riverview | text (un: natsume.t)

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.

[The person on the other end of this conversation just keeps throwing him for loops. Why is he sorry. Shouldn't I be? he thinks, with a little suspicion, a little wonderment. It had seemed for a very long time that "sorry" was the right thing to say in most situations. Now he's not sure what answer to give her. Not just for appearances, but genuinely, from the criss-cross qualities of his heart.

...]

If they think about you later on, you did something. Even the smallest something. You might not know it, though, because it could be a long time from now. So you have to think, yeah, maybe you were able to do that. You could still be in their thoughts.

["Have to" might be a little strong. He can't really tell other people what to do, but he's very sure that this is right, and he's sure it would be good for this person (because he wants it to be good for this person)—he is, after all, sixteen. Sometimes, at that age, you think you've found a universal truth.

Maybe he should go back and address...]

I didn't want to say the wrong thing
Which is why

[The apology.]

[ Worried about saying the wrong thing to her. Unbelievable. Anderson can't remember the last time someone's cared about that-- okay, she can, but it's painful to think about, goes back to why she smiles so warmly at a photograph of dead people and at no one else.

Abruptly, she wants to make sure someone is looking out for this person. It is her reason, they weren't wrong about that, and what if no one is? It would be all too easy for someone this kind and forthcoming to get taken advantage of. ]

You haven't said anything wrong. It's [ ... It's what? Sweet? It is sweet, but Anderson isn't the type of person who calls anyone sweet. ] considerate of you to reassure me. Most people don't.

By the way, my name is Cassandra Anderson. [ First name given unprompted. Congratulations. ]

[Well, that's a relief. Natsume strives to be considerate in most things, at least, especially to people who treat him well—and this is just a first conversation, and an odd one at that (Natsume isn't used to texting, doesn't have a phone or that sort of thing at home), but this person has treated him well. So he's glad to hear it, a reassurance in turn, but he's not sure how to address it.

He may have shed a lot of his socially awkward stilt, but some of it lingers, and so in the end he decides not to address it at all. Instead...]

I'm Natsume.

[Natsume "T", if his username is anything to go by. It's not secrecy, just the way he's used to being called; "Takashi" is used only by caretakers, really.

Also, there's the fact he hasn't been exposed much to Western names and dealings.]

Sorry, but do I call you Mr. or Ms.? I've never heard your name before.

[ She understands completely about the name. It'll really weird her out the first time her first name gets used.

Anderson doesn't mind at all if he's socially awkward. It doesn't bother her, just makes her more sure that he could be easily taken advantage of. ] Nice to meet you, Natsume.

My title is Judge. [ Judges are supposed to lose individual identity when they become part of the system. Not that she's ever been good at that. ] But people who know me usually just use Anderson.

[So, a judge ("Judge"??!?), which sounds important. Natsume doesn't know a lot about those sorts of things—just what goes on in his world, at least, as he knows absolutely nothing of hers—but it's the type of thing that commands respect, isn't it? And here she is, so kind to him. It's humbling.

But he doesn't know if he counts as "knowing" her; he's more afraid of being presumptuous than anything else in this situation.]

It's nice to meet you. Is Judge Anderson okay?

[ Important... that's one way of putting it. Definitely that.

It surprises her how much it means to have one single person address her by the correct title. Anderson had thought so many times that she'd never get here, never get to keep her badge, that she'd fail. It's not lack of self-esteem, it's reality: she has failed, many times. And the title itself is still new enough that it means something to her to hear it, or in this case, see it.

She swallows before answering carefully. ] Nice to meet you, too. Yeah. That's how I'm addressed at home. And you're just Natsume? [ If he's going to be so considerate, the least she can do is return it. ]

Yeah, most of the time
My name is Takashi

[He's thinking back to English class, and the ways other people look at and use names. This person probably has a different view on them, so it's best to explain, and...]

My family name is Natsume, that's what most people call me. It's mostly just my [...] guardians who call me Takashi.

Natsume is okay. Thank you, Judge Anderson.

[ Okay, now she just feels like a bully for it. Moment of internal validation happened, and is gone. She smiles faintly at her keyboard, a little embarrassed. She also appreciates the name explanation-- she has very little recognition of Japanese names.

She also assesses his age range downward for sure if he still has guardians, and it prompts her to add something else to her response: ]

Yeah. No one's called me Cassandra in years. But you don't have to use my title, Natsume. I hope if something happens while you're here, you'll let me know. I signed on with the police.

[He had gotten that, at the beginning, from his guardians, the Fujiwaras. He still gets it, even. You know you can tell us things, right? If something happens, will you say it? Oh, of course, of course—the requisite reassurances. And then Natsume comes stumbling home, covered in mud and raspberried elbows, waving it off like nothing more than daily shenanigans.

Of course, nearly being eaten by monsters is a daily shenanigan for him, but... you know.

To him, the logical move is to treat this much the same.]

Thanks. Hopefully nothing happens, right?

Hopefully. But something usually does.

Just let me do my job, alright?

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