riverview | text (un: natsume.t)

Being here? More than a little.

Yeah.
Thanks
It would be weirder if only I thought it was weird.

[ Seeing as she thinks a lot of things are weird that no one else does, Anderson agrees with that one. But she's not about to complain to a stranger on the internet two comments in. ]

What's the weirdest part for you, so far?

[Considering all the weirdness, it's a surprisingly easy question for Natsume to answer...]

That so many people came

That we all felt out of place at home? I guess it's pointless to deny it once I'm here.

[Well, that, too, but...]

In stories
About people going places... getting taken places...
It's usually one special person
Right?
Or just a few really special people
And it's a huge deal, with legendary or no precedent
But there are a lot of us here. I didn't expect that. Just from stories like that.

[ She hadn't thought of it that way. She doesn't spend a lot of time on stories like that. ]

If there's infinite dimensions, there's infinite chances for them to find 'special' people. People who are out of place at home... aren't we likely to be something significant?

[This was... admittedly easier when he'd had his whole life to get used to the weirdness around him. Introducing a brand new and super intense weirdness is disorienting, to say the least.]

That's too many dimensions

Yeah, overwhelming, a little. Seeing a second one is a lot already.

I don't even know if people came from where I came from.
I don't mean, people I know
But if anyone could come from anywhere, do we know the same things?

[...]

I don't really read sci-fi, so I'm not sure how this is supposed to work

I was wondering that, too. I'm from a big place.

I guess it doesn't matter. We're in a different place, so there's no point reaching for home. We just have to get used to it.

[That's something Natsume has heard often, which is precisely why he doesn't want to hear it. You'll get used to it. New place, new family, new ways to be alienated from that family.

This really is just his childhood on a cosmic scale, isn't it.]

Yeah, it doesn't matter. We just have to get used to it.

[He parrots for the sake of defaulting to a perceived authority.]

[ She's very, very used to people parroting her words back to her to get her to lay off. Perils of being a cop.

Hmmm. ]

Not sure how I'm gonna manage it, honestly. It's a pretty big difference.

Finding a familiar thing first is best. It doesn't have to look familiar. Just feel like it.

Feel and not look, huh?

[ She smiles slightly, wistful. She wishes anyone she'd known before was here at all. Even Dredd. Especially Dredd. There's something immutable and solid about him. No use crying about what isn't true, though.

Policework should feel the same, but doesn't. It's not remotely the same thing as being a Judge. Shooting... that's close. ]

What did you pick?

[Answering this is... probably not safe. For his heart, that is. Telling this person the warmth of what he longs for—admitting, even a little, his love for that home—puts his heart in the middle of a busy highway. No pedestrian crossing. Just people with gas pedals who might not be willing to slam on the brakes.

But he's a lot worse at this than he used to be. His heart wiggles out of its bindings all the time, these days. What a mess.]

Grocery shopping

[His only consolation is that she can't see his face or hear his voice. Personal matters are less personal through text, like this.]

[ It's interesting talking to people over text, that's for sure. She can't cheat at all. It makes her a little more honest, somehow, not that she lies ordinarily but she's not very forthcoming, either.

It seems easier this way. Just words on a screen. Nothing she's committed to. Yeah, right. ]

Funny. That's one of the things that's really different for me. [ Because she knows how to give and not just take, knows even small gestures are meaningful for trust: ] I work for the justice system at home. Everything I need is provided for by them. Shopping itself is sort of odd.

I've never been grocery shopping by myself

[And he's more forthcoming, too, because this is so embarrassing to say, almost humiliating in the simplicity of its neediness—]

It just reminds me of something good

[If he's going to be in a completely new place without anyone he knows, he has to get better at lying again. Or at least at holding back. Being cared for has been absolutely wonderful, but he knows—or suspects in his emotional paranoia—that it's going to bite him back here.

...]

That sounds very important

It reminds you of who you used to go with?

Sorry. That's probably too personal. I'm glad it can remind you.

[ She wishes she could have conversations like this more often. Anderson might as well be a bleeding heart by the standards of Mega-Cities. She just cares, more than she should as a Judge. She executes who she has to to do her job, but she never enjoys it, never gets comfortable with it.

And she's scared of getting too remote from the people she's trying to help. Maybe she'll forget why she's doing it, and she never wants to. Things like this comfort her. ]

It is. Well, I think so or I wouldn't be doing it.

[Yes, it reminds him of that—of her asking him what he best likes to eat, of her inviting him along shopping, of her coming home to him with her arms full of groceries, Would you mind taking this bag—he wants to lift things out of her arms for as long as he can. He wants to put things away on higher shelves for her.

And another yes: it's too personal. He wants everyone to know how wonderful Touko-san is—a little middle-aged housewife who gave him an entirely new life—but he doesn't want to talk about her. Both she and her husband... if he's here, he can't be with them, but maybe he shouldn't be.]

Thank you very much

[That's the best answer he can give. Best to move on.]

If it's important to you, it's important.
I'm sure what you think is right for you is right.

[ Right. Got it. It's not like she talks to anyone about what it was like to have parents that cared for her despite her powers, either. It's gone now, and there's no point in reminiscing. Anderson can understand that. ]

I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or sincere.

[ Maybe she's just used to smartasses backtalking her. ]

[Ah, yikes. So that's what that looks like. Natsume feels that same sentiment often, and it isolated him for a long time. Seeing it stated so plainly—more plainly than he ever did—makes him feel like he doesn't want to do it again.

The only way to assure that is to be clear.]

I'm serious.
I'm being sincere.
The things that are important to you are what keep you going.
And if something's important to you, it's important to you for a reason. No matter what that reason is.
That's a special thing. If something gives you a reason to keep going, you have to hold onto it.

[It's super embarrassing, saying any of that, but it's also something he wishes he had heard a long time ago.]

I mean it. I promise.

[ Oh god. Whoever this is so earnest, incredibly more heartfelt than Anderson's seen from anyone but her in ages. It twists something in her.

Is this the sort of person that can exist elsewhere, without the violent reality of Mega-Cities or the Cursed Earth to crush them? Do other people just live this way, encouraging each other, letting themselves be vulnerable if it helps someone else?

She wants this. She wants it very badly. It makes her feel like less of a freak for one moment, where she's not the most soft-hearted person in the room, not the most different.

It takes her a long moment to reply, genuinely stymied and unsure what to say. ]

Thank you. You must be a kind person to say things like that.

I'm a Judge because there are people that have no one to look out for them, and I want to do it. Sometimes that's harder to hold onto than others. But I intend to.

[An instinct, a deference, and a self-conscious anxiety—]

Sorry

[—is the first thing he knows to say. (It was one of the first things he knew how to say, he thinks.) Being called kind makes him grimace—it's good that she can't see him, but he doesn't really know it's there, either. It's a reflex. Be careful about thinking so well of me.

So that's this person's "reason". Some people have no one to look out for them. Natsume is staring at his screen until the artificial light leaves faint spots in his vision. That's what he'd like to do, too, right? He spent so long resenting the things he could see; it took him a long time to start helping spirits, or people plagued by spirits. But once he started doing it, it felt right. It was a good reason. And this is a good person.]

When it's hard
It's worth it even when you feel like it isn't worth it
People might not know how to thank you yet, or for a long time
But even if it takes a while, they'll take some time to think about things
They'll remember what you did for them, or they'll remember how much worse it could have been
And it'll help.

[ Apologizing? Why are they apologizing? That seems out of place for her. She's momentarily frustrated by being unable to just reach out and feel what this person means with that response. Ugh. She has to do this the hard, slow way, like everyone else. How annoying. ]

Why are you sorry? [ Maybe she can just ask.

She reads the rest of the words more slowly, trying to truly process them, come to a sort of peace. She's an instated Judge now, and about to join the Psi Division, but just when she'd thought things would be getting simpler-- she's finally achieved her goal-- they'd gotten harder instead. She doesn't want to admit it, but part of her is relieved to be here, away from that. ]

I always feel like it's worth it. But sometimes it's impossible to do anything. When there's nothing I can do, that's the hardest.

I don't need to be thanked, I just need to feel like I made a difference.

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