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PSL (closed)
[The shop had finally settled again. It was a bit of a relief, because it hadn't anchored to a world in nearly two weeks, and Watanuki's food stores had started to run low. A shopping trip would be in order, mostly to replenish his nonperishable before the shop set out looking for another world in need of his help.
Usually Watanuki could guess when a move was about to happen, but sometimes it happened out of the blue. Like this last move, which had come so soon after arriving in the previous world. That usually meant that his services were in dire need and that people's souls were calling out to him, even if they didn't quite know it themselves yet. Watanuki would just have to wait for them to come to him.
His first visitor, at least, wouldn't take too long to get there. Watanuki always had a sense of when someone was to arrive, and as soon as the shop's gates had opened and revealed itself to the busy streets of Yokohama he had felt the impending arrival of a customer. It was enough to pique his interest, because he didn't usually get a visitor on the same day after a shop move. Someone was very perceptive, it seemed.
By the time his guest would arrive, Watanuki had already set up some tea in one of the sitting rooms. The summer was at its end, and the cool breeze felt nice enough that Watanuki had decided to open the movable doors to reveal the backyard, which was still bathed in the greens of summer. They could stay cool without the need of an air conditioner that way.
From there, he waited. He had a feeling that his guest was a particularly clever one, so he felt sure that they would find their way to the sitting room on their own.]
Usually Watanuki could guess when a move was about to happen, but sometimes it happened out of the blue. Like this last move, which had come so soon after arriving in the previous world. That usually meant that his services were in dire need and that people's souls were calling out to him, even if they didn't quite know it themselves yet. Watanuki would just have to wait for them to come to him.
His first visitor, at least, wouldn't take too long to get there. Watanuki always had a sense of when someone was to arrive, and as soon as the shop's gates had opened and revealed itself to the busy streets of Yokohama he had felt the impending arrival of a customer. It was enough to pique his interest, because he didn't usually get a visitor on the same day after a shop move. Someone was very perceptive, it seemed.
By the time his guest would arrive, Watanuki had already set up some tea in one of the sitting rooms. The summer was at its end, and the cool breeze felt nice enough that Watanuki had decided to open the movable doors to reveal the backyard, which was still bathed in the greens of summer. They could stay cool without the need of an air conditioner that way.
From there, he waited. He had a feeling that his guest was a particularly clever one, so he felt sure that they would find their way to the sitting room on their own.]
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Watanuki didn't point that out, though. Nor did he respond to anything else Dazai said. Now wasn't a moment for lectures or insight. Dazai was leading this conversation with his heavy heart. So Watanuki followed Dazai out to the backyard wordlessly, watching what Dazai did. He was ready to intervene if needed, but he suspected Dazai already knew what to do.
The payment would be given to Smithy once the guns had been tested. He trusted Smithy's work, but that was the way of things. Any craftsman wanted to see that their work was accepted, after all. ]
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(He's been alone in his mind for far too long.)
When he reached the porch, Dazai took a steady breath, leaning on one of the posts for a moment before correcting his posture. The restless warmth in his system had spread from his fingers to his chest. According to the Smithy, his current limit was three shots a day.
There were two guns.
The last time, one blast was enough to drain him. In this manner, standing next to the post was a good precaution.
In a move that violated basic gun safety, he stuck the second pistol in his coat pocket. Examined the first, went through the motions of reloading the pistol - checking to see if the magazine was still empty (it was, similar to the second gun), re-inserting it, releasing the safety. Pulled the slide, perhaps unnecessary given that there were no rounds to release. Watanuki might notice the confidence in the stillness of Dazai's hands, the complete opposite of how shaken the ex-mafioso looked earlier: this was just one of those things he used to do to keep his hands busy and clear his mind, even if there were no bullets around as a precaution.
For most people, folding the laundry had the same effect.
When Dazai was finally ready, he made sure his footing was even: while he recalled how much recoil this pistol had, there was no telling if it was the same with this new ammunition. If there were no objections, he'd take aim at the same fence he'd used the bow on. Maybe later, he could check out if that first blast had left a physical mark; he was too tired last night to return to the yard before heading the long way home.
He crooked his finger on the trigger.
Took a breath.
When he fired, there was yet another tug, heat surging past his fingertips.
An exhale. He leaned on the post.
Regular pistols weren't this draining. Conversely, if it wasn't for the drain, he wouldn't have known he had shot something that he could neither see nor hear. At least, however, he was still standing.
A test shot with the second gun was probably doable.
He flicked the safety of the first pistol, switched places, and went through the motions again.]
They're not loud.
[Compared to normal gunfire, he meant.]
Are they supposed to look like anything?
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[Watanuki nodded in agreement with Smithy's observation. Dazai couldn't see it, but his power actually left a rather brilliant trail through the air.
He was right, though. The shots made almost no sound at all, beyond the 'click' of the trigger and the slide of a recoil filled with no physical casing to eject. It was an effective weapon, and deadly to the right sort of being while being harmless to others. It was exactly what Watanuki had arranged, basically.]
How does it feel in your hands?
[He could tell the whole situation weighed heavily on Dazai's mind, and that Dazai would need some time to recover from it. But the physical act of firing the newly-changed gun was what he was asking about. He was curious to see if Dazai felt as drained as he had yesterday.]
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Blue?
[The doubt was audible. Pretty? Beautiful? Not the associations he expected from something that came from him.]
Is the color significant somehow? Or is it just my perpetual Monday blues acting up?
[Har har.
As for the gun - he kept it pointed at the fence. Instead of making the second shot, however, Dazai made the obvious motion of 'testing' its weight, keeping his wrist flexible.]
Lighter than normal without bullets. Not much recoil, too, which isn't something I'm used to.
[He wasn't breathless. Watanuki might be able to tell, however, that Dazai's tone was a touch too even: a trick the brunet reflexively used to conceal the first signs of strain.
Unlike yesterday, the effects of the drain were slower to make themselves be felt.]
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[A careful use of words to avoid using Atsushi's name.]
You'll need some practice to get used to the difference in how it works, but I suspect the shopkeeper here will make sure you're well taken care of. And if you need repairs or adjustments, I'm just a phone call away!
[Watanuki did notice that sign, though, and he drew his own conclusions based on it. It sounded like Dazai wasn't dissatisfied with the work, so he offered up the containers of tea and biscuits to the spirit standing near him as payment for his work.]
Your craftsmanship is top-notch once again, I must say. Thank you for making the trip on such short notice.
[Smithy took the two containers with a wide grin, clearly pleased by the results. If Dazai wanted to say anything before the cat wandered off, now was the time. Watanuki suspected that Dazai might want some time to himself to get used to all of this, though.]
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[Interestingly, his first thought was Kunikida, before shifting to Atsushi. Dignified blue, moon-blue. Or something like that.
Watanuki had also guessed correctly. Dazai had fired off the second shot at the fence before nodding, giving the Smithy a polite smile. Gun two, in perfect condition.]
Thanks. I'll make sure to take care of these.
[He only sank down to the floor after the spirit left and leaned on the post, the gun placed carefully on the floor next to him.
Dazai closed his eyes, feeling out where Oda's cold air spot was, and waited for Watanuki before speaking.]
I'm surprised he didn't mind the sudden schedule.
...Do memory transfers happen often with this sort of thing?
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[Hence why Dazai didn't see any of Doumeki's memories, but he did see Oda's.
Watanuki took a seat on the porch next to Dazai, bringing himself down to Dazai's level so they could speak.]
You're haunted by him, aren't you?
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He isn't one to bring gloom and doom to others, you know. If anything, I'm the one haunting him.
[By visiting his grave frequently. That's how that works, right?]
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What I meant is your shared past, and the reminders of it his presence brings for you. That's what is haunting you. You can't let go of 'what used to be', and you similarly can't accept 'what it is now.'
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Dazai let out a breath, letting his heel touch the ground below the ledge.]
Atsushi-kun took a while to guess certain things about me, and that was after the Agency went through several troubling affairs.
Are you able to put your finger on this much simply because of all the people you've met over a long period of time? Or is there more to that story you told me about that person you once knew who had troubles seeing the value of their own gifts?
[These were the two main possibilities that came to mind: either Watanuki had met someone like Dazai, or the Shopkeeper himself had some similar experience. Whether Watanuki's abilities granted him some additional advantage in perception was difficult to confirm.]
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Perhaps. What do you think the answer is?
[Because Dazai wouldn't have spoken up if he didn't have suspicions of some sort.]
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Dazai could play along for now.
...or not.]
Let's say it's both, and that particular friend of yours is someone you see in the mirror. Unless you have some other surprise up your sleeve, Shopkeeper?
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[The admission was quiet, but no less powerful. He didn't sound ashamed or like he was trying to hide anything, either. Rather, his voice had a sad, nostalgic tone to it, one that betrayed his real age.
He did miss Doumeki, much in the way Dazai missed Oda. And because he had loved and lost, he could understand Dazai's hesitation when it came to Oda.]
Souls don't linger forever. Eventually they all pass on to whatever comes 'after'. I'm sure it has something to do with regrets and leaving unfinished work and the like, but that grand divide is something even my powers can't see past. When they decide they're ready to pass on, they're beyond my reach.
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He studied Watanuki's expression. Perhaps now was not the time to mention he thought of looking for a Doumeki's death records in this world, and only his exhaustion yesterday stopped him from starting.
Ah. What a pair they made.
Dazai hesitated for a moment before touching Watanuki's shoulder.]
It isn't. Unusual, I mean.
[He didn't even know how to begin with the second part. It would be rude to even assume he knew anything about Doumeki, apart from his bow.
His very used, cared-for bow.
Dazai squeezed.]
He must've wanted to keep you out of harm's way. I daresay he succeeded.
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[Ah, but he shouldn't bury himself in memories of the past. He would be there for hours if he did. Instead, he reached up to poke at Dazai's arm gently.]
What I'm saying is, I've been through this, and much more time has passed for me. You weren't even born yet when he died. So I've had time to grow used to his absence. I should be the one comforting you here.
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He also had to double down in avoiding the obvious cradle robber joke, to alleviate his own stress.]
As you can see, the guns didn't knock me out.
[Accepting comfort was hard, okay?]
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[He'll recognize the progress Dazai was making, because praise like that was important to get people to keep trying.]
But that's not quite what I meant by 'support', and I think you know that.
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Dazai gave a sigh that might've been a grumble. There was no getting out of this, was there?]
Must we? What's happened's already done and over with, you know. Experienced. Lived through. Committed to memory.
[
look who was being a brat]In fact, I might get a vacuum cleaner to commemorate this afternoon.
[Sounded random? Sure.
If Watanuki probed a little more, Dazai might actually talk. How direct he might be was for anyone to guess.]
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[#throwingshade
But really, he knew Dazai was being a brat. Which was why he had decided to be a brat right back.
And indirect responses were fine, Watanuki got it. Dazai's nuances were annoying, but understandable.]
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Oh, beg your pardon for being a mere mortal with all the flaws that it naturally entails. [That was a start?] Besides, isn't it rude to forget someone? The last time a name is spoken can be considered as the third and final death and all that.
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[And he still had attachment issues, clearly. Though he tried to downplay that as 'fond memories' rather than a genuine sadness at the man's absence.]
'Moving past' means coming to terms with your own feelings and learning to accept the changes that death brings to life.
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[Dazai traced the grip of the pistol. ]
Seeing his grave is always a reminder that he's gone. I've even gotten out of my previous job thanks to his advice. Besides, Odasaku will be upset if he gets revived as a zombie or something: he'd have to find a different place to get his curry rice, you know.
[The problem with really mouthy smartasses was that they could come up with a million answers.
(Repeat the same thing over and over again, and it becomes easy to fall for one's own trick, or to rest with a lie.
Change was difficult, and Dazai sometimes unintentionally made things harder for himself)]
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[Watanuki has done this song and dance many, many times before. Grieving widows are one of his most frequent visitors. He could see the cracks in Dazai's exterior, the places where his story and his mask didn't quite meet up.
Belatedly Watanuki realized something, and he changed up his wording a bit.]
No...not 'accept'. You're not at the point where you could even do that yet. You haven't even grieved for him yet, have you?
[Watanuki's expression softened as he said that too. It wasn't quite pity, but more of a sad understanding. How long had he been in denial about his own losses? A century of waiting for Yuuko certainly spoke to how poorly he accepted loss.]
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This wasn't a mask.
Rather, he had stopped performing.]
I've been mourning for the past four years. I fail to see how that doesn't count.
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Watanuki faltered there for a moment, surprised by how open Dazai had suddenly become. Or maybe he was surprised by how much wasn't there to begin with. Was this really all grief on his part? Or had he always been this empty to begin with?]
And how has that been going for you, exactly?
[Watanuki didn't have all the answers, but he was hoping he could guide Dazai to find those answers on his own. Grief, in particular, was a minefield of emotions. And Watanuki hadn't really encountered someone like this before who was actually a human.]
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