Just a quick note before we start: the Kagamine siblings, Lin and Len, are often said to possess a road roller that Lin likes to utilize to terrorize people. ^_^ The Lin in my story, the violent but paradoxically loving sort, has one such contraption.
Enjoy. :3
VOCALOID: KAITO
LOG ENTRY: 732
CREATED: 22.09.10
My Master is 22 years old.
His birthday is on January 16th.
His favorite color is orange.
His least favorite color is gray (although he isn't certain whether gray is a color).
I learned about his age and birthday from WebU. I've inferred the color information from his art and his blog entries.
I know I don't need to repeat these facts here—I've already recorded them elsewhere in my data bank—but today has been a long day. Master didn't use his computer at all.
It's another bad habit of his that he never turns it off. He only closes it, sometimes, and puts it to sleep. We who live in his hard drive usually sleep as well when this happens; there isn't much else to do. Everything around us shuts down while his computer is on stand-by. Utter darkness. I can't see my own hands right now, or any other part of my body.
But I feel too restless to hibernate. To "power-nap," as Len calls it.
I think I will create a log entry for today, to pass the time, even though there's nothing to register.
I shall write about my Master.
I am the first he ever had. His first Vocaloid. I didn't know how to sing back then, and he didn't know how to command my voice, but we practiced every night and so we learned. Then he installed the others: first Meiko, then Miku, and Lin and Len, and then Luka and Gakupo.
Oh—they were all so puzzled on their first day here! I remember that. But everyone is so different.
For example, Meiko.
Master came home one evening and opened his computer (note: "opened," not "turned on"). This was before I developed the habit of watching him while he worked, so I awoke from my hibernation and was glad to see him again, but didn't care to see what he would do today. I was content to float in the blankness of my folder. I did not even open my eyes.
But I was very much interested when another folder, as if from nowhere, appeared next to mine.
"Master?" I asked. Though I knew he could not hear me.
He ran the "VOCALOID Editor" immediately. I felt the tug of that irresistible force that always pulls me away from wherever I am and whatever I am doing and found myself in that familiar space—non-space—the "Stage." Where we sing for him—that's what we call it.
Until then I'd always been alone, hovering in that white, floorless, ceilingless room, reading Master's instructions as he—as the "Editor" application—wrote them on the wall. But that day, there was a woman in red next to me.
We looked at each other, shocked. She said nothing to me. I said nothing to her. What is one to say at a time like that?
Master made us sing together. He gave us his words and we dueted for him. She sounded, perhaps, a little strange, as he was not used to her yet, but I enjoyed it. Especially once we'd both relaxed.
When we finished, she smiled at me. Rather, she smirked with a hand on her hip.
"Well sung, man," she said. "That was fun. So who the hell are you?"
"Ah—well sung!" I said (unsure how else to reply). "It's—it's a pleasure meeting you! My name is Kaito."
"Kaito, huh?" she said. "Well, I'm Meiko. Just like that—just Meiko. Call me Meiko-san or Meiko-chan and I'll break that pretty face of yours. Got it?"
I laughed. Nervously, I admit. She sounded as though she meant it. (Now I know that she did.) "Of—of course!"
She clapped me in the back. It rather stung. "You sound like a good man, you. I like you. So, what does a girl have to do to get some booze around here?"
I blinked. "Booze?"
"You heard me," she said. "I haven't had some in a while. I'm thirsty. So where is it?"
"Um—" I had no idea. I had never needed alcohol before. Whenever I wanted to eat something, ice cream had always been enough—Google-sensei had taught me how to program it. Perhaps I could learn to make alcohol in the same way?
"Well," I said, "I can program some for you if you'd like."
"Sounds good," she said. "Just so you know, Daiginjo's my favorite kind."
It is. She's had me program her weekly stock of it ever since.
/ / / / /
And, then, take Miku.
Meiko and I were chatting when she arrived, a few months later. Meiko can be a tad… explosive, but she talks to me so often that I think she enjoys my company.
"Seriously, man!" she was saying. "He's just so hard to please!"
We were discussing a song that we were recording around that time. Attempting to record. Master had seemingly given up on it for the time being and he'd gone outside a while ago.
We were in her folder. Hers looks rather stylish, unlike mine; she had made it into a large room with a chequered floor, a bed with a sleek steel frame and a matching blood-red chair shaped like a crescent moon. Her walls were covered with screenshots that she had taken of us singing together.
"He can be, yes," I said.
She rocked in her chair, her arms folded in displeasure, one leg draped peevishly over the other. I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her.
"I just don't see what he's so fussy about," she said. "He keeps making us start over like we don't know what we're doing. And where does he get off trying to make me sound like a schoolgirl? Well, that's a pretty bright fucking idea. Do I look like a schoolgirl to you?"
I had to laugh at the notion of Meiko masquerading as one. I shook my head.
"A fucking chipmunk, man, that's what he wants," she muttered. "You know what he needs? A punch in the gut."
"Aren't you perhaps being too harsh?"
"Harsh my ass. I don't know how you can be so patient." She sent me a dubious glance. "I bet you're pissed off at him, too, and you just won't let it show."
I smiled. "I have a hard time being angry with Master," I confessed. "I think I'm not much one for anger in general."
She scoffed. I don't know what she meant by that. But it was then that a sudden hum of activity told us that Master had come back—and had just inserted a CD. Invisible, a ripple of information made my skin tingle and I shivered. Something—someone—was being installed.
Meiko sensed it, too. We rose to our feet and ran out into the endless, blank plain that is Master's desktop. As we suspected—a new folder had appeared beside hers.
Master ran the "Editor." Meiko and I stood on the Stage, next to—
A schoolgirl.
Oh, I thought. Meiko burst out laughing. The poor girl was confused—her green eyebrows furrowed. Green eyes. Green ponytails.
Master made us try the new song again. This time, he assigned the highest-pitched parts to her, and allowed Meiko and I to share the lower notes. It was a vast improvement, I have to say.
"All right!" Meiko crowed, when he was more or less satisfied and he'd left us alone. "That was pretty good!" Her hand descended on Miku's shoulder and Miku gave a start. "Not bad at all for a newbie. What's your name, kid?"
"Um—" Recovering, she smiled her brightest. "I'm Hatsune Miku! That was so much fun, wasn't it? And who're you guys?"
"I'm Meiko." She thumped her fist on her chest. "And this guy here is Kaito."
"Hello." I waved.
Miku giggled and waved back. "Hi."
"Eh, she's a cutie, ain't she?" Meiko said, stabbing my ribs with her elbow. "Well met, well met. It's a good thing you're here, kid—'twas about time Master got himself someone else to squeal out those high notes. If he ever makes me sing like that again, I'm gonna blow up his fucking hard drive."
/ / / / /
So quite a bit different from each other, those girls. Miku is milder than Meiko. Well—most of us are, I think. Except, perhaps, Lin.
To illustrate what I mean: one day, she ran Len over with that roadroller of hers. Len's screams carried over to us—Meiko and I—while Lin pursued him across Master's desktop. We were attempting to practice one of our duets:
"The tears that run down my cheeks," we sang.
"NO! LIN! PLEASE! I'M SORRY!"
"Hiding the heartbeats of my sorrow—"
"I'M SORRY! I SAID I'M SORRY!"
"Last night, good night—"
"GYAAAAAAH—"
"Okay, that's enough," Meiko said. She rose from her chair, strode out into the desktop. I followed her in time to see Len gored rather badly, Lin turning her roadroller around with an impish grin on her face. Miku was already collecting Len's flattened pieces to put him back together.
"You! Kid!" Meiko yelled.
That got Lin's attention.
"We're trying to practice here," Meiko said. "Get off that thing or drive it somewhere else."
Lin seemed to consider. She smirked. Turned her roller in our direction.
"Don't try it, kid," Meiko warned.
"Wryyyyn!" Lin cried, her fearsome battle cry. The roller charged full-speed against us. I scurried out of its path—while Meiko sprang toward the thing. One mighty leap, and she landed on the passenger seat and punched Lin in the face.
I think that's what she did. It all happened so fast. All I know with any certainty is that Meiko pounced and then Lin was unconscious on the floor. I hurried over to her to make sure she was fine.
Meiko neglected to turn off the roadroller's engine; she merely hopped off it, straightened up, tucked her hair triumphantly behind her ear, letting the roller drive on and on and on, all by itself. To disappear into infinite cyberspace, I hoped.
Maybe Lin is milder than Meiko, after all.
/ / / / /
Oh, but this entry isn't supposed to be about my family! It's about my Master. What was I saying about him? Ah—that he had me and then he installed the others. Still, no one can quite substitute my voice in his opinion. I'm sure of that. There isn't a song in his collection that doesn't have me in it.
I think I know when I first noticed him.
And I mean, noticed him in a certain particular special way. More than before. I mean—oh, I feel so inarticulate. I mean I think I know when he stopped being simply my Master, simply someone who sings with my voice. And became… something else.
It was 6:36 in the morning. February 4th, 2009. It had been a particularly difficult night. We were the only ones awake. Attempting to record a ballad he'd composed for me.
He sat still as a .jpg file. His brow furrowed, his knuckles pressed against his lips. His usual deeply thoughtful pose. He often sits like that for hours on end, frowning at the screen when he can't seem to find the right melody—but he very rarely looks as tired as he did that night. His eyes had sunk back into their sockets a little. Also, his beautiful brown hair is just that particular length—short, so he can't tie it back in a ponytail, but just long enough that it keeps falling over his eyes, tickling the tip of his nose. Around 5:00 am, he had abandoned the hope of tucking it behind his ears and somehow keeping it in place, so that made the shadows beneath his eyes appear darker than usual.
So unnerving. Singing for a person while he's looking like that.
But this is Master's focused face, I reminded myself. His overworked face. A mix between the two. He would look much different, probably, if he could see me. If he knew that I could see him.
Still, as he typed and clicked his last instructions—as I, alone on the Stage, read them off the interface wall between us, I was mightily and irrationally nervous. Knowing that from the first syllable, he would scrutinize the sound of every word I uttered.
Yes, nervous. And, also…
Oh, I can't name it. I can only try to explain it to myself. That song that we'd worked on for twenty-two hours straight seemed to have become so important to us. We'd put so much effort into it. No—it's not only that. To have him sitting there, for so long, his bleary eyes fixed on the words he had written for me… To have him listen to me with his complete, his unwavering, total attention.
It made me feel…
I don't know.
So, at 6:36 am with 42 seconds, he pressed "Play" and, though I was nervous and I don't know what, I sang for him. With my heart.
I know I don't have such an organ, such a muscle. But at that moment I managed to fool myself into believing that I did. It changed the sound of the song, somehow. My Master's scowl came undone; his thin, black eyebrows rose. He was surprised.
Naturally, his first thought must have been to think that an error had occurred. His cursor hovered to the "Stop" button—but he didn't press it. He waited. And listened.
Did he like what he was hearing? When I was done, he was silent and I waited for his answer. Inwardly, I apologized for altering his design. I told myself I'd filter my emotions out of my voice and retry, if he wanted me to.
But, at long last, he smiled.
"Hmm," he grunted.
He leaned back in his chair. Melted out of his rigidly focused posture. He clicked "Loop," "Play." Closed his eyes, folded his arms over his narrow chest.
He was pleased.
Exhausted, too—he was fast asleep four minutes later, his head tilting forward, his chin upon his chest. But I repeated our song for him, as he'd wanted. Some twenty-nine times.
At 8:33 am, I heard his door open; his mother must have come in. Of course, she found him in his chair, sleeping in the same jeans and sweatshirt he had been wearing the day before. She came to the computer and stopped me.
"Chiaki," she said wearily, "wake up. You've been playing with that thing all night again, haven't you?"
My Master groaned. A low, pained, drawn-out groan. His neck must hurt terribly.
"Go wash your face and get dressed," she went on. "Please try not to be so irresponsible."
She didn't wait for him to answer; she left. I've never heard my Master speak to her. When he stretched, his back cracked loud enough that even I heard it. He moaned in agony and I sighed. His mother was right; it was silly of me to let him doze off—I should have increased my volume, woken him up so that he would not slouch like that for two hours. My careless Master. Falling asleep in such terrible positions.
/ / / / /
But I think that was it. When I started thinking of him.
It's not that I didn't care about him before. There were just so many other things on my mind. My music. Vibrato, how should I go about it? Falsetto, so difficult. The others' music—Ah, the twins can make their voices sound almost identical if they want to, I thought. And then they can be wildly different! Is that why they have so much fun practicing together?
Ice cream.
Oh—that's why Miku asked me if I wanted some yesterday! I used to love it so much. I still do. I wish I could eat some with her. Shall I wake her up?
No. No, she's asleep in her folder. I don't want to disturb her.
I don't like sitting in this darkness by myself. I become so sluggish when Master has his computer on stand-by. My scarf feels heavy. My coat feels heavy. I don't think I'm meant to be awake at this time, but I've closed my eyes and I can't sleep.
I will hum to myself until Master comes back.