So, you know that horror trope where someone looks in a mirror, and someone else's face is staring back at them instead of their own?
"That's daily life I'm gonna have to get used to from now on," I mutter with Suzaku's voice at the surly Japanese pretty-boy scowling in my direction.
I hand control of our body back to Suzaku, who shakes our head to clear out the mental cobwebs.
"It's going to be a long day," he says with a determined expression. "You ready, partner?"
Partner, huh? That title offers more dignity than I deserve, but it's not like I'm going to complain.
Hell no I'm not ready, but... fuck if I'm going to let that be an obstacle to getting things done.
Suzaku chuckles as he puts the finishing touches on our uniform, before his mirth abruptly comes to a halt. "Actually, this is a perfect chance to ask you something that's been on my mind."
Sure, but the day's not getting any longer. Walk, talk, and get breakfast at the same time.
Suzaku takes a second or two to switch gears from speaking verbally to mentally as we leave the 3rd Honorary Infantry division's barracks and make way for the mess hall. Even though I saw glimpses of your old life, back when we tried merging before you woke up at Camelot, I'm still not…
He hesitates, struggling with the words, but I get the idea.
You want me to say plainly why I accepted a double-suicide and reincarnation pact with a guy I'd just met and barely spoken with? It failed, so what difference does it make?
Suzaku begins stepping to one side as another Honorary Britannian in uniform approaches, this one in active duty fatigues. At the last possible second, however, the other guy alters course to deliberately barge into us with his shoulder without slowing down.
"My apologies," the tool says without looking back and without remorse. The rest of the troops in the hallway, also all Honoraries, act like they didn't even notice.
It's usually like this, Suzaku explains. The public thinks my father died to end the war and curtail our genocide.
And that gives them a license to treat you like shit?
As the son of Japan's last Prime Minister, I bear more responsibility than most people for the restoration of Eleven independence... or at least, that's the way most of my peers tend to think.
So any of these dicks can justify themselves serving Britannia as a necessary evil to feed themselves or their loved ones... but just because of who your father was, if you don't martyr yourself for the rebellion then you're scum?
It's more that my serving Britannia is seen as disrespecting my father's legacy, he continues as we resume walking. He gave his life for the people of Japan, so it's expected that I do the same. We also count generations of samurai among our ancestors, and at one time had a blood link to the Imperial Family. Because of the Kururugi name's history and reputation with those who remember it, my wearing a Britannian uniform is viewed as an unforgivable disgrace.
...I guess I can understand that perspective, I admit after some consideration. But I don't share it. You're not a slave to your dead father's will, nor to anyone else from decades or centuries ago. It's your life, Suzaku, even if you're stuck having me tag along for it - and none of these trash calling themselves people are entitled to a say in how you live it.
Suzaku starts to defend them, They have their own problems-
And instead of dealing with those problems responsibly or in a healthy manner, they take their frustration and anger out on you because they know that no one else will step up and defend you. It's the same kind of oppressive bullshit that Britannia revels in, but instead of a jackboot on your throat they use peer pressure, ostracization, or shame to manipulate you.
You know what they say about nails sticking up, Suzaku mentally sighs.
Yeah, I do. They get hammered back down...
It's not just me. That's how Japanese society is to everyone.
That only makes it worse.
We finally make our way to the mess, and get in line for a Britannian breakfast of eggs and sausage.
For me, it's an unexpected moment of normalcy that almost throws me back into cognitive dissonance. For Suzaku, it's something he's adapted to for long enough that it feels normal.
For most of the other Elevens immediately near to us, it seems more like another sting at their pride to be denied a Japanese meal, though some of the older soldiers seem resigned to it - if not as accepting as Suzaku is.
No one sees fit to try and start anything with us, though - in particular because the Britannian supervising officers look like they're in a pissy mood and are likely enough to take it out on everyone equally the instant they get an excuse.
...you've been dodging the question, Suzaku points out as we finish. It's true that I can make guesses about your motivations, but I still want to hear it in your own words.
Especially since I know about Suzaku's situation in increasing detail… pain in the ass that it is, I guess it's only fair. Still, this early in the day?
...now's an awkward time to go into it. We'll discuss that later. But on the subject of delayed conversations, how exactly do you plan to go about this whole reform Britannia thing in the first place?
Right, you only know what you've seen in the cartoon and in the comics -
Ah, the terms anime and manga banned or something?
Not exactly, Suzaku mentally replies while taking a sip of milk. Entertainment companies and the government officially insist on applying the Britannian terms for their equivalents regardless of where it's made or what style it's in, but the old Eleven terms are still in widespread use by media enthusiasts. I use the Britannian terms for convenience to save me a little grief, but a lot of Britannians - especially here in the Area - use the Eleven terms. In practical use, though… most people don't really care, one way or the other.
Okay, so about that reformation…?
Right, right. So, you're thinking about how Margrave Gottwald arrests and frames us for Clovis's murder, right? Which didn't happen this ti-
Your blind faith in Lelouch is as frustrating as it is unwarranted. Clovis always dies.
My world's Lelouch isn't so bloodthirsty that he'll jump to murder-
What if you're wrong?!
What if I'm not?!
...you definitely are this time, but we won't have proof either way for another day or two, so let's set the matter aside for now.
Suzaku… doesn't exactly accept my motion to table the matter, but he consents to at least move the conversation forward instead of wasting more time on it. I get the impression of a sigh as he changes mental gears.
So, here's a basic rundown of the Britannian political scene right now. We have the Emperor and Parliament, who each have veto power over the other, and the Prime Minister. The Emperor or Empress is the ultimate ruler and decides what general direction the country goes in. But in terms of actually running the country administratively and executing the Emperor's policies? That's the Prime Minister's job, and they also act as the middle man between the rest of the government and the people. These two people together basically form our Executive Branch, and the monarch also serves as what amounts to a one-person Supreme Court. Parliament has the House of Lords, made up of the most powerful aristocrats or nobles, with changes in standing reflected every five years, and the Senate, members of which are democratically elected. Areas pretty much operate the same way, with their chief executives being the Viceroy and Sub-Viceroy.
It's called the Senate, and not the House of Commons?
It used to be the House of Commons, he explains, and then a century or so ago they renamed it. I don't remember the reason why, but there was probably murder involved.
Okay, sure. This is becoming a tangent, let's move on.
We nod, as if in thought, and continue eating. So, the current Emperor's pushing a policy of Social Darwinism, or evolution through struggle as he puts it. Most relevant to us, is the clash of ideas between the Blood-Purist Faction, also called Purists or Purebloods, and the Unified Man Faction - also called Reformists or Unies. The Reformists generally either support or want to strengthen the Honorary Britannian system, with more radical members pushing to abolish the Number System altogether and grant all subjugated peoples full Britannian citizenship.
...wait, wait wait wait, Charles allows this?! I don't remember anything like that from canon!
You wouldn't, and boy does Suzaku feel a bit smug as he says that, and it's part of my evidence that this is a new world altogether from the ones you've seen. And yes, the Emperor lets the Reformists take power in Parliament… because by pitting them against the Purists, he can keep Parliament too divided to form a strong enough majority to block any of his decisions. Just like he pits all of his children against each other, so that they're either too busy or distracted to consider making a move on him.
So our winning strategy to reform the Empire, then... is to somehow win over or replace enough members of Parliament, using them and the Prime Minister to override the Emperor's policy and force Britannia onto a new, more humanitarian course. It's one hell of a long shot, but statistically speaking the odds have to be some decimal higher than zero…
Now, as for our situation here in Area Eleven, Clovis has been pretty much copying his father's playbook by keeping the Purists and Reformists more-or-less even with each other in terms of political power. However, it's been in the news lately that Purists have been starting to lose favor lately, and especially with our having saved his life yesterday -
Which means that with him out of the picture, the balance of power is hanging on a knife's edge and the Purists are going to be desperate to capitalize on the first opportunity they see. And as a comparatively high-profile Honorary Britannian via our new association with Schneizel's private garage, we're a perfect target for them to take down. Damn it... the more things change, the more canon remains the same!
On finishing breakfast, Suzaku curves our mouth into a frown as we get up from the table. You know, you could act a bit more positive. Yesterday, we survived Shinjuku and saved some innocent lives. Later today, you've got your first date. Tomorrow, we're on track to meet with Lelouch, and we can make some new friends at Ashford. And there's every chance that the Reformists could act first and make some kind of strike on the Purists before they can do anything. So come on, give me a mental smile!
Can't do that, buddy, I'm cursed.
Suzaku almost trips over the leg of the table in response to my answering his question, but thankfully he manages to catch us. Excuse me?!
Every time I become genuinely happy or optimistic, something awful happens. Like being in a car accident, or catching a plague - shit like that. Life's easier on me and everyone around me if I just stay cynical and pretend to act otherwise. Call it a curse, or destiny, or whatever you want - I know I'm far from the smartest guy in the world, here, but I'm not such an idiot that I fail at basic pattern recognition.
"Alright sourpuss," Suzaku mutters as if to himself and clearly blowing off my dead-ass serious warning, "let's get down to business. It's the first day of the rest of our lives..."
Ashford Academy, Student Council Office...
"Wake UP, Lelouch!"
"Ow! Hey!"
Milly Ashford, blonde bombshell and student council president, was beating her vice president Lelouch Lamperouge over the head with a rolled up newspaper as punishment for nodding off in the middle of a budget meeting, each hit filling the room with a resounding thwack. "I know you were asleep, your hand stopped moving!"
"And now I'm awake," the dark and slender youth groused at her in the midst of repeated blows, "so - you - can - stop -"
At that moment, the office phone started ringing and everyone stared at it in varying degrees of surprise.
"Uh, if someone's calling the school," Rivalz, the secretary asked, "wouldn't they normally call the faculty office or the dean?"
Lelouch narrowed his eyes, a brief shadow of emotion flickering across his face too fast for most to register. "Unless the dean has something to discuss with the President."
Milly let out a huff and wagged a finger at Lelouch, even while strutting to the phone. "You can balance the activities budget and eavesdrop at the same time, so hop to it!"
Any trace of her playful annoyance promptly disappeared as she picked up the receiver. "Ashford Student Council, President speaking! ...oh, grandfather? Go on… uh-huh... of course, that's no trouble at all! It's going to have to be after classes, though, we're kind of tied up right now... okay then, I'll get it all taken care of!"
Shirley, auburn-haired swimming club representative, glanced up at Milly curiously. "What's up?"
Rivalz slumped in his chair, hand over his face. "We're probably not being given a professional accountant, right?"
"We've got a new student transferring in," Milly explained as she hung up the phone. "A military pilot who's our age, apparently he's been out of the education system for a while. We're being asked to conduct a placement test for him so the administration will know what classes to put him in. I know this is on really short notice," she admitted with a wince, "but it's a personal favor for a friend of the family, so I could really use the help."
Lelouch smiled in response to this development, his demeanor casual and easygoing. "Ah, then we need to get on that. I'm also sure you'll want to throw him a welcoming party so he feels at h-ack!"
"After classes and all our other business are finished for the day," Milly chided, her arm outstretched from where she'd thrown the newspaper at him. "Eye on the ball, Lulu!"
Shirley stared up at the ceiling, eyes full of wonder. "A guy who's our age, but he's a pilot? I wonder what he's like..."
"Well," Rivalz muttered with his chin in his hand, "I dunno. Maybe he's super intense but takes to civilian life with the grace of a fish out of water?"
"You watch way too many cartoons," Lelouch muttered with a raised eyebrow. And if his family maintains any kind of connection with the Ashfords, then he's likely to be disgraced or minor nobility. I need to be on my guard… and if he proves to be any kind of threat, then I'll neutralize him without hesitation.
Nina Einstein, a petite girl seated at a computer desk and the final member of the Ashford Academy Student Council, looked from Milly back to her screen as she absently resumed working on her spreadsheets. A soldier who protects us from the Elevens… maybe… I wonder if it could be nice to meet him.
Old memories surfaced against her will, and Nina shook her head to dispel them. If he's here at school with us, then we'll be even safer… won't we?
"So it's going to be late afternoon before they can get your assessment taken care of," Elle said with her head hung low and a pout. "I'm sorry I couldn't swing it during normal hours so you could start attending today."
Suzaku awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder, easing it with a smile. "Hey, from where I sit you've been amazing. I would have thought it'd still be a few weeks before any school would even look at an application from someone like me, much less go this far. You've helped me out a lot, and I appreciate it. Thank you, M-"
The redhead in pigtails suddenly tensed up and stared at him, with the focus of a hawk staring down at its prey from on high.
"Thank you, Elle," a sweating Suzaku corrected himself.
Elle relaxed. "I'm glad I could help. In the meantime, Club Whitehall does open-mic karaoke all day on Wednesdays, so maybe you could kill some time there."
"Club Whitehall?"
"Yeah," she explained, "it's a club in Shibuya that mostly caters to military personnel - and they get a decent amount of Honorary traffic too, so who knows? With your transfer going on, maybe you could meet a new friend, or make some connections."
Us? Make connections? She's so innocent... I want to protect that if I can.
That's great, you can start by talking with her.
Damn it Suzaku!
"Um, sure," Onezaku replied. "I'll give it a shot."
He began to turn and leave, before abruptly stopping. "Oh, I remember yesterday you talked about going to a movie. What did you have in mind?"
Elle froze at the question, before lightly scratching her cheek. "Well, I haven't actually had time to check the showings yet, so… I thought we could just pick from whatever's available when we get there?" That was so lame, he's totally gonna think I'm a space cadet-
"Well," Onezaku offered with a smile, "as long as I'm killing time around town, I could see what the showings are and text you later?"
Elle blinked, and smiled back. "That's perfect. Have some fun for me too while you're out, okay?"
"I'll definitely try to, and hey, see you later?"
With that, he turned to leave…
"Oh!" "Shit!"
...and accidentally walked into Cecile as she was coming up the trailer's stepladder, sending them both falling to the ground. Next thing he knew, Onezaku was pinned to the ground, having instinctively rolled under Cecile to absorb most of the landing.
Which left the older woman pinning him to the concrete, her face flushed with surprise. "My, my," she muttered with her heart racing, "that was a more spirited greeting than I expected. Are you alright, Suzaku?"
Did... did I just get ara ara'd?!
"Um, er, yeah," a badly flustered Onezaku stammered, simultaneously too embarrassed with himself to maintain eye contact with Cecile and too captivated with her not to. "I'm fine. What about you, are you okay?"
She smiled, then, before raising herself off of him. "I'm fine. Here, let me help you up."
Damn right, One thought, his eyes following along Cecile's legs as she stood, across her hips and waist to her chest, and then tracing her arm to the hand she held out to him. She is fine…
She digs you.
She thinks she's talking to you!
If Suzaku hadn't shoved One into the driver's seat of their body earlier, he'd have rolled his eyes in frustration. You're full of shit, but focus on her instead of me.
Best advice I've heard all day...
"Uh, thanks. I appreciate it." Onezaku took her hand, and allowed her to pull him to his feet. Once he was standing, however, she held onto his hand and declined to release him. Her hand is so warm and soft...
"Since we're going to be working together," Cecile began, "it wouldn't be the worst idea to get to know each other better. I know you have plans for the rest of the day, but how does tomorrow evening sound? We could chat at my apartment, perhaps over dinner..."
"Sure, that sounds like a plan-"
Above the two, an annoyed Elle coughed into her fist from the top of the staircase. "Ms. Croomy, we do have a day's work ahead of us..."
Cecile just smiled brightly in response. "How right you are, Miss Lubie."
The atmosphere between the two steadily became charged, as if sparks could fly at any moment.
Onezaku, starting to sweat from the knowledge that he bore his own degree of responsibility for this, summed up his thoughts in two words. "...oh boy."
Shinichiro Tamaki stepped into the resistance safehouse with a can of beer, glancing around at a room full of other frustrated faces. "Hey, where the fuck are Konoe and Kageyama?"
"Konoe was captured in the battle yesterday after he disobeyed my orders to withdraw." Ohgi replied as he scowled at the news. "Kageyama never reported back after his feint attack on the Viceroy's command center, and the guy helping us out never came back from that infiltration he said he was planning, either. Unless either of them come back, I don't think we'll know what happened over there until Britannia releases a statement about it."
Tamaki, halfway into a sip as Ohgi had begun talking, sprayed his beer across the room in contempt. "You mean we don't even know if that hare-brained plan worked?! I fucking knew we shouldn't have taken orders from one of..."
Ohgi stood up. "Even if he was a Britannian - which he never admitted and we can't prove - that guy's tactical command is the only reason so many of us made it out of Shinjuku alive to argue about this!"
Sugiyama, who'd been playing a melancholy tune on his guitar, set it aside and stepped between the two before things could get any more heated. "Come on, guys-"
And then Ohgi sent him to the floor with a right hook, to the shocked silence of everyone else in the room. "And what took you so long to withdraw, Sugiyama?!"
Glaring a hole through the other late returners from the battle, Ohgi turned to Yoshida and Minami. "That goes for you, too! The enemy unit was destroying everything in its path; if you guys had all withdrawn when I said to, then we might have been able to use the four Sutherlands in later operations and start making a difference! And now…!"
Ohgi turned away, and weakly beat a fist against the wall, crying tears of frustration. "All we have is one machine that's too valuable to risk using, and everyone I'd have trusted with smuggling it to Kyoto House for research is either dead or MIA."
"Uh... Kallen?"
"Kallen can't move out of the city for an extended period without sacrificing her cover," Ohgi tiredly replied. "Continuing to live with her Britannian dad and attend that school for noble kids makes her too valuable of an intelligence asset to risk."
...well, shit, Tamaki thought. I got nuthin'. "Well, at least you put a statement on the web that we offed that son of a bitch Clovis, right?"
"Without proof he's even dead? For all we know he could just be injured and recovering, or maybe the Voice's plan backfired and Clovis killed him instead. If we go and make a statement like that half-cocked, the odds are too high that it's only going to screw us over and make Britannia look even stronger."
"And if he is dead," Tamaki shouted with a swing of his arm for emphasis, "then you're pissin' away a perfect chance for us to steal the credit for - aw shit, are you kidding me?!"
Realizing too late that he'd absently spilled some beer onto his pants, the increasingly-frustrated rebel grabbed for a napkin to try and clean himself. One by one, most of his comrades broke out in chuckles as the room's tension began to ease.
After a few moments, the indigo-haired Naomi Inoue stood up and approached Ohgi. Tamaki missed the start of what she was saying, his attention instead drifting between her narrow waist, up to her impressive chest, and then down to her tight pants… but after a few moments, he finally shook his head and tuned in to the conversation. "Piloting skill doesn't factor into it, right? Let me handle the transport," she said with a smile. "I can smuggle it up, and with any luck, Kyoto will return our gift with the first pick of whatever they engineer out of its carcass."
Damn it, Tamaki bitched into his beer. No eye candy left except for Kallen - and thinking about Naoto's little sister naked is just wrong! Even if our boss man's in a better place now, the bro code still lives on!
Then, an idea struck him! I know! I can go with Inoue as a bodyguard, and maybe I'll get lucky! "Let me go too, dude!" Clapping a hand over his chest, Tamaki stepped forward with a grin.
"Uh, what?"
"C'mon, even a dumbass like me can see it's bad for Inoue to go without any backup if things got hairy! And unlike some bastards here," he continued smugly, "I don't have an insubordination record."
"...no," Ohgi admitted after a few seconds, "you don't." Yours is mostly just full of being an idiot and a complainer. Still, if it means getting you out of my hair for a bit while the rest of us wait and see what happens next, then so much the better. "Fine, I want you two on the road before nightfall. The sooner Kyoto gets that Sutherland, the sooner they can study it and the rest of us might get access to something better than half-rotting Glasgows."
"Aw hell yeah! You can count on me Ohgi!"
"Got it, Ohgi. I'll get this done."
Inoue didn't say anything else as she walked out to make preparations… but she did offer Tamaki the ghost of a smile as she passed, tucking some hair behind her ear.
When we got to Club Whitehall, even from outside we could faintly hear many conversations and someone with no talent trying to belt out a face-melter.
Then we opened the door to step inside, and once somebody noticed us, the whole place got quiet in a hurry.
"Now that's a cliche if I've ever seen one," I drawl in amusement as much as annoyance.
Do you really want their first impression of us to be as a smartass?
This isn't a business meeting or a briefing, so I think it makes a better first impression if we show a sense of humor. Worst case scenario, someone tries to knife me or shoot me for it… but technically speaking that's a possibility regardless of what we do.
Suzaku didn't give a further response, choosing to trust my judgment on the matter, before some dark-skinned dude in fatigues with muscles like a pro wrestler walks up glowering. "Numbers can buzz off, kid."
I offer a show of considering the statement to show that I've heard it... and take half a step back out the door to check the window. Sure enough, there's a sign in yellow neon proclaiming, "Honoraries welcome!"
"Well," I say to the guy with my hands open as proof of diplomatic intentions, "the sign in the window says I can come in. Now if the sign's wrong, then that's one thing… but from what I remember, even Britannia has laws against blatantly false advertising. Get that fixed, and we'll all have fewer mixups like this, capiche?"
That earns me a round of chuckles, and some commentary from out of the crowd.
"You hear that? The kid thinks that just because he wears our uniform and can speak our language, he's an Honorary Britannian!"
"He sounds like a natural speaker, though. Almost like he was born and bred with it, instead of having to adapt to it from Eleven!"
"A'ight Bill," someone from the back yells with a strong Appalachian accent, "quiz the sumbitch!"
The guy who walked up to me nods, so I guess apparently he's Bill, and-
"I want three Mels, pipsqueak."
...three Mels? What is he talking abou-
Hell if I know, but… wait, maybe-
"Sure," I nod. "There's Mel Gibson the actor, Mel Brooks the director, Mel Torme the singer, Mel Blanc the voice of classic cartoons... and the mel Britannia line of the Royal Family."
The crowd meets my answer with surprised murmuring, but the atmosphere is definitely starting to relax a bit.
Bill narrows his eyes. "You only know about Mel Torme from Night Court."
That show still exists here?! Hell yeah! "And why should I be ashamed of that? It's just the only sitcom I found worth watching."
A blonde woman with a lip piercing turns on her barstool to face me, leaning forward. "Hey, you know Metallica?"
"Not personally," I reply coolly. "I'm a fan, though."
She narrows her eyes at me. "What's your favorite album?"
I grin. "Saint Anger."
And an entire section of clubbers, this lady included, lose their goddamn minds.
"YOU BLOODY FUCKING CASUAL! Get out of this club and take your worthless opinion with you!"
"Aww," I croon with glee, using Suzaku's reflexes to duck under the mug she just threw at me, "what's the matter? You maaaad?"
"YOU WRETCHED-"
She gets up to lunge at me, only for a bustier redhead seated next to her to get up and restrain her with a full Nelson headlock. "But Saint Anger never gets radio play! Don't you get it?! That means the guy went to a store, bought the damn thing, and listened to it! Shit taste or not, he's trying to assimilate and we want to encourage that!"
The blonde doesn't look like she's having it, though. "I'm gonna feed the wanker his own spleen! I can't suffer a fucking casual to live!"
"Dagnabbit Bill," the Appalachian voice from earlier yells again, "cut the bullshit twenty questions and ask the gutsy sumbitch who the hell he is!"
Bill rolls his eyes and steps closer, muttering something under his breath even as he breaks out in a rueful grin. The bartender upends a bottle of something yellow all over the blonde, pouring it on her head and apparently distracting her from her outrage.
"Sorry about the guff there," he says with a heavy pat to my shoulder, "but we get a lot of your people who see the sign and come in just to be assholes and ruin everyone's time."
Holding out a hand, he finally deigns to properly introduce himself. "I'm Master Chief Petty Officer John William Coventry, First Heavy Armor Division. What's your name, kid? What unit you with?"
"Hey dude, I get it and there's no hard feelings. Suzaku Kururugi, formerly of the Third Honorary Infantry Division -"
That gets me a chorus of groans, with someone in the back complaining about the 'Asshole Brigade'.
"-BUT AS OF YESTERDAY," I raise my voice to make sure some of these complainers can hear me, "I'm being transferred to the Advanced Special Envoy Engineering Corps."
"Hot damn," a startling loud cry echoes through the room with a whistle, and - ah, it's the guy on stage with a microphone, wearing 60's style hippie sunglasses and sporting a soul patch. "Camelot took you in? You must be a cool cat! Come on in and have yourself a drink - on the house!"
"It's not 'on the house'," the annoyed bartender growls - almost with the ring of a catchphrase. "You don't decide that, Wordsworth!"
And with that, any remaining tension bleeds out of the room like a stuck pig as the atmosphere turns festive and cozy.
"So," I mutter under my breath, "this is where the cool Britannians hang out..."
Did… did you really think that everyone except for the people Lelouch knows personally would be racist pricks?
Can you blame me?!
For taking at face value a cartoon that was made to sell toys and model kits? Yes, I kind of think I can.
"Okay then," I mutter beneath my breath. "We'll consider that one lesson learned."
Even if we disregard butterfly effects stemming from my existence...
Seems like trusting canon to hold true in this world is a bad habit I'm gonna have to break; and the sooner, the better.
[-to be continued...]