Imaginary Number
Chapter 1: A Meeting
Disclaimer: I do not own Evangelion.
/\/\/\/\
The world swarmed in cacophonous disorder. Human traffic flowed beneath shining towers of steel and glass. Cars choked every street, horns futilely blaring at each other. Construction crews sprouted up on most arteries, redirecting and diverting travel into convoluted jigsaw patterns. The city resumed.
From the elevated train platform the surrounding valleys and mountains were invisible, blocked wholly by manmade structures. Even the sky was fenced out, towers and crisscrossing power lines reaching up like fingers. This was the box she existed within, standing alone in a crowd on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive and spew out passengers as others were ingested and spirited away. She watched the evening shift workers and students mill about, chattering in a million different oblivious conversations, their words spilling together into a throbbing cloud of sound.
The visual oversaturation and the urban stink could be girded against but the sound was constant. Even in the middle of the night there were people out, changing shifts or seeking amusement. In their single-minded pursuits they passed her by, talking over each other, adding to the ever-expanding cloud. Her voice was forever drowned out by their storm of noise.
She looked up at the clock by the train schedules. The city's recent reconstruction played havoc with the timetables she was used to. Partially destroyed lines necessitated alternate routes, giving her something new to memorize. She watched the hands tick off the minutes, trying to ignore the clamor all around her.
Finally the elevated train slid around a bend of track to the station. The crowd on the platform jostled for optimal positions before arrival. She skirted them to keep the train in sight. She focused. She gathered her will.
And collided with someone. The impact was negligible but so unexpected she fell backwards onto the floor. She sat, stunned.
"Sorry."
She swung her head to the person who spoke. A boy looked down at her. His discomfort increased as she stayed on the ground.
"Are you okay?" he asked her.
She was too dumbfounded to respond. Her mouth worked slowly, futilely. Her voice refused her.
"If you're hurt, I can call an officer over or… Um…"
She stared up at him. His eyes danced away but returned to her. He returned to her.
"Um, here."
He offered his hand. Without realizing it she reached to him. He held her.
An alien, wondrous heat surrounded her hand. Naive nerve endings sparked to life in a dizzying bloom that rippled through her and stole her breath. Her head swam. Her vision spotted. The sonorous drone of the crowd was forgotten. The station platform, the city, the unseen rest of the world faded to nothing as her entire existence was reduced and magnified to his blistering hot hand around hers.
The boy helped her up. She wobbled and slumped on her feet.
The train slid into the station. Its doors opened to exchange passengers. The boy glanced over his shoulder at the trade.
"I have to catch this. It's for my, uh, job." Still, he hesitated. "Are you okay?" he asked again.
Her face bobbed in a heady wake. He took it as a yes.
"Sorry again."
He backed away, then turned and was lost in the commuter traffic.
Wait.
She weakly reached after him, stumbling onto her knees.
Don't go.
The train doors slid shut and it departed, quickly picking up speed. Soon, it was out of sight. He was gone.
Please.
The station emptied. She was alone. She was alone but the city's din crept around her again; horns blaring, trucks roaring, construction crews building, people struggling to be heard above it all. Disorder returned to push her away from everything else. He was gone and she was alone once more.
/\/\/\/\
Precord was an out of the way music store, tucked into a narrow alley downtown. It specialized in used rare and out of print albums for obsolete formats at reasonable prices. Racks of CDs, tapes and vinyl created aisles in the center of the shop while more music lined the walls. Every piece was carefully packed and sealed, along with meticulous labeling of contents and release information. The owner was a thin, bearded audiophile managing a midlife crisis behind a glass desk offering forgotten stereo systems. He played abstruse music through a pair of weathered speakers, offering little more than a brief nod of recognition to any potential customer.
It was a warm day. The owner propped the entrance open with a crate, hoping for a stray wind to cool off the store. She was able to enter without incident.
She approached him. He was near the back of the shop, browsing the SDAT section along the wall. He picked through the tapes slowly, absorbed in his search. She waited until he was obscured from the front desk by a center rack.
She hesitated behind him as uncertainty flickered through her. She stared at his back and realized she was reaching for him. She forced her hands back by her sides.
He lifted his head up. He turned around. She froze.
"Sorry," he said to her, already moving. "I'll get out of your way."
"No," she got out. "I mean, it's okay. I mean, we can both look."
"Oh. Okay."
She stepped up to the tape shelf as he resumed his search. For a moment she emulated him, looking over rows of artists and titles she had no familiarity with. She glanced at him. His movements were self-conscious and tentative now, his hands half-reaching for tapes before faltering and returning to his sides. The anxiety was plain and excruciating to see.
This was going poorly. She needed to make a better impression than this. But every avenue of conversation died before she could initiate. She wasted two minutes considering her next move.
He stepped back. "Here. I won't get in your way. I need to get going anyway."
"Wait."
He did, more out of surprise at her plea. She stole a look at the shop owner. He was absorbed in a record catalogue beside the thrumming speakers.
"I mean, um…" She ordered the words to come out. "Sorry for bothering you." She bowed with a formal awkwardness.
He fretted. "You don't have to do that. Really. Please."
She rose. They stared at each other.
"We met last week," she blurted. "Sort of. At the south el station."
"Oh." Recognition dawned over his face. "Oh. Right. Sorry about bumping into you like that. You weren't hurt, were you?"
"It was…" Wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic. "… no problem."
"Good."
They stood in silence.
"You like music?" she asked, gesturing vaguely to the music store they were both looking for music in.
"Yeah. Do you?"
"Yes. B-But I don't get to listen to it as often as I like."
"You're busy?"
Her smile was nervous. "Not as much as you, I'm sure." He offered a puzzled look. "You told me you have a job, right?"
"I did?"
"You did, yes. It must be difficult. That's the middle school uniform, right?"
He looked himself over, finding he was indeed wearing a middle school uniform. "Yeah." He bothered to notice what she wore. "Are you new around here? I don't recognize your uniform."
"I'm still getting used to the city. There are so many people, but they all seem so alone. You're the first person I've been able to talk to." She tempered herself and redirected. "Do you come here a lot?"
"I only found it a few weeks ago. It has a good selection."
"Yes," she agreed. She had to keep him talking to her. "There is a lot here. It's a little overwhelming. I love music but I don't have experience buying it. I don't really know where to start."
"What format do you have?" he asked.
"SDAT."
He brightened a degree. "What kind of music do you like?" He stepped back up to the shelves of tapes. "This store is good about labeling things so you can find related genres and artists."
"I like choral pieces," she said.
"New age? Religious? Opera?"
"Anything with a focus on voice."
"Okay."
A slow start was still a start. He seemed timid and skittish, so careful and measured was probably the best pace even if it ran counter to every instinct she held.
She pushed it from her mind and tried to focus on him as he guided her through a search. He seemed to have a substantial knowledge of older artists. She wasn't picky; after blindly relying on others for so long for any kind of musical exposure she learned to appreciate almost anything. Being asked what she liked was a first.
He pointed out an album she might enjoy. His hand was too tempting. She reached out towards the same tape and their fingers collided.
"Sorry," he said, reflexively pulling away. He glanced in her direction, another apology on his lips.
She breathed hard, trying not to pant. She wobbled on her feet, greedily cradling her hand.
"Are you okay—"
A shrill electric chirp startled them both. He pulled out a cell phone, checking who was calling him. He frowned.
"Sorry," he told her, "but I should take this."
He turned away and answered. He winced as an angry voice met him. She couldn't make out the entire conversation but it wilted him like a dying flower.
"Sorry," he spoke into the phone. "Yeah… No, I… No, I told you I'd be back later to make dinner… You can't wait a little longer?" He slumped further. "Okay. I'm heading back. Bye—"
The caller hung up on him. His shoulders hung low off his frame.
"You have to leave?" she asked him.
He remembered he wasn't alone. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. It's, uh, it's important."
"Oh." Careful and measured, she reminded herself as she trailed him to the front of the store.
He paused by the register and the oblivious owner. "Were you going to buy anything?" he asked her.
"I just remembered I forgot my wallet."
The boy looked conflicted. She hurried ahead.
"I'll come back again. No worries."
She glanced at the proprietor. He was still reading his magazine, the speakers too loud to hear anything else. They escaped into the broiling sun.
He sighed. "It's so hot today."
"Oh? Uh, yeah." She fidgeted. "Could I ask your name?"
"Huh? Oh. I'm Shinji Ikari."
"Shinji Ikari." She pronounced it carefully, delicately holding onto each syllable. The concept had a title. It was gaining new definition all the time. "That's a good name."
"I'm sorry. I never asked yours."
She smiled at him. The truest smile she ever made.
"I'm Mayumi Yamagishi. I am pleased to meet you."
/\/\/\/\
The minimart was a small chain store, vivid fluorescence illuminating discount wares twenty-four hours a day. Although lacking gourmet luxury it held a loyal customer base by means of its prices and location equidistant between a number of residential complexes. A smiling, anthropomorphic cartoon hummingbird welcomed patrons above sliding glass doors opened by a pressure mat. She waited for a set of teenagers to enter before sneaking in.
It was bright to the point of disorienting. The teenagers headed to a rack of magazines by the register and Mayumi stumbled towards the back of the store to a row of refrigerated panels. The center one was ajar.
"Hello, Ikari," she spoke.
Shinji turned around, in the midst of selecting a carton of flavored milk. "Yamagishi. Hello."
"We keep running into each other."
"Yeah."
"Sometimes the city can be a small place," she said.
"Yeah."
"So, uh, you're doing some shopping?"
"Yeah."
"That's an interesting collection," she remarked.
He followed her eyes to the basket he carried. Spicy snacks, sweet snacks, sour snacks, headache medicine, a car freshener, a box of tampons, flea dip, boy band magazines, fashion magazines, salty snacks, antacid, and nail polish remover. He surrendered the strawberry milk to the pile.
"None of it is for me," Shinji said, though he eyed the headache medicine. He wasn't embarrassed, simply put out.
"Oh." Mayumi waited for more and got nothing.
She shadowed him as he went up and down the aisles, plucking items corresponding to a scrawled list he wearily consulted. The list was lengthy, and written in two distinctly separate, though equally sloppy, hands. Some of the requests were very specific, with sub-orders; Shinji was told in underlined words not to again mix up the chocolate and nut candy bar Hunky Monkey with the similarly branded smooth chocolate treat Vanilla Gorilla.
They headed to the candy racks. Shinji was focused on the proper selection. They had not spoken much during his shopping, she was wary of distracting his grave search, but as she looked over his shoulder at the list she realized it was finished. He would pay, he would leave and she would be alone.
She looked around them. To the right were the teenagers at a magazine kiosk. To the left were the cashiers. Behind them was a father with a noisy child reaching for a bin of colorful rubber balls. There was no chance for privacy, no chance for conversation. No chance to touch hands.
"Ah," Shinji said, finding the correct candy. He tossed it onto the amalgamation he was lugging. Then he snapped the list shut and jammed it into a pocket. "What are you getting?"
Mayumi came back to reality. "I, uh, I just wanted to get out of the heat for a little."
He nodded understanding. "It really hasn't let up." He headed for the checkout.
He paid for the groceries with a card emblazoned with a red half fig leaf symbol. She saw the same logo at various points around the city. NERV, she recalled from overheard conversations. Tokyo-3 was a company town, after all. Mayumi silently renewed her objections to someone as young as Shinji having a job but the cashier accepted the card without incident, even offering a familiar, commiserating wave after the transaction.
They approached the exit. The doors slid open and they left together, walking out into a blanket of a humid evening.
"Is this place nice?" she blurted.
"I guess. It's cheap and convenient."
"Um, have you been back to that music store? Have you made any interesting finds?"
"No."
"Oh." Mayumi clawed through her thoughts to grasp another topic for conversation. "I, I should apologize. I never asked you what kind of music you like."
Shinji shrugged. "I'm not too picky."
"That's probably not a bad thing." She knew beggars could not be choosers.
As they spoke he edged away from the minimart. She trailed after. The city was still noisy here, even on an isolated back road devoid of car traffic. They drifted into a pool of light from a street lamp. Above, a starless night sky oozed between the city towers.
"And I never thanked you for your help the other day," she went on. She held her hands behind her, running over one another. "I appreciate it. Really. So, um…"
Shinji had edged out of the light. "Sorry. I need to get back. The milk will spoil in this heat."
"What? Oh. Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot."
For the first time that night he looked concerned beyond his errand. "It's okay. It's getting dark. Do you live around here?"
"Huh?"
"I could walk you home if—"
"No. I mean, yeah, I live around here, so I'll be back soon. Back home. You don't need to worry about me."
"Okay…" Shinji frowned, looked away and rediscovered the sweaty carton of strawberry milk. "Okay. Good evening, then. See you around, Yamagishi."
"Really?" Mayumi grinned awkwardly at herself. "Sorry. Good evening, Ikari. Bye."
He walked down the street in and out of lamplight burning against the dark. At the corner he turned, saw her watching him from the spot they parted, and gave her a tentative wave farewell. She returned it and he was gone.
"See you around."
/\/\/\/\
The sky was a dirty concrete canopy. The rain fell in stubborn sheets for hours without reprieve, flooding many of the lower streets and valleys. Passing cars sent waves of puddle water over the sidewalk, splashing up against the sides of the alley dumpster. It was otherwise protected from the storm by the apartment complex's jutting roof architecture.
It was Wednesday evening. Thursday was garbage pickup. So Shinji had to take the trash out to the alley, even if it was raining. He managed to drag the last of the week's refuse while balancing an umbrella between his chin, shoulder and crook of an elbow. He was still partially soaked. One pant leg clung to his thin limb, both sneakers were water-logged, squishing with every unsteady step. A truck roared past the flooded street and he somehow reflexed the umbrella into a defensive shield to block most of the wave. His other leg was hit. Shinji sighed.
He opened the dumpster. He hefted the trash into the bin. The lid no longer shut completely. Shinji tried to force it down, failed, and almost fell. He sighed again. He turned to leave.
"Hello."
He was immediately alert. His eyes scanned the alley and found her behind the dumpster by a pile of empty boxes.
"Yamagishi?" His concern did not entirely abate.
"Ikari." She smiled at him. "The heat finally broke, huh?"
"Yeah." He looked her over a moment, seeing she was untouched by rain. "Are you waiting out the storm here?"
"Yes."
Shinji glanced about at the miserable stretch of concrete they were in. "Were you passing by?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess it could have been in a worse place."
"Yes."
He still held his umbrella upright although he was shielded in the alleyway and was already half-soaked. The other night's mood in the convenience store was a million miles away. He was a touch gloomy but he was present. He still appeared skittish, a tentative step away from anxiety, but that may merely be his nature. If he wanted to take things slow, she would allow him to. If he wanted to talk about the weather, she would listen. He was here, speaking to her. That was better than nothing. Even if she needed more.
But he saw her. He saw her. He saw her.
"It's not stopping," he said, peering up at the heavy sky. "The forecast was for storms through the night."
"Oh."
Shinji debated himself for a moment. "I live here," he finally said, gesturing to the apartments. "Do you want a drier place to wait out the rain?"
"… Are you alone right now?" Mayumi asked.
"Oh, no. I have, uh, two roommates."
"… I'll be okay out here. I don't want to trouble you."
"You're sure?"
She forced it out: "Yes."
He looked down to contemplate her predicament. He saw his soggy feet and still-damp pant leg.
"Here." Shinji closed his umbrella, shook it less wet, and approached. He held it towards her. "I don't need this to get home. You can have it to—"
"Wait."
He froze as she backed away. The flicker of panic that ran over her face made him reconsider the position they were in. The isolated alleyway under a deafening storm suddenly felt less platonic.
"Sorry," he murmured, ashamed at the impropriety of his consideration. He backpedalled to a safer three meter distance. "Sorry."
They stood apart in the alley. A bus swept past behind, spreading more water over his feet.
Shinji carefully placed the umbrella against a wall, handle up. He stepped back. "I'll leave this for you. Don't worry about returning it or anything." He fidgeted at her continued distress. "Sorry again." He turned to depart.
"Wait."
Mayumi used the moment it took for him to stop and look over his shoulder at her to debate the wisdom of what to say. They were alone, secluded from the rest of the world. How long would she have to wait for another opportunity like that? How long could she wait? The conviction she searched for refused to be found.
She walked to the umbrella and bowed. "Thank you. I… I can't… Um, thank you. Really. I'll be okay here. Please don't worry."
She rose and tried to replicate the smile from the record store. She did not know if she was successful.
Shinji accepted it, perhaps just to escape the situation. "Right then. I should be going. It's getting late. See you, Yamagishi."
"See you."
He left. The roar of rain crept back into her ears. The traffic beyond the alley blared and rushed over deluged streets. Thunder growled over the ridges of the valley.
Mayumi gazed down at the umbrella, still dripping water. A small pool on the ground rippled with every droplet. She stood on the edge of it as the storm and city bellowed above and around her. For a moment, the disgust she felt with her cowardice outweighed everything else. The umbrella dripped, unwilling to become dry.
She left the alley without being able to touch it.
/\/\/\/\
The elevated train slid into the station. People exited, people entered. She was alone again on the platform. Her toes hung over the edge. Below was the drop onto a busy downtown intersection. The cars and trucks and buses convulsed in a kaleidoscopic metal parade, growling and honking and screeching, fenced by unending streams of pedestrians desperate to be heard and known over it all. The city din throbbed without end.
Another train arrived. Another exchange of passengers. The train roared away, the crowd dispersed and melted into the populace. She stayed on the platform, watching the traffic crawl below her toes. She rocked gently, back and forth.
Mayumi smiled. She stepped back from the edge of the train platform.
The public clock on the wall read ten of seven. It was Thursday. Shinji only used this train station on Tuesdays and Fridays for his nebulous job. Mondays he was assigned clean-up duty at school, and he often used Wednesdays to reinforce the bonds with two other boys. He usually spent Thursday afternoons running errands that could not wait until the weekend, or finishing tasks left uncompleted from the previous weekend. He was a diligent house manager, she realized. Living with those two women seemed an unenviable undertaking. They didn't appear related, so the devotion he showed to their upkeep was of a non-familial origin. Mayumi sighed pleasantly. Shinji was full of mysteries.
The sun was slipping low between the city buildings. Shinji would be heading home to prepare supper. Thursdays were one of his nights to cook. He'd be the first one up in the morning, running down to the corner convenience store for a newspaper. Then breakfast, then school, then the routine repeated again and again.
Just his schedule was enough to offer solace. Knowing where he was in the city at any moment of any day provided a sense of comforting control. She had the power to seek him out if she wished, or to watch from afar, or to investigate the areas he frequented. The concept of time became significant. Day or night, weekend or weekday made no difference to her as she wandered aimlessly. Now she could measure existence in relation to something objective, real and meaningful. Now it mattered when school began and ended, when the sun rose and set. Now time could slip past her, or crawl in even slower agony. Now there was something to look forward to.
"Shinji Ikari."
She imagined her words forming in the air, twisting and contorting, growing in size and shape until the rest of the city was obscured. If she focused on him the world was reduced and made manageable. It was loud and chaotic and horrible but she had a guide now. A place to return to, to seek out through the disorder. A destination.
Let the rest of the world drown in its oblivious sea of noise, screaming at each other without communicating anything. She didn't need them. Now she had someone to see and be seen by. Someone to touch and be touched by. Someone she wanted to hear. Someone who heard her.
Someone who finally heard her name.
/\/\/\/\
End of chapter 1
Author notes: this idea rattled around my brain on and off for years, despite not knowing much about Mayumi beyond vague summaries of her game. And I'm too lazy to do actual research. Thus, I subject you to my bastardizing of another obscure, non-canon character.
I'm also too lazy to drag this out. I sloppily planned four chapters.
Next chapter: Marbles found, marbles lost.