Salutations, intrepid reader. I can think of only three scenarios which could possibly have led to you reading so sacred a tome as my personal journal, and I have chosen to list them below from most to least likely.
Scenario 1: I took a job for some teary-eyed, helpless old lady, a cute girl in need, or an entire village that was way above my ability level and you killed me and looted my corpse, only to find this inevitably bent, likely sweat-scented, and incredibly boring journal. Please refrain from using it as kindling. I worked hard on this, you know. Well, assuming that this first entry isn't the final one. I do occasionally have problems following through on tasks that take a lot of mental energy, and writing certainly qualifies. I'm already getting a headache.
Scenario 2: I've decided to show this to friends on the road, or after retirement as an adventurer for hire, for a bit of a laugh. Maybe we're poking fun at my irreverent scribblings together over a roaring campfire, or maybe I've settled down, and we own a home together now. Maybe this is being shown to a potential spouse, should I be so lucky to survive these years of wandering. In either case, it's good to see you again, person I've yet to meet. I hope you enjoy the contents within, and I hope they give you some insight into the man you've come to know, and maybe even love. I can't say that would be too horrible of a fate at all. It would be oddly poetic, in my mind.
Scenario 3: Perhaps you are a lover I've picked up along my travels, in the pursuit of a night of comfort, and you decided to snoop through my belongings as I snore lightly beside you. While some other men would write 'in such a case, wake me, if you're up for round two' within these pages, I have a far simpler demand in exchange for your trespass. Oh kind, cute, curious mystery woman, you may continue to read, if it suits you, but please- allow me to keep sleeping. I rarely manage a good night's sleep, and if this was one of those rare occasions that I mustered the courage and energy to try to charm someone into casual intimacy and somehow succeeded, I'm certainly going to need it. You have my thanks for your consideration, and I have no qualms with being the little spoon, if you want to put the journal down and join me in bed, or within the tent, or wherever I may be. Just make sure to mind the tail- it's quite heavy, and could likely cut off circulation to your extremities if you don't position yourself carefully. Perhaps it's best if you try to slip back into my arms without waking me, and allow me to be the big spoon. It would help boost my ego in the morning, after all.
I won't lie, I spent a good fifteen minutes fantasizing about Scenario 3 just now before I remembered that I had started a journal. In any case, I can think of no better way to start this project than by returning to Scenario 1, as it seems by far the most likely way for someone else to read this. If you did heed my advice to keep this tome, and decided to read it, I would very much like you to know something from the bottom of my heart.
You, sir or madam, are a colossal asshole, and I hope that reading this entry makes you feel awful about your incredibly misguided decision to kill me. We could have been friends, in another life, but no- you just had to choose the path of the raider, thief, enemy faction, or grimm. Can humanoid grimm read? I suppose the answer doesn't matter if I am, in fact, dead. If you're reading this while I'm bleeding out in front of you, though, and you do happen to qualify, shriek menacingly once for yes. Satisfying my curiosity is the least you could do for me, you slimy, partially skeletal, ravenous, potentially furry beast. Regardless, let's continue. I don't think I've done a very convincing job of making you feel bad about your decision yet, and this thing only has so many pages.
My name is Aki Daisuke, though depending on where this is being read, it may be Daisuke Aki. In certain parts of Anima- Higanbana, and the like- names are typically written and spoken with the family name coming first, and the given name second, if you didn't know. My family name is "Aki", while "Daisuke" is my given one. If I am indeed bleeding out in front of you, or perhaps, you've captured me and are reading this to mock me, now is the time to say "Hello, Dai. Nice to meet you." I may respond with a middle finger, in either case. Consider this your warning.
…I suppose there is a fourth possible scenario, after all.
Scenario 4: You have captured me, and are reading this journal to yourself or aloud to try to get a reaction. In such a case, I will not tell you anything, unless, of course, your chosen methods of torture are particularly effective. Everyone has a price and a limit, I would think. Good luck finding mine. I really would appreciate a greeting, though, now that you know my name. I also now realize that what you may be looking for could be within these pages, so you should keep reading as I try to nonchalantly escape whatever binds you have me in at present. Failing that, maybe my awful attempts at humor will sway you to release me. You never know.
I really do get sidetracked easily while writing, it seems. I find that odd, considering I think I focus rather well on other tasks. I'll have to ask a friend if I've been lying to myself about my tendency to let my mind wander, or if writing is just one of those things that can end up being entirely unique. Regardless, back to my dead, dying, or captured pity party. My goal is to make you cry by the end of this entry, if you deserve it.
At the time of writing, or perhaps, rambling, in the year of 3059, I am 19 years of age. I'm actually closer to 20 right now, for what it's worth. I am a faunus, as I believe I made abundantly clear by referencing my incredibly weighty tail. My parents told me that the trait is specifically from a Vacuan Beaded Lizard, which is a particularly nasty variant possessing a tail that makes up nearly 30% of its body weight. That ratio did indeed transfer to me, and saddled me with an appendage thicker than my legs that tends to drag when I walk. Even so, I've grown quite fond of my tail, over the years. It grants me impeccable balance, and it works wonderfully as a backup weapon, given its weight. I'm well aware that some faunus are grateful for traits that they can easily hide so that they might blend in with humans, but I see such a thing as a waste of time. I'd much rather let it all hang out, as it were, and put my animal feature on display for everyone to see, including any nearby humans who happen to be racist.
I like knowing who my enemies are.
I was born in Vacuo, though my mother was from Higanbana. Hence, my name. My father hailed from the shifting sands, like me, and for a time, we all lived out here in the desert, before moving to Higanbana at my mother's request. Apparently, the combination of heat, raiders, and beasts the size of buildings casually strolling the sands and looking for humanoid meals got to be a little much for her. My hometown is a small community known as Harold's Folly. I used to ask both of my parents repeatedly who Harold was, and what his mistake may have been, but never received a straight answer. My father, in particular, seemed to make a hobby of giving me a different story every single time I asked. Eventually, I just gave up. I think that's what he was going for.
I do visit that old town, from time to time, and some of the locals say they remember me. It seems that all they want to talk about is how much I've grown, or where my parents are. Quite frankly, I don't have the heart to tell them what happened, and I certainly don't have any inclination to record it here. Not yet, anyway.
Maybe one day, I will write down, or reveal to those asking, how we went from Vacuo to Higanbana, and why I came back home alone. Until that day, though, I'll continue to tell them that my parents are happily running the candle shop and smithy out in that peaceful, foreign village in Anima. Is it really so wrong to do so if it keeps them happy, and keeps me from having to face the truth like an adult? People from Vacuo rarely leave the place, and I doubt anyone interested is both willing and able to make the journey out of the desert to check.
This is getting unnecessarily deep, though I can't really say I'm surprised with that outcome. I started this journal as an attempt at curing my boredom during long, lonely nights on the road. Or "road" as the case may be, as I'm writing this in Vacuo. "Trail of tilted stone markers sticking out of the sand with bits of fabric wrapped around them" is a far more accurate descriptor than "road" for much of the passages of transport in this forsaken desert. Perhaps, though, as time goes on, this little book can serve as both something to do, and a way to figure out my feelings on the past, present, and future. I will readily admit that I have a habit of getting lost in my own head. Now, I can say I have a habit of getting lost in my own pages, too.
Do you feel bad, yet, if this is Scenario 1 or 4? I really am doing a terrible job, aren't I? I think, from here on out, I'll just write for myself, rather than whoever may get their hands on this journal. Then again, given the inconsistency and thought-vomit that I've managed to produce thus far, who knows what direction these scribblings may take?
I suppose, for posterity, I should mention that I am writing this neither while "on the road" or during a "lonely night", at the moment. The midday sun is currently directly overhead as I'm laying atop a rock, shirtless and sweaty. In fact, the only clothing I have on at the moment is a pair of black pants, and the long, maroon cloth that I like to keep tucked around my waist. My boots, shirt, and mask (all of which are black, of course) lay discarded upon the sand beneath my perch, and my ancestral firearm is right here beside me.
If this is Scenario 3, try not to get hot and bothered while mentally picturing me according to that description. Consider this a gentle reminder that I'm very tired in this theoretical present, and I really do prefer sleep to sex. Perhaps that explains why Scenario 3 is so unlikely, to anyone curious.
Sunbathing, or maybe more appropriately, basking is one of my favorite things to do in the desert. Maybe it's the lizard in me that drives me to occasionally laze about in the intense heat. Maybe that's the real reason I came back to this place. There's nothing quite like the feeling of trailing the tip of your tail lazily through the sand as your flesh bakes and begins to tan. Is a "journal tan" a thing? If this becomes habit, I think I'm going to alternate writing while laying upon my back and my stomach, so that I don't end up with a rectangular patch of milky white skin amongst the darker tone of the rest of my body. Are these normal things to think about?
Regardless of the answer, I can hear a caravan approaching my rock. I consider it convenient timing, as this is as good of a place to end my first entry as any. I don't know if further entries will be a recollection of events that I find interesting as the days go on, just venting and stream of consciousness rambling when I'm bored and feel I need it, some combination thereof, or something else entirely. All I know right now is that I hope that if this is being read, it's in the context of Scenario 2 or 3, and that the approaching caravan is friendly, and maybe even in need of my services. I could certainly use the spare lien.
Author's Note:
Welcome to the first of many journal entries of Daisuke, an OC who will be appearing in the story Arboretum. While these journal entries are indeed canon to Arboretum, they can easily be taken as a standalone story about a teenage faunus just trying to survive and find his way out in the desert. Daisuke is a character who will not be showing up in Arboretum until Volume 2 or 3, and his history before he appears is largely irrelevant to the overall plot. That being said, he's one of my favorites, in terms of personality, and I have a strong urge to write for him now instead of waiting. So… here we are.
This story will update every so often and contain a record of events leading up to Dai's involvement in Arboretum, and potentially, even his perspective on events within it. I would also like to thank ConstipatedGenius for partially inspiring this idea with Tale of Team Iridescence and Iridescence, which is a pair of stories including a journal and a third-person companion story both involving his characters. They're both definitely worth a read if this kind of 'journal' story is something that interests you.
-RD