myself down a li'l more in... you know, heavy things. So, uh, gimme a moment, alright?
Deep breath. Pause. Swallow.
"I get it." Shake of the head. "We're goin' through all kindsa fun and here goes old Joe, telling the youngsters about his 'life wisdom', huh. Well... I dunno. It took me awhile. And... maybe it'd help but..."
I lifted myself, glancing in his direction. The shadows of the evening caught all along my cheeks, my eyes, the bridge of my nose. Scribbling, scribbling excitedly like a child had a hold on the canvas of my skin, and I dared not defy it, I dared not move.
"I just... you need to open up a bit more—you're like... it's like..." Joe's eyes veered off of me. They settled upon one particular section of the hospital, somewhat high up, where the more "permanent" of the patients lied. "I'unno. This is kind of off the top of my head—heh. Some guy, huh. But... You know that Daichi doesn't hear you very well... but you stop, after that. I think you need to reach out to him a little more, try to make him see you again... because there's no way he'd..."
The adult's eyes glazed over. His lips moved with a breath, absentmindedly, without the touch of word, the sound of voice. He stood there, staring deeply into the building far up in the sky, and far up ahead, too far to reach before night would encase us, and it was like he couldn't move, like moving would shatter this moment apart. And I stood there with him, and I couldn't move too, and I watched, quietly, as he watched the tower of a medical station, the floor up above.
His hand came down gently upon my shoulder.
I casually stuffed my hand into his pocket, and, plucking the paper, pricking my finger on the pen, I hastily jotted out, I'm listening.
His eyes played with the paper. Small smile. Gratitude, I think.
"Good. You do that."
He took the paper and pen and folded them up, rolling the pen into the crease, put them away again. It was growing to the stage of night that soon my writing would be but another stain of black in the atmosphere.
Still Joe waited. Not much longer.
The arrival of footfalls cracked on the street: big, heavy feet, resounding with a sense of purpose.
Tomp, tomp, tomp, tomp.
The silhouette could be gently made out ahead of us. Joe shifted, starting forward, nervously back, awkwardly lifting a hand to wave. A head of wavy brown hair, a skin tone more darkly set than ours, and Io's, too. A profoundly-shaped face, sharp chin, narrowed and bold eyes that stuck to you as they moved. His smile was grim. Very small. Hands in his pockets, eyebrows arched.
"Hrrrm? Joe, what patience brings you here?"
My friend nodded, shifting towards the man in front of us. His usually slow and charismatic tone, chipper and bright, had lowered distinctly. "It's just—well—you know—Yammy's been talking again. I got the feeling I should tell you bout it, yeah? You've been a great help and all..." One long sidelong glance at the hospital, and then back to the face of the man in front of us.
Ronaldo Kuriki turned toward me, nodded sullenly, then back to Joe again. "Of course. What is it?"
I thought maybe I should wave too, like Joe had, but ultimately the whole scene made me little uncomfortable, so I settled with shifting closer to the guy I'd known and trusted with my life for however many days now, the one with his hand pressed on my shoulder.
"He's got this plan..." Joe's voice took another step down. He sounded hollow. Or nervous, maybe. "See, like... I think—apparently Yamato's going to recreate the world at the end of the Septentriones' fall or whatever, and he's gonna make it so that he and his buddies have all the... power, I guess, and then everyone else..." That queasy look again. His eyes dangerously darted back and forth, the light of the hospital frantic within him.
Maybe I copied it or something, but Ronaldo's hard brown eyes gave me this sliding glance, and then he was back with my friend again, nodding, thinking. "Ah... well. I'm sure there are others like you who don't think that's such a noble way for procession. And with that, perhaps finally my justice might be... well, it's a start." Slow nod. "It's a start.
One more look. "Starra, what do you think of... ahh, Yamato Hotsuin is such a fool... What would be so stupid as a merit... ahh, meritocracy?"
Ronaldo was quiet in the pressure of the dark, like for once he wasn't yelling across eons of people to spread his word, to spread against the Evils of Yamato Hotsuin; like everyone was right here, and softly he could tell them what the world needed to hear, and it would be everything he ever needed.
Watching me quietly, I shook my head.
I didn't know. I wasn't really thinking about something as big as the fate of the world at that time. I was thinking about Joe, wondering if he was around this guy more than I'd originally thought, wondering what it was Ronaldo did for him.
Wondering about Daichi. What Daichi was doing. Why I was so nervous to leave back for the night, meet up with the others, see him again. Why I was always this nervous now. Because I didn't like it, but it wouldn't go away either.
Honestly I didn't know what to do with myself. So I shook my head no, because I really didn't know.
"What shall we call it?" he pierced the air with a cry, "oh, but what shall we call it! Something far exceeding the hideous plans of that poor, lost child! Why, only my justice could say. But only! And with this justice I embed that there shall be not a heinous merit-driven injustice of our people! No, but only one of equality shall see the light of day! People, brethren, everyone! There is nothing without justice, oh, nothing!"
The voice came from somewhere far away, and far within Ronaldo, and it was louder than it felt like it was.
Joe was nodding slowly. "Yeah... I get that, Ronnie. I get that. Well... more than the other side, at least."
Their talk dwindled, and like he always does, Joe mentioned an empty stomach, so we left shortly after. He called "Ronnie" before we went, telling him that he hoped to see something much better than Yamato's ideals in the future, and Ronaldo's voice came with a resounding crash.
Watching over us, the light of the hospital beckoned. Joe's sunglasses were caught with the light. His pale, angular face. His dark hair, mostly hidden beneath the hat. His suit, his long and thin hands. The big, brown, eyes, and something else within all of this, something that made him feel special, and different from others.
I think I looked up to him a little more than I should've. I think it was a little too easy for me to follow someone else's voice than try to summon my own.
I think it was hard, not looking up to my boyfriend for help.
I wish I saw this before the night Ronaldo came up to us. But it's alright... I'm alright...
Thursday's Melanism