What If? - The Vessel

This sure is, uhhh, a piece of writing. For the record, it's completely non-canonical. I suppose it's best to think of it as a "what if?" story told through extended recollections. It's an exploration of something that's plausible but that didn't actually take place.

This came about because a specific image entered my mind earlier this week that I ended up feeling the need to get on paper, because I managed to get a bit ahead on another project and thus had a bit of time to do something without good cause, and because I've been seeing a lot of commentary lately on how discomforting it can be to reflect on gaps in one's memory.

 

It must have been the beginning of autumn, distant even from the outskirts of the city. Expansive fertile fields lied behind her, unplanted, still being worked by the grunting oxen and the plough they dragged behind them. Without the barley obstructing her view, had she turned around, she ought to have been able to see the river in the distance, probably running low and slow after enduring the summer heat.

 

(Why hadn't she looked back? Why hadn't she studied it intently to commit it to memory? How was she so naïve as to take it for granted?)

 

(How sure could she be of the time of year? The barley definitely wasn't growing, right? How could she be sure? She didn't look back. Maybe she had heard the cry of an ox and that was all she truly remembered, and she had convinced herself that the oxen were in the fields and the barley was not? But could she be certain she had even heard an ox? What if instead she had remembered the lack of barley and guessed that the fields were being prepared?)

 

Her blade was steady in her hand, her stance confident. The tip of her sword, gleaming in the sun, guided her vision straight ahead, across the shrub-filled wilderness into which they had ventured out to the shadow stretching out before her to the feet of her opponent. Her foe – a woman more similar to her than anyone else in the city – was barefoot by choice, clad in a breastplate combined with an armored tunic. Gauntlets adorned her forearms, gauntlets she had always thought were stylish with their dull grey color, but which the others mocked as plain and drab. Most striking out of all of her armor was the mask that fit around her eyes, somehow managing to make them appear even more sunken-in than they already were.

 

Even standing there across the shrubbery with her own sword drawn, those eyes made her look so relaxed. She was a fierce opponent and highly attentive, but she had an air of constant blissful exhaustion about her. She possessed the expression of a woman who, having fallen too far behind on her work to accomplish any of it, had instead resigned herself to the enviable fate of enjoying a nap and choosing not to worry about it.

 

Those eyes made it hard to read what was going through her mind; Savinainen was a bit of an enigma, at least to her. Savinainen was bigger than her - taller by maybe a cubit and a half – and made of sturdier stuff than her. By all rights, she should have lorded that over her, but she didn't. At the very least, Savinainen should have ignored her, written her off as an inferior pipsqueak, but she never did that. She visited nearly daily. She fashioned armor for her. She taught her how to wield a sword and a bow. She became something like a mentor to her.

 

(Why could she only remember those lessons in the abstract? She could recount that they happened, but to fill in even a single detail of them was beyond her. Why!? Why couldn't she remember the weather on the day on which they happened? Could not the shape of a single building the walked past on their way out of the city – surely they went out of the city for this training – reappear in her mind's eye?)

 

Even on that autumn day (the furthest back she could go while recounting any details, an island in a sea of abstract haze before and after) Savinainen waited for her to give word that she was ready. She could have struck first, could have rushed in for a surprise attack to truly test her, but, no, she waited.

 

"Good and ready over there, Mayumi?" Even when she opened her mouth to speak, Savinainen maintained her stance. Her weary expression and large frame might have tricked an unsuspecting foe into believing she was neither alert nor limber, but Mayumi had long ago learned that Savinainen's posture betrayed swift feet and a keen observational prowess.

 

"The first strike will belong to you! I am prepared, so begin!"

 

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than she heard the crunching of shrubs, Savinainen's footfalls giving Mayumi a gauge with which to measure the speed of her approach.

 

She held her stance. Four… three… two…

 

On her count of one, she took her swing, and the clanking of metal on metal assured her of her success, Savinainen's blade intercepted by her own. She must have sported a big goofy grin in that moment, so strongly seized by the exhilaration accompanying her accomplishment that she nearly dropped her weapon to celebrate. Now, blocked skillfully, her opponent would be forced to retreat, and she would have her opening.

 

With practiced movements, Mayumi thrust her sword forward the very moment the pressure of Savinainen bearing down upon her let up, going for an impalement as the crunching of her opponent's footsteps sounded off once again. She must not have looked dignified when she made her move, probably still giddy as she showed off her newly-mastered technique!

 

Though she may have looked a tad more dignified had she actually landed her strike.

 

It happened too quickly for her to comprehend except in the aftermath. She had heard Savinainen's steps, just as she had anticipated, but she hadn't listened closely enough to make out her opponent's direction of travel. Savinainen had not backed off, but rather had sidestepped Mayumi, dropping her sword and reaching out to grab Mayumi's arm as she naively thrusted at an opponent she assumed would be squarely at twelve o'clock.

 

Her eyes must have widened in shock and better taken in the scene, because somehow her recollection of the next few moments was rendered more vividly than any other part of that day. She whipped her head around and locked eyes with Savinainen, staring into that same old ever peaceable, tired expression, and then, as Savinainen stared back at her with that same inscrutable little smile she always wore, she heard the first crack.

 

Her opponent's grip strength must have been immense, for crack after crack followed, Mayumi's arm splintering and shattering, littering the ground with fragments of clay, her sword landing among them.

 

She scrunched up her face something fierce in that moment, the very picture of a young girl about to launch into a crying fit, sans only the tears. (Why, why of any part of that day, did she have to remember that so clearly?)

 

"Oh," Savinainen seemed to sigh, "is that it? Sorry, Mayumi, but I was the one to disarm you, so I win."

 

"Th-That is not fair! The battle we were having was a battle of swords! You- You-! That defeat was not caused by your sword! We do not need to count it!"

 

"But Mayumi." There she went, cocking her head like she so often did during these lessons (that was something she had done before this day, right?). "We agreed to fight until one of us was disarmed. You were the first to be disarmed. We never said how it should happen, only that practice would end when it happened."

 

"…" It was autumn – probably – but in that moment, it was as though she had returned to feeling the heat of the summer sun (again, why did she have to remember this part?). Her legs trembled beneath her as her remaining arm dropped to her side, her hand curling into a fist. "…it still cannot be counted. Flesh cannot do that to clay! It would not have worked for any other opponent!"

 

"Ohhhhhh, Mayumi, you can be so arrogant, do you know that? Even if that were true, a rock thrown from a sling could tear through your arm violently, or a chariot could run you over and crush your body, you know." They were terrible things for Savinainen to say! Horrible! She spent so long after hearing that comment flinching at every wheeled vehicle that came passing by!

 

…but they were true.

 

Not that she knew – or was willing to accept it – back then. All she did as Savinainen picked up their dropped weapons was stand there trying to think of a retort. It fell upon Savinainen to goad her out of her pouting, rising back up to her full height and placing a hand under her chin. "Frustration? Are you embarrassed? Tsk tsk," she said, with a soft tone and a lilt to her voice, almost teasingly. "Haniwa don't feel in that way, you know. That's part of what makes you so perfect to be a warrior, Mayumi. The judgement of a haniwa won't be clouded the same way the judgement of other warriors is."

 

"But… I do not like to lose." Were it not for Savinainen's hand keeping her chin up, her head would have undoubtedly been drooping. She had already unclenched her fist, and her legs had steadied, although she could almost have dropped to her knees and have stayed like that for a good while.

 

"Well, that's everyone. Even haniwa." (Savinainen had looked over her shoulder here, and they had started walking? But how? Did Savinainen turn around and begin, and she simply followed? Was there some step she was forgetting in-between? It felt like they had started walking at about this point, but was that a fiction she had constructed to fill in the gaps? And if they had started walking… where to?) "But a haniwa does not get frustrated. A haniwa does not pout or sulk. A haniwa comes back from the earth, returns, and wins."

 

"Haniwa do not get upset..." She mused on the general thought that Savinainen was putting out into the world, following behind her (they must have been walking further into the wilderness. There was crunching, wasn't there?).

 

"Exactly," Savinainen responded, sounding awfully like – Mayumi had realized later – a schoolteacher praising a young student. "Haniwa just return. They return and they return and return, and that means they never lose and never waver. As long as you never waver, you'll always come back again and again. And speaking of what haniwa do, do you know what else haniwa do, Mayumi?"

 

"Haniwa… ╣╣╥╚▀▄?"

 

(Words which she couldn't remember. A walk somewhere crunchy with an unknown destination. What had she done? What had she done that this memory had deteriorated so much? How could she even be sure there weren't large gaps in her recollection of this day?)

 

"Mmm, no, not quite. Mayumi," Savinainen said with a shake of her head, Mayumi seeing only her back (that, it felt like she knew. Savinainen was certainly still turned around). "Let's start with this, Mayumi. What were you made for? What are you?"

 

She could remember the build-up to her answer, the anticipation welling up inside her. It seemed like such an easy question, but whenever Savinainen asked easy questions, it usually turned out that the answer wasn't what it seemed. But how could she be wrong about this one? She knew that!

 

It came after some hesitating, but, eventually, she had produced her answer. "I am Mayumi ░▌╧▄◘♦⸾! I am the ꜗꜟ⸸⸭⸼ of the ꜭ⸙⸃⸋⸛!"

 

(That. Why couldn't she remember that!? On every occasion that her mind had drifted back here over the past few dozen decades, that singular thought gnawed at her like a starving dog gnawed at the last scrap of meat on a bone. It felt as though she were in a room full of lockboxes, one containing the keys to all of the others, but the key to that all-important one had rusted with time and was no longer functional.)

 

"For now, Mayumi, for now," Savinainen had said in response to that answer, almost sounding vexed. Her tone was rather demoralizing, actually. "Someday, everyone around you will be gone. It could be sickness. It could be an invader. It could be that their children's children's children don't survive long enough to grow. But someday, they'll be gone, and what will you be then?"

 

(They must have sat down somewhere. On some kind of a large rock, that's what she wanted to say, but maybe that was fictitious. Maybe they had found a barren patch of dirt and plunked themselves down right there. She had drawn her knees in, cradling them against her chest with her hand while Savinainen began repairing her arm. She knew that much, and that, at least, was enough to know they had definitely sat down.)

 

This question was, without a doubt, a trick. A fine thing it was that Savinainen, focused on her repair work, gave her plenty of time to think through her answer. She must have seemed a sorry sight again, casting her gaze towards the sky, towards the ground, pursing her lips as she searched for whatever strange answer her mentor hoped to hear.

 

Yet, for all her straining to derive an answer that made sense because it didn't make sense, every route she took led her back to but one answer. "I will be Mayumi still." The words spilled out of her mouth with no confidence behind them, with a hint of skepticism, even. It was the only answer she could come up with, and it seemed so self-evident, but for precisely that reason, it felt as though she had fallen for the decoy option on some multiple-choice examination.

 

"Well, yes," came her mentor's reply, drawn out and spoken slowly as if she were taking pity on Mayumi. "Yes, you'll still be Mayumi, but you'll be more than that. You'll be something incredibly special, Mayumi – a vessel."

 

A… vessel? Like the jugs they carried water in? Like the pots into which they poured the grain? Like the- No. No, she would absolutely not be reduced to that! "I am not a pot," she had responded after a moment's musing, scrunching her face again as she recoiled at the indignation of the thought. "Nothing is put inside me. Storage is not what I am for."

 

A hand fell upon her shoulder. "You are not a pot, Mayumi, but you are like one. There is something which you store – something which haniwa store – better than anyone else." Her confusion must have been transparent as the air itself, given that Savinainen took the step of going on without prompting. "Just in the same way as those pots, you store a record. The ones who made you. The ones you've played with and learned from. The ones you've ꜗꜟ⸸⸭⸼. What they were like, what they hoped for, what they feared, you are all of it. You have been filled with the memories of all of them, and you will store them – perfectly, without a single gap – for eternity, as long as you never waver. Do you understand?"

 

In that moment, she truly, really, wholly did not. Eternity was a word she had heard, but that she had not grasped. If her vague recollections held any water, then, back in that time, even a single cycle of the seasons felt long to her. (How quaint to think there was a time when a fraction of a decade felt meaningful.) She didn't understand. She was not a pot. She didn't store things, especially things that couldn't even be held or touched! All she could do was shake her head, hoping Savinainen might be sympathetic enough to explain further.

 

"Huuuuuuuuuhnnnnn." Savinainen always seemed tired, but on no other occasion could she remember her mentor sounding quite so… exasperated. "Well… Someday. You'll understand someday, and I'm sure you'll become an unmatched haniwa warrior by that day, Mayumi. Until then, just keep one thing at the forefront of your mind, okay? Memories are more precious than anything. Memories are everything, Mayumi, and you will be their defender and their vessel. I believe you'll be a great warrior, and an even greater vessel. So many thousands of cycles of the seasons will be yours to share with the world without a single detail lost."

 

…she still wasn't convinced she'd be a pot, but being a warrior, that, she could see. There was plenty worth defending, and she was perfectly-suited to it! "Memories are everything," she repeated aloud, unsure of it, but willing to ponder it if Savinainen thought it so important. "Together, we shall defend them from any threats!"

 

She had looked to Savinainen expectantly upon delivering her declaration, her curled fist raised up to chest level as she puffed up with pride, but the other woman of clay didn't seem interested in humoring her, not this time. She dithered in responding, keeping her gaze on the clay she was working, and when she finally opened her mouth, she said only one thing, that ever-inscrutable little smile still on her face.

 

"Your arm is all fixed, Mayumi. We should get back to practicing."

 

I didn't want to include an image of Savinainen because it felt like omitting it better fit with the overall emphasis on the deterioration of memory, but the general picture I had of her was inspired by this image (made by the artist "idon" on Danbooru).

 

 

 

That's really everything, but, your honour, she is balling.

 

 

 

(Art by "yazato ichimushi" on Danbooru)

A Day at the Agency (Co-written with The Ruby Chao)

All of the talk here belied the dreadfully mundane nature of day-to-day operations. No amount of gawking at the files on some new Phenomena nor any number of dramatized accounts of battles in the field could drown out the hum of a room full of servers or dim the stinging light of an overhead projector. Some of the agents here could give fishermen at a pub talking about the one that got away a run for their money with how they spiced up their accounts, but those tales did nothing more to dull the tedium of turning in paperwork and sipping an early morning coffee than a lemon peel would do to mask the scent of a decaying fish.

For her, though, that mundanity was pleasant, actually. This far from home, she couldn't help but welcome the familiarity. At the end of the day, she had a normal office job.

xxx

"To conclude, I have three recommendations. One, minor internal reorganization. A small team trained specifically to deal with dimension-hopping Phenomena will be much more effective than pulling elite agents from other projects." The light from the projector fills her eyes as she speaks, bringing out their red shine. Standing at the front of the room, the woman - Isadora - commands the attention of her colleagues, extending an arm and pointing to a graph next to the bulleted lists. "Secondly, cross-dimensional searches should be restricted to a limited geographical area. Of the few Phenomena that you've apprehended in another dimension, all but two of them were found less than 30 kilometers away from the equivalent location they warped from in this world."

"Third," she continues, stern and focused, "you need to begin properly cataloging other worlds. A systematic way of recording and describing various worlds will streamline briefings." A brief pause, and she lets out a sigh, finishing off and clicking a button on a remote, turning off the projector. "That's everything".

There’s a light bit of applause from the head of the room. “Well, thank you for the information, Isadora.” says the man there. He stands up and takes her place as she moves aside.

Agent Dawson, one of the top-ranking members of the Paranormal Containment and Research organization, looks over the other agents who had been sitting through the presentation. “I believe we can even take one of those suggestions now. I’ll be assigning Agent Ryn, Agent Wetherby, and… let’s say Agent Eden to the new team. Starting today, you three are to focus entirely on cross-dimensional Phenomena…”

Some rising up and shuffling about ensues, the new team of agents exchanging glances and comments on the new task before them amidst common post-meeting awkwardness. After a few moments, someone finally takes the initiative of being the first to make for the exit, opening the proverbial floodgates. The meeting room empties out quickly, Isadora ultimately the last to leave, heading out quietly to work through some paperwork.

It's quite some time later in the day when Isadora emerges again, settling down in the on-site lounge, easing herself into a seat with a drink in her hand, taking the sword strapped on her back and leaning it against her leg. Most agents didn't bring weapons with them to the lounge, but, then, she did have a few peculiarities about her, ones she typically waved away by citing her status as someone contracted with the organization and not a proper employee.

"Give me the day's updates," she says to the agents gathered round.

 

It’s a pair of agents today, specifically. And one of them looks surprisingly cranky compared to the other. 

“Well. Thanks to you, now I’m starting over.” Agent Wetherby states, clearly irritated. 

“Oh, hush~” comes the reply from Agent Katya. Apparently, Agent Evangeline had been rumored to have an eye on Katya, and when someone like Evangeline looked, you listened. “It’s been fine, been fine. Finally arranged for that weekend trip into the city.” 

"It could be worse." Isadora shrugs, unmoved by Wetherby's grumbling. "You have the same job, same agents around you. Starting over means starting with nothing to your name and nobody around you." Wetherby usually was the first to grumble about some change, she had learned since coming aboard. This was no surprise.

She seems to take a keener interest in Katya, though, even setting her drink down as she responds. "Don't get too caught up with the gambling," she lightly chides. She'd managed to get over to Vegas for a weekend, herself. It was so close, she had figured she might as well experience what it had on offer. The end result? Doing everything on the cheap for about a week afterwards. "You've never wanted to save up your time and go anywhere further off? The flying city - Olympia - I'd never imagine someone would have a sight to see like that in their world and wouldn't want to go."

“Hmm.” Unable to argue that point, Wetherby lets it lie. “Well, as long as you’ve saddled me with these tasks, why not give me a head start? You can tell me about your world, that’ll be one down.” 

“Oh, Olympia. I’ve considered it, but it’s not about the sights for me.” Katya says, as she reclines a bit. “It’s about the act of reminding myself I’m not just a drone. Living here on base… I understand why we need to do it, but sometimes it eats at me. So I go to a normal city full of people and remind myself why I do this, and that it’s not all there is. 

And if I saved up for the long getaway, I’d probably be too full of cabin fever to enjoy it.”

"Getting away from here feels normal, does it?" Being here brought her some sense of normalcy, but, well, she'd only be sticking around for so long. Someone like Katya, with all the years she had ahead of her at this place, well, yeah, it wasn't hard to understand how that kind of thing might be important to her. Even so, missing out on seeing a flying city? Really? "Maybe there's something to that. The work here is pleasant, but I don't see myself sticking to it." Her hand moves down, Isadora tapping her fingers against her weapon as she thinks.

"Let's see… My world…" She draws a deep breath as she shifts gears, pondering the matter of where even to begin. "The very basics begin with the Zoofights Corporation. The group fell apart unceremoniously, leaving behind their legacy of brutal fights and an audience eager for more. That was an unstable state of affairs. An entire city descended into violence - the City of Beasts. It was a dangerous place, and that danger spread. For most of my life, the world I was from wasn't exactly safe. Changes came within the past year - things still are changing - but don't be surprised if you find you still aren't trusted by most there. Staying on your guard was a necessity for survival, and old habits resist change."

“Tch. That sounds like a goddamn breeding ground for Phenomena. Ughhhh, of course it’d have to be like that. And we already got outclassed when it came to the last alternate dimension invasion.” Wetherby says, Katya rolling her eyes. “What, do you think we could have contained Dark Matter? We couldn’t have. 

I think you could have a long-term career here. You’ve got the talent people look for. Who knows, maybe they’ll want backup in Glasetera - I know the Phenomenon called the Lady of Chains is definitely there, and there’s supposed to be at least two other confirmed Phenomena we have to locate.”

"Glasetera, hm?" She settles further back into her seat as she considers it, picking her drink back up and guzzling it down. She'd heard about an agent sent up there, a highly skilled agent by the name of Evangeline. She could have probably had reams of info on her by now if she had wanted it, but, well, what reason did she have to inquire about her? There was one piece of information she had heard that interested her, though. "That's where Agent Evangeline is, right? She's the one that works with a Phenomenon, the former agent taken over by the Red Shoes?"

“Yeeeeah.” Wetherby says. “Using gear derived from them is one thing, but an agent controlled by one..”

“Oh, shush.” Katya says. “We’ve seen what Agents controlled by the Red Shoes are like. Agent Carmine might be using them, and might be much different, but she’s fundamentally still Carmine and not the Shoes.”

"She's less risk-averse than me," Isadora responds flatly. "I wouldn't be able to focus with an arrangement like that. I'd watch my back constantly if I were her." She makes absolutely no secret of her disapproval, shaking her head before throwing back her last swig of booze. "Nobody's so elite or so skilled that they can't get caught by surprise. She's going to get herself killed." It almost sounded like this place needed more agents to go up that way. It couldn't hurt them to spare a few backups. Who knew what might happen to Evangeline? It'd almost be worthwhile to meet the woman and ask her directly what made her think she could trust a Phenomenon to cover her - almost. "I doubt it," she continues, finally picking up with Katya's original point. "They only want me here for the cross-dimensional work. Unless they have a Phenomenon up there that came in from another world, I can't see them sending me. Besides that, the cold's never agreed with me. Send me to a sauna instead. I can take heat and humidity."

Wetherby just cracks a smirk at Isadora backing him up, while Katya shakes her head. “I feel like if we try to stay with the basics alone, we’ll just fall further behind… but that’s another discussion.

The heat, huh? So that’s the real reason you’re here, I see.” Katya says. “Not that I can blame you. I’m glad they gave it to Evangeline - if there’s one person who’ll tolerate anything, it’s her.”

"There are perks to the facility being here," Isadora says simply, starting to rise from her seat. A few agents could hang around here for hours at a time, but, as she saw it, short visits were best. There was always something else to be done. "She's survived this long. She must be doing something right." Eventually Evangeline's luck would run out, but she did have to have some genuine skill, too, to have made it this far. "We'll be moving fast, Wetherby. Be ready to keep up," is how she ends things off, taking up her weapon and heading on her way.

Still a whole night to get through, and already she was buzzing with ideas for the new team, huh? Popping something into the microwave wouldn't exactly be much of a distraction. Maybe she'd just turn in early tonight and get up and get to work early, too. It was going to take some effort to whip this group into shape - a head start sounded good, she decides as she walks off.