She doesn't stay for long, none of them do. An expanse of tense months, recording like hermits, recuperating as if they couldn't find 2D in the rubble for the weeks that they had stayed on the site had them turn further away from each other. She stayed out of obligations, she had started Demon Days, had written it from her nightmares and dreams, she knew the direction and what she wanted. She had to have stayed, at least for that, Murdoc reasoned to her, for 2D.
So she did, she did until she was done, she did until she was packing up, she did until she was hugging Russel goodbye, she did until she boarded the airplane and it took off without further fanfare.
Noodle looked around, faces of people she didn't know surrounding her, she sighed quietly as she leaned back, ignoring the stewardess as she spoke.
She closed her eyes and kept them shut for the whole ride through.
She landed without fuss, passengers waking, seatbelts unbuckling, and carryon luggage getting passed. The airport teemed with families and businessmen and passengers, busying themselves in their own worlds without question.
Perhaps she too would find that here.
A world where she belonged.
The Osaka sun beamed bright, giant buildings towering, bustling. Car horns beeped, sales being shouted, people conversing as they walked. Noodle stood under a tree, hand out to nab a taxi; she stepped back as the cab came up to her, letting her climb in easily. They traded few words; a request for somewhere quiet and away from the city was made.
Once again, Noodle slept for the ride.
The cab took her somewhere calm, houses and stalls and trees littered everywhere. People walked dazedly in the heat, gone was the city bustle, convenience marts on the corner being the only familiar marker.
She paid the man her bill, standing still as it left back towards the city. She was alone now. In this is sleepy strip of Japan.
Noodle looked up into the sky, finding how often she did that now, and wondered if she'd find what she needed.
Hopefully she could, she wished.
She spends the day in lazy scrawl, seeing sights, an impressive shrine, aged and old, hidden in the trees, stone steps overgrown with green. The little town she thought was quiet but this, this spot that she finds, this abandoned shrine, is even quieter.
Noodle plucks up a blade of grass, pressing it to her lips, the sound light, mixing with the summer breeze, and marvels at the find.
She's at a stall now, it's rickety and flimsy but it stands and the man is kind, munching on a dango stick. The sun dropped low, painting the sky in a dipping sunset, Noodle turns her back, watching as people emerge from the day, slipping into the night for a fix.
She drops the stick into the standing bin and thanks the man once more, she grabs her things and goes, her feet taking control to who knows where.
Her stomach growls but she ignores it.
She'll eat an actual dinner later.
Stars began to bleed into the sky, freckling the atmosphere, the navy pitching bright with constellations clear without the interference of city light. She found herself enraptured, how beautiful it was, constants above her watching down at them on Earth, wrapped with stories and legends and spirits of people that has passed away.
She thought of the band, the mystery of her coming to them, how easily she fit even if she didn't know herself, the struggle to communicate beyond the simple basics. She thought of the fights, the laughs, the music; the touring and adventures, killing zombies they came across in Kong. It was all she knew, her time with them.
Everyone came from somewhere, she knew this, Russel assured her and 2D showed her, her nifty pocket translator in hand, pointing into the midnight sky, she was a star, Murdoc told her.
But that wasn't enough.
So here she was now, lost in Japan, with naught but a clue other than the offhanded comment that her accent sounded like those from Osaka from a fan.
Noodle blinked slowly, the moon coming into view, peeking from the comfortable wrap of wispy clouds.
She would come back to them.
But for now, she wanted to find herself, to be something other than Noodle the guitarist of the British band Gorillaz.
From above, the stars twinkled, winking down on her and she found herself smiling back.
Yes, she knew she would, hopeful in this idle town of tired dreams.
She's at some random joint, chopsticks in hands, chewing raw tuna between her teeth. She had come in a while ago, stumbling upon the sight like a near mistake, but sticking to stay, the food delicious. Around her tired men sat at the bar, beer mugs and ties wrapped around their heads, scattered at the other low tables are couples, families celebrating, eating a late dinner.
The head chef yells from behind the sushi bar, calling for last rounds.
They make eye contact, a ghost of a smile on the old man's face, his wrinkles gathering, looking fatherly until the contact was lost.
Noodle dips her last piece in soy sauce, crinkling the napkin at her side, the salt kissing her mouth, savoring.
It's the chef that finds her.
His name is Kyuzo, an old man who lived with his wife in a modest flat, no children between the two.
He sees her wandering the now deserted street and takes her in without fuss, letting her into his home with a kind, enigmatic smile; he gives her a room, bare save for a modest futon and leaves her to her devices.
She wakes the next morning alone, a plush at the foot of her bed.
The back of her mind curled as she looked at the toy, her hands holding the toy lightly, fingering the frayed fabric.
How strangely familiar.
