Disclaimer: I don't own KKJ. It's Tanemura Arina's, she of the wonderful
talent and evil mind -- how else would she make us all wish we had a Chiaki
plushie?
This is a bit of a departure from my usual style of writing; this was my
attempt at getting into Miyako's head and seeing why and how she felt about
Maron and Chiaki.
*******************
Monologue of the Heart
by Natsuki (keani@hydrid.com)
*******************
I knew from the very start that you were one and the same.
Though Jeanne was, at the very start, rather clumsy and unused to the
necessity of avoiding the multitude of traps set for her, the grace I saw
every day was there, the athletic flips, rolls and leaps as familiar to me
as my own routines.
It hurt to realise that the most important person in my life was a thief.
At first, my father didn't take much notice of your jobs; he sent his
youngest officers to catch what he though of as a minor thief. I went along
the very first time one of your notices came, wondering what sort of
foolish thief would send warning of the time of their theft.
It turned out to be a very odd thief indeed: a woman with long blonde hair
and purple eyes, who danced out of the way of those who wished to stop her
and laughed as she called, "Checkmate!" over her shoulder. It was an insult
to us, the officers believed. The painting had been stolen, replaced (I
heard some of the young officers wondering where Jeanne -- even then, you'd
given us your name -- had carried the replacement) by a beautiful angel.
And I knew, even then.
The next day, you were sleepy, almost forgetting to announce the day's
tasks. When you had gone -- for what reason, I can't recall -- out of the
classroom during one of the breaks between classes, several of the students
hauled out a newspaper that featured, of all things, a color photograph of
Jeanne. The childish chatter bored me; I had been wondering simply why you
would do this -- you had to have a reason for it.
"She looks like Maron." The innocent comment brought me out of my reverie,
and I turned on them, angry that anyone would notice save me. I resolved,
at that very moment, that I would protect your secret.
"Kusakabe Maron is not a thief."
I knew those words weren't really true; Kusakabe Maron /was/ a thief, but
she had to have a reason for being one.
Another notice came, and I begged my father to let me go; to try and catch
this evil person, I claimed.
You were more graceful this time, more used to the police presence, and
more poised -- exactly as though you were in a gymnastics competition. Even
the ribbon you used to escape my father's officers... how many times had I
seen you pick things up with your practice ribbon as a joke or on a dare? I
watched the officers and wondered how it was possible that they did not see
what I saw: that you were a girl, no more, no less, who was trying to
accomplish a mission.
I gave up my dignity, my credibility, so that your secret would be safe: I
became the bumbling detective on your trail. If I, by any chance, caught
you, I could claim that I had been mistaken, that this was my friend and no
thief -- it was an accident based on my youth and inexperience. It was all
because you were my friend, and I knew you had a reason. I became the
consummate actress, pretending fury when Jeanne escaped once again,
pretending not to recognise your exhaustion for what it was.
And when Chiaki came, I'd been doing so for so long that it felt like a
heavy burden, a sacrifice to our friendship.
I truly thought that I loved him. Even though he treated me as a friend --
he was always courteous -- I made his gestures of friendship into something
more. He was only interested in you, and I began to feel that I had
sacrificed enough to you. I wanted the love that I was giving away, even
though there was no way for you to know what I was doing. For once, I
didn't sacrifice something for your missing happiness: I tried so hard to
get him to notice me, though I knew that he cared little for me.
Sindbad cared so much for Jeanne that it was clear that he and Chiaki were
the same people, just as you were both Maron and Jeanne. As I watched, you
became closer and closer, and he became the one you turned to for comfort,
rather than me. You knew that you could speak to him about your life as
Jeanne, and I... well, I was the very one who was trying to stop you.
When my brother became ill, I somehow knew that you were the only one who
could stop him. That night, you were so transparent: for some reason, you
weren't able to truly become Jeanne, with her golden hair and purple eyes.
You were Maron, dressing up as the thief, and I was hard-pressed not to
tell you that enough was enough.
Yet, when we were both so near to drowning, you turned into the one who
could help, and all I could do was choke and cough while you fought against
someone who had become so twisted, but who was still so dear to me. It was
hard not to draw parallels between my brother's situation and yours; you
were both changed, and I could say nothing to you about those changes. The
only difference was that my brother could return to the way he was through
your work, somehow.
I never knew Zen. I only knew that both you and Chiaki had shattered
something between you, and I did not know if it could be repaired. In some
way, I was glad: now, perhaps, he would notice me, and I would have his
love.
All that time, I never noticed that Minazuki had begun to look at me in
another way, and that the love I so desperately wished for was within my
grasp.
We were watching you, he and I, on that date of yours. And I realised that
I couldn't have Chiaki, as much as I wished I could. So I swallowed my
tears as long as I could -- Minazuki couldn't witness my pain, I believed
at that time. It would be weak of me to mar your newfound happiness with my
own emotions. So I hid them and cried alone.
I knew that there was something wrong, something vital that hurt you
deeply, when you collapsed the day that you and Chiaki had arrived to
school together: I knew you had been at his apartment for the night, as
when I went into your apartment to wake you in the morning, all I saw was
the rough rosary that Sindbad wore sitting upon your floor, and your bed
untouched. You were fighting harder than ever to wear a happy mask, and it
shattered in the middle of our basketball game, after everyone had been
worn out in trying to stop you. And when Chiaki picked you up, it hurt even
more.
And when only Sindbad's warning notice came that afternoon, I really
worried for your safety. I even told Minazuki that, since Jeanne wasn't
coming, I had no reason to stay. The poor boy -- even then, I think he was
struggling with his feelings for you and for me.
And then I found you, fallen from your apartment's balcony. I panicked, the
groceries I'd picked up on the way home dropping to the ground. My father
was the only one I could think of to tell -- I called him. I'd forgotten
that Sindbad -- Chiaki -- would be there.
Through that night, we all -- Chiaki, Minazuki and I -- lived through our
personal hells of self-blame. Minazuki suffered less than either Chiaki or
I; he was a comfort to me, and it was the first time that I'd really seen
the sort of person he was. Chiaki, though, suffered the most. When his
father told him that he wasn't sure if you would wake up, I saw how much he
loved you.
When you woke up, it was he who was the first to find you and the first
that you saw. And I had had enough: I fled. It was my own fault that I
became possessed, and so nearly broke your heart.
I had Chiaki's attention so briefly, but within that small place that the
demon had left me, I knew that he didn't love me. It was whatever spell I
had around me that drew him. And you still defended me, saying that if I
was happy, then you were.
That statement was how I was able to break out of my shell and fight
against that which had invaded my soul. Because, in truth, the sacrifices I
had made for you were returned: you loved me, and my heart finally accepted
that truth.
talent and evil mind -- how else would she make us all wish we had a Chiaki
plushie?
This is a bit of a departure from my usual style of writing; this was my
attempt at getting into Miyako's head and seeing why and how she felt about
Maron and Chiaki.
*******************
Monologue of the Heart
by Natsuki (keani@hydrid.com)
*******************
I knew from the very start that you were one and the same.
Though Jeanne was, at the very start, rather clumsy and unused to the
necessity of avoiding the multitude of traps set for her, the grace I saw
every day was there, the athletic flips, rolls and leaps as familiar to me
as my own routines.
It hurt to realise that the most important person in my life was a thief.
At first, my father didn't take much notice of your jobs; he sent his
youngest officers to catch what he though of as a minor thief. I went along
the very first time one of your notices came, wondering what sort of
foolish thief would send warning of the time of their theft.
It turned out to be a very odd thief indeed: a woman with long blonde hair
and purple eyes, who danced out of the way of those who wished to stop her
and laughed as she called, "Checkmate!" over her shoulder. It was an insult
to us, the officers believed. The painting had been stolen, replaced (I
heard some of the young officers wondering where Jeanne -- even then, you'd
given us your name -- had carried the replacement) by a beautiful angel.
And I knew, even then.
The next day, you were sleepy, almost forgetting to announce the day's
tasks. When you had gone -- for what reason, I can't recall -- out of the
classroom during one of the breaks between classes, several of the students
hauled out a newspaper that featured, of all things, a color photograph of
Jeanne. The childish chatter bored me; I had been wondering simply why you
would do this -- you had to have a reason for it.
"She looks like Maron." The innocent comment brought me out of my reverie,
and I turned on them, angry that anyone would notice save me. I resolved,
at that very moment, that I would protect your secret.
"Kusakabe Maron is not a thief."
I knew those words weren't really true; Kusakabe Maron /was/ a thief, but
she had to have a reason for being one.
Another notice came, and I begged my father to let me go; to try and catch
this evil person, I claimed.
You were more graceful this time, more used to the police presence, and
more poised -- exactly as though you were in a gymnastics competition. Even
the ribbon you used to escape my father's officers... how many times had I
seen you pick things up with your practice ribbon as a joke or on a dare? I
watched the officers and wondered how it was possible that they did not see
what I saw: that you were a girl, no more, no less, who was trying to
accomplish a mission.
I gave up my dignity, my credibility, so that your secret would be safe: I
became the bumbling detective on your trail. If I, by any chance, caught
you, I could claim that I had been mistaken, that this was my friend and no
thief -- it was an accident based on my youth and inexperience. It was all
because you were my friend, and I knew you had a reason. I became the
consummate actress, pretending fury when Jeanne escaped once again,
pretending not to recognise your exhaustion for what it was.
And when Chiaki came, I'd been doing so for so long that it felt like a
heavy burden, a sacrifice to our friendship.
I truly thought that I loved him. Even though he treated me as a friend --
he was always courteous -- I made his gestures of friendship into something
more. He was only interested in you, and I began to feel that I had
sacrificed enough to you. I wanted the love that I was giving away, even
though there was no way for you to know what I was doing. For once, I
didn't sacrifice something for your missing happiness: I tried so hard to
get him to notice me, though I knew that he cared little for me.
Sindbad cared so much for Jeanne that it was clear that he and Chiaki were
the same people, just as you were both Maron and Jeanne. As I watched, you
became closer and closer, and he became the one you turned to for comfort,
rather than me. You knew that you could speak to him about your life as
Jeanne, and I... well, I was the very one who was trying to stop you.
When my brother became ill, I somehow knew that you were the only one who
could stop him. That night, you were so transparent: for some reason, you
weren't able to truly become Jeanne, with her golden hair and purple eyes.
You were Maron, dressing up as the thief, and I was hard-pressed not to
tell you that enough was enough.
Yet, when we were both so near to drowning, you turned into the one who
could help, and all I could do was choke and cough while you fought against
someone who had become so twisted, but who was still so dear to me. It was
hard not to draw parallels between my brother's situation and yours; you
were both changed, and I could say nothing to you about those changes. The
only difference was that my brother could return to the way he was through
your work, somehow.
I never knew Zen. I only knew that both you and Chiaki had shattered
something between you, and I did not know if it could be repaired. In some
way, I was glad: now, perhaps, he would notice me, and I would have his
love.
All that time, I never noticed that Minazuki had begun to look at me in
another way, and that the love I so desperately wished for was within my
grasp.
We were watching you, he and I, on that date of yours. And I realised that
I couldn't have Chiaki, as much as I wished I could. So I swallowed my
tears as long as I could -- Minazuki couldn't witness my pain, I believed
at that time. It would be weak of me to mar your newfound happiness with my
own emotions. So I hid them and cried alone.
I knew that there was something wrong, something vital that hurt you
deeply, when you collapsed the day that you and Chiaki had arrived to
school together: I knew you had been at his apartment for the night, as
when I went into your apartment to wake you in the morning, all I saw was
the rough rosary that Sindbad wore sitting upon your floor, and your bed
untouched. You were fighting harder than ever to wear a happy mask, and it
shattered in the middle of our basketball game, after everyone had been
worn out in trying to stop you. And when Chiaki picked you up, it hurt even
more.
And when only Sindbad's warning notice came that afternoon, I really
worried for your safety. I even told Minazuki that, since Jeanne wasn't
coming, I had no reason to stay. The poor boy -- even then, I think he was
struggling with his feelings for you and for me.
And then I found you, fallen from your apartment's balcony. I panicked, the
groceries I'd picked up on the way home dropping to the ground. My father
was the only one I could think of to tell -- I called him. I'd forgotten
that Sindbad -- Chiaki -- would be there.
Through that night, we all -- Chiaki, Minazuki and I -- lived through our
personal hells of self-blame. Minazuki suffered less than either Chiaki or
I; he was a comfort to me, and it was the first time that I'd really seen
the sort of person he was. Chiaki, though, suffered the most. When his
father told him that he wasn't sure if you would wake up, I saw how much he
loved you.
When you woke up, it was he who was the first to find you and the first
that you saw. And I had had enough: I fled. It was my own fault that I
became possessed, and so nearly broke your heart.
I had Chiaki's attention so briefly, but within that small place that the
demon had left me, I knew that he didn't love me. It was whatever spell I
had around me that drew him. And you still defended me, saying that if I
was happy, then you were.
That statement was how I was able to break out of my shell and fight
against that which had invaded my soul. Because, in truth, the sacrifices I
had made for you were returned: you loved me, and my heart finally accepted
that truth.