{Embers and Envelopes}
By Eimi and Ren
Authors Notes: Ignores the events of the drama CDs and Gluhen.
Dedication: To Eimi, my Disney princess, my lighthouse, my pythia, my reason for reason, the step in my groove. You're the bee's knees. Love, Ren.
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"I know to have something like this broken is hard to fix."{MAE – "Embers and Envelopes"}
"It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice. There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia." - Frank Zappa
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[Part 1]
Sometimes, late at night, when the rest of the sane world was asleep, he would sneak out into the study and write. And maybe that in itself would not be so strange, but he wasn't working on a novel or poetry or anything like that. He would sit down at his desk and write letters. And writing letters would also not be so bad if he had any intention to send them, but he did not.
That was exactly what he was up to, doing just like he did on nights like tonight, when insomnia and nostalgia got the best of him. With pen in hand, he stared at the writing pad as if waiting for it to tell him what to write. Eventually, it did.
[I don't even know why I'm writing this, because I know you'll never read it. Even if I could bring myself to send it, I wouldn't even know where to send it to. I've tried a few times to find you, but it looks like you don't want to be found. So you can't blame me for not trying. It hurts me a little that you haven't tried to find me, at least not that I know of. But I digress. That's not really what I want to say to you.
If I could tell you anything, I would tell you that you were right. Yes, I would say that, and I'm sure I would never hear the end of it.
I'm doing well.
You probably wouldn't recognize me. I cut my hair and wear a suit to work, if you can believe that. I guess you could say I grew up to be like you. Did you see it coming? It would explain a lot of things. I work for a consulting firm. I always seem to know just what the clients want, and my boss is impressed, to say the least. He just doesn't know how I do it. No one does. But you do.
I'm getting married. She's a nice girl. That's all there is to say about her. I used to peer into her mind at first, but I stopped. Not because I care about her, but because she's terribly boring. Nice girls usually are. She's the niece or something of someone important. My boss introduced us. He said something to the affect that it's a shame that I'm not already married at my age, and what's more, if things went well between us, it would be good for business. Of course I don't want to marry her. It's not that I don't love her, though that's true, it's just that I would rather be alone. Alone with my thoughts, and the thoughts of others. But, what's good for business is what's good for me. I'm a man after my own interests, after all. Don't say you never taught me anything.
I don't suppose you've heard from Nagi, have you? I'm sure he would have told me if he knew where you are. We talked a bit a while ago. He invited me to use Facebook, or twitter, or one of those things, but I don't keep up with stuff on the internet. It's not my style. "Stuck in the 90's," I get a lot. But those were good times. Anyway, I guess Nagi is in university. Still, or again, whichever. He must be a rocket surgeon or something by now. Whatever he's doing, it sounds like he's happy. I think you would be proud of him. Maybe he'll get a Nobel Prize someday, but then again, foreseeing that is your territory, not mine. And in speaking of being happy, I hear Farfarello has found peace as well. At a monastery. In Tibet. You really never know. Well, I guess sometimes, you do.
That's basically it.
Until next time, or never,
(and I feel so silly writing this,)
"Schuldig" ]
The next part of the ritual was to shred the damning evidence and unceremoniously toss it in the waste bin. "You're an idiot," he muttered to himself, taking up his pen again.
[Fuck you Crawford and the horse you rode in on,] he scrawled, smirking. That was more like it, and more like him. [and fuck you for letting me leave.] This page too was then ripped up and thrown away.
"Fuck it," he mumbled, and jotted something down on the fresh page. He tore it off of the pad, but instead of throwing it away, he set it aside.
The first thing to do was reserve his flight, and then he'd e-mail his boss. He packed lightly for his trip, placed the note on his desk where it would be noticed, and was gone just like that.
The note on his desk read:
[Elise,
I quit my job. The wedding is off. Sorry. Just can't do this.]
By morning, he'd be on his way to somewhere halfway around the world, with no idea what to do once he got there.
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"Now you can't await your own arrival. You've 20 seconds to comply." {Frou Frou – "Let Go"}