skepticism: an attitude of questioning or doubt.
A brief compendium detailing the times in which one Shinichi Kudo has interacted with the supernatural, and been in denial of it the whole time.
xXx
The true first encounter with the supernatural is, of course, one Shinichi does not remember. One could say it's the ones who placed that powerful glamor over him, the ones who interfered in his early life to ensure him hidden.
One could also argue that his first encounter with the fae was himself, considering, but that's a bit technical and awkward, isn't it?
xXx
The first he remembers is when he's a child.
"Fascinating," the woman says, eyeing him up from her place on a park bench, "it has been long since I've seen an unsettled in the human realm, one so young as to not have a magic yet."
Shinichi eyes her up and down, kindergarten indignancy on display as he barks out a "huh?"
Turning towards her… the woman is fascinating, with lucious rust orange clothing that drapes her body and a sharp smile.
"Oh," she coos, and her teeth may be moderately too sharp, "you are young."
Shinichi frowns, peeling away from those eyes, finding the situation both confusing and uncomfortable— something a know it all child like him is deeply opposed to.
She lets him go.
xXx
Shinichi's classmates have big imaginations; he knows this. Ran is not the only one who speaks of ghosts and monsters; she's not considered abnormal for it, which in itself is telling.
Shinichi has quickly become known as fearless, at least in the sense that he does not believe and thusly is immune to any sort of rumor regarding the spookiness of a place. Ergo, he makes a good sacrifice to send to investigate such places and things.
It's not cruel, per say, more convenient to their childish logic. Besides, Shinichi begrudgingly goes and looks for them often, mostly because he enjoys proving the other children wrong. Even young, he likes that spotlight, and the idea that what he's doing is sort of detective work is good enough for him.
So yes, he goes and visits supposedly cursed places, picks up supposedly cursed necklaces, interacts with supposedly magical animals— you get the point. Childish imagination and fear means a lot of perceived magic, and especially curses. Maybe not wrong, no, though still paranoid; many are nothing, and even those that are something were often only once something, in the past, and are now nothing more than vaguely ominous knick knacks.
So, in other words, Shinichi goes to investigate a lot of nothing, but that is not to say there is nothing at all, because sometimes, there is something.
Much of what was spread was spread by those that don't know what they did or what had been done in some way— in other words, the magic was old, left to collect dust. It was like some decrepit quilt, falling apart at its seams and not doing much in terms of its actual intended purpose— though an old quilt still gives a vague sense of warmth, it does naught against winter's chill.
Similarly, these artifacts— old carved ruins in the walls, objects of spiritual importance, what have you— were all doing a poor job on that metaphorical warmth. They did not fulfill their purposes anymore, just provided in the air a faint tinge of magic, and (sometimes) a potent scent of fear. Enough to spark a child's imagination, for sure, but not enough that it did something as flagrant as blatantly prove magic— that was something the magical community, buried under glamors and isolation as they were, had a vested interest in avoiding.
When Shinichi entered a magical space or touched a magical object, he was naturally doubtful; his father's son, a skeptical detective fan.
Lucky for him, his traits made that magic… well, it was so weak that it was, in essence, edible. Absorbable by a creature powerful than it. And Shinichi was— with a tinge of static, anything that the children had been afraid of had been wiped away, reduced to a normal thing.
One might think Shinichi might take note of that electrical change in the air, or something. But no, he was also none the wiser, and despite very much being the cause of that normalcy, he took such normalcy as the proof that the other children were fools, and that he (in his non-belief) was far smarter.
xXx
There is a man at his parent's party, one he does not recognize.
"My," the man says, adjusting a smooth coat of fur across his back, prodding at the bright green leaf tucked in his pocket, "you look hungry."
"You're dressed weird," is all Shinichi manages, blunt as any child.
The man chortles. From inside his pocket, he withdraws a block of something that looks vaguely like tofu— except in that it shimmers iridescently, looking like it was gaudily painted. It smells like citrus and coconut.
"I don't want that," Shinichi huffs. "It's weird too, and my parents say not to take stuff from strangers."
The man rolls his eyes, adjusting the glasses that remind Shinichi of racoon eyes. "Suit yourself," he hums. "You'll be weak without it. Though, I suppose you're fitting in well regardless."
And then he leaves.
Shinichi stuffs his face at the buffet table, hoping the man can see him out of spite.
xXx
This is not the last time Shinichi is offered fae food and complimented on his deception, not the last time by far. As he gets older, it only happens more and more.
"You look hungry," they always say.
The strange lady with sharp pupils calls it ambrosia, when he asks at ten years old. That's the most common name he hears, as it's offered jovially to him. "Ambrosia? Ambrosia?" they ask in ringing voices, pinching at its various forms— blocks of tofu-like things, powders, bars… the main consistencies are the sweet smell and the incandescent shimmering. It often comes with a compliment with a tone of reassurance (for what, Shinichi is unsure) to the tune of, "you blend in!"
Shinichi eventually wonders if he's the target of some weirdly focussed drug campaign. Still, nothing shows up when he searches the name that they all refer to it as— nothing drug related, at least. There's still that heathonous American rice pudding concoction, the latin word for a genus of asters that do not have any medicinal properties, as well as the obvious connection between the orange-and-coconut ambrosia drink of the Greek, to be offered to their gods.
He does eventually snap, of course, asking why all these odd people are offering him drugs. He also asks if they even know how dealing works, considering their blatant unsubtly. The latter is a bit barbed, but still deserved in his mind. The ones he snaps at are confused.
When he is fifteen, Shinichi takes some, from a man that has strange bumps on his head and sharp hands. Were Shinichi superstitious at all, he'd guess he was hiding horns or some nonsense, but he isn't, and he takes the tropical smelling thing without comment— other than a glare. The man raises a thick brow at the way the stuff is swiped and Shinichi's expression, but he shrugs and strolls off.
"You'll feel better," he hums. "I've never seen someone as weak as you. Your glamor still is holding up well despite that, though— quite impressive."
Shinichi frowns after him. He may not be Ran levels of strong, but he isn't weak. Good to hear he looks okay, though, if that was what the man was attempting to say. He glares down at the soft, sweet smelling thing that glimmers in his hand, and decides to test it.
Not by eating it, of course. He may be impulsive and wild at times, but Shinichi is at least responsible enough to simply look at it with Agasa.
Later, Agasa is completely confused as to why Shinichi brings a creamy block of coconut and orange that seems to be a delicious dessert, and has no odd properties asides from being primly decorated with what he assumes is a baking gloss. Shinichi is frustrated, to say the least, especially when it continues happening.
xXx
He's begun to make a name for himself as a detective— largely by stumbling across crime scenes and riddling them out, not really to do with police involvement.
"Makes sense how you're able to be drawn to 'em so easily," someone says, breaking away from the crowd and sidling up to him like he knows Shinichi. His eyes are a light green, and his pupils are skinny and sharp.
Shinichi narrows his own eyes at him, and the man goes on— "I'd heard of you and the way you seem to find crime scenes perfectly timed, and the way everyone confesses without a lawyer and all that, but I suppose I brushed the obvious off, since I didn't think one of us would risk getting big." His gaze slants over Shinichi. "Especially not one so young."
"I'm in high school," Shinichi barks, then realizes it makes him sound all the more childish and indignant.
"Oh yes, yes," the man rolls his eyes, scoffing. "How dedicated you are to this ruse indeed. I almost admire it."
"Huh?" Shinichi blinks. Over the years, he's had several encounters of odd compliments, of oh you fit in well! They never cease to confuse and befuddle him.
"Don't worry," the slit eyes roll, "we can keep it up, if you like." The man waves a hand with sharp fingernails around the crowd. "Wouldn't want them hearing, I suppose, given how famed you are quickly becoming."
Shinichi just stares at him with open confusion.
"Down low," the man continues, affirming with a nod, then waves. "Just wanted to see you, I suppose. Like I said, most of us don't get that rise, so." Awkwardly, he turns on his heel, and disappears.
Huh.
xXx
Shinichi never focuses on any of these encounters for long, be they people offering him odd food, or complimenting on his looks or him being on the in crowd, or even noting his propensity for stumbling upon criminal happenings.
His life is too busy, after all; always another thing to do, be that an investigation or something more teenagerish.
Because of this, one would think that it would be easier to ignore in the wake of Conan; he has, after all, gained a significant amount of things to constantly chew on. Being almost killed and thusly wrapped up in some grand conspiracy will do that to you.
But they aren't easier to ignore. Mostly because they approach him more.
"My," more odd people will say, "you are so sickly and weak, and so low!" They'll ask about iron, ask about curses, and Shinichi wonders if this is just an experience everyone has and simply doesn't talk about, since these people are still bothering him in this form.
The first one to ask, to say, "this isn't even your correct form for your age, is it?" sends Shinichi straight into a panic attack. He's not wearing black, but instead a garb of brown, and he too has a leaf in his pocket. "Have some," he insists, pushing the recognizable ambrosia towards Shinichi.
And Shinichi just runs, man frowning after him.
More follow, after.
"Your glamor is busted," someone has informed him, and their eyes flicker between his short form, and somewhere in the air, around how tall Shinichi should be.
Offerings continue, and yet— no moves. Shinichi's paranoia levels always heighten after those encounters, because they seem to know. Still, days go by, and always, even after they blatantly know, nothing actually happens.
It is… confusing. Shinichi tries to trace them, but they always get unnaturally lost in metro crowds, seeming to step out of reality.
Shinichi settles for taking notes of them, of their strangenesses and their habits, of where he meets them. Still, no pattern, asides from what they comment on, the food they offer, and the fact that they seem to largely attempt to be discreet and approach him without others hearing; all things they have always done.
To say he is confused is an understatement.
Still. Shinichi Kudo is two things— one, unwilling to give up an investigation, and two, unwilling to consider the possibility of something supernatural.
The second one in particular is quite unfortunate.
xXx
Other people might find it heathenous, but I quite love rice pudding ambrosia (something that is basically unique to midwestern America, apparently). We called it various things (depending on what was in it) including "mormon salad" and "frog eye salad." It's not as gross as it sounds (nor is it a salad), I promise.
Enjoy the new fic, y'all~