> 01. [text]

[greatseal]

Hello everyone! ＼（＾∀＾） I hope you've all settled in well!

My name's Minako Arisato. I've talked to a few of you already, but for everyone else, it's nice to meet you!

Now that things have calmed down a little I was wondering - how many of us were Persona-users before coming to Hinoto-ri? I think it might be good to meet and compare notes if we haven't yet, see what's the same and what's changed. And maybe we could also make a list of people with experience who can help with answering questions or training, or things like that! Just jumping into using a Persona can be pretty daunting...

For everyone else - what do you usually do for fun? Some of the things I like are music, volleyball, cooking... If we have enough people who like the same things, maybe we could even form a club! I wouldn't mind having someone to play volleyball with again. Or to go out to karaoke! (ﾉ´▽｀)ﾉ♪

Anyway, that's all for now!


[added private text to Shinjiro]

Can I come over later?

Comments

[greatseal]

[They share that neighbor, you know. ....Minako just has the tendency to use all her energy during the day and then sleep like a rock at night. It's like her own expression of her brother's near-narcolepsy. The difference is, she wakes up feeling refreshed and not continuously sleepy.

She waits when he indicates for her to, but her eyes follow his path to its end. ...A radio?

Suddenly, things are clicking together.

But for once she'll wait for him to say it first. This is his big plan.]

[themortalhalf]

[If he had heard the adjective mentioned, he'd be reluctant to call anything he's doing 'big,' really—not in his terms. Big plans were more for individuals who had more means and time than he did. There's nothing fancy here. He's not taking her to a fancy club (though he'd like to think after their September 1st escapade, the desire to go somewhere similar but more decent would have been long gone and buried). There aren't any strobing lights, aren't any other people around to help create the desired ambience of a dance floor. No decorations. Not anything. All there is is a wide open space, a few dim lights, the night sky, the two of them, and an old radio. This isn't a grand gesture, but a quiet one. And it seems almost criminally so compared to some of the flashier things he's seen in his lifetime.

He picks up the radio, setting it on the bench and toying with one of the knobs.

If this said anything at all, it was that he had thought about it, like he said he had said he would—and that this "plan" straddles more along the lines between spontaneity and careful premeditation. He knew what he could do, and where he could do it, but had never planned a date or anything conclusive. It was just a seed of an idea he didn't know if he'd ever go through with. Maybe it would have languished, maybe he would have allowed it to be forgotten. She might have never mentioned it again. He also hadn't know where he had stood in her eyes then. A lot could have happened—and thinking you were dead changed a lot of things. And her being, well, minutes away from it herself meant a lot of things too.

One thing that it did mean, though, was that when he got back home, he wouldn't even have the chance to tell her no. This wasn't a wish of hers he could leave to someone else—to someone better qualified than he was. And maybe that's why he had brought her up here now, when perhaps he could've waited for when things weren't so mind-numbing and confusing, and he wasn't feeling like his mood had been pulled every which-way and toyed with. He didn't know when this would end. October is next month, and he'll be damned if he's not fond of the idea. He doesn't know when the next opportunity would present itself. He hadn't known before today where she had died either, but places similar to this had a lot of meaning to him. Being able to do nothing and lie in the sun for awhile, knowing in a few hours your best friend would soon come up and get you. He had looked forward to being woken up as much as he looked forward to skipping class back then. That was a long time ago, but places like this should mean something more to her than just a place to die.

There's a harsh noise, and the radio finally whines to life.

It's easy enough to find the station he wants. The song choices on this one are predictable, and don't seem to change much. They're pretty habitual in their predictability and who they cater to. His ears catch the notes of a song that he recognizes, one heading pretty quickly towards its conclusion. He turns up the volume. The music is surprisingly clear and free from static. The radio's a well-built thing, and it isn't like it has to worry much about interference. When you exist in one of—if perhaps the only—cities remaining in the world, the air space is more yours than it ever was to do what you liked with.

He stands up. He can't say it would surprise him at all if she's already figured it out. She probably has. She can put two and two together.]

So. You still interested in dancing or have you changed your mind?

[His goal is to not look like a goddamned idiot tonight. Though maybe, in a way, that's exactly what he needs to do. Take a leaf out of Iori's book and dare to do something a little stupid for the sake of someone else. But he's also not quite Junpei Iori: he'll do things his own way.]

[greatseal]

[If it helps, it's not as though he's the only one with a chance of looking foolish tonight. She hasn't exactly done much dancing herself before... well, dancing with a boy, in the slow-dance sense, anyway. She's done plenty of the normal bouncing and gyrating that counts as dancing at school functions and places like Club Escapade.

But like most girls, she watches TV, and imagines the romantic possibilities. And even if he thinks it's simple, right now standing on the roof with just themselves and a radio and the chilly night air is about as romantic a scene as she can picture.]

I don't change my mind that easily.

[She steps forward and holds out her hand, as though he's wearing a suit again and she has on an elegant ballroom gown (something she's never actually worn in her life) and repeats the line from the movies.]

May I have this dance?

[themortalhalf]

[No. Of course she wouldn't. Though if she had, he would have accepted her decision with more grace than any man currently in existence.

Shinjiro still doesn't know a damn thing about dancing, but he knows more than he had. He had observed enough between now and the first to come away with a general idea of what he was supposed to do, which is move in circles and try to look halfway elegant about it. He hopes he can at least do the first part, at least. But watching and doing are two different things.

Maybe he could've asked someone to teach him. But who the hell could he have asked?

The only person Shinjiro can see himself bothering about it is Mitsuru, though he can easily imagine how that text-based conversation would have gone.

Hey. You know how to do all that fancy high-class shit, right?

Of course.

You know what? Forget it.

And then, a half hour later:

You know how to dance?

Which would have inevitably led to a question of why, knowing his shitty luck.

Because I told a girl I'd think about it.

And then the conversation would have plunged straight to hell from there. He's mostly glad he avoided it.

The song on the radio fades, and a new one takes its place.

At her invitation, Shinjiro arches a single eyebrow, hesitating, before finally taking her hand in his. That was supposed to be the guy's line, wasn't it? Guess he can plagiarize just as easily as she can.]

Better show me then.

[greatseal]

[She knows enough to know that he should be leading, but she's also never been one to hang back when she has the chance to charge ahead. So, she steps up to him, placing her left hand on his shoulder and taking his right with her own. Then she starts to move. Slow steps, as she gauges whether he's following and won't step on her feet like they'd discussed before. Hesitant steps, because she's working from film memory now, and still finding the rhythm of the music.

She likes the music. It's still strange to fully understand the words of a song she's fairly sure is in English, but it enhances the mood. Much like the first time she'd listened to Burn My Dread again after arriving and finally realized how creepily premonitory the lyrics really were. ...Although the moods between that and this are completely different.

But the song continues, and the dance becomes more important than musings on anything else. Even listening to the music. It's just the background to the actual event.]

[themortalhalf]

[And he knows enough about dance to understand that he should be the one taking the helm, but he follows her anyway. It's what he's always done, follow her lead, trusting that she knew what she was doing and what needed to be accomplished. That's why she had been chosen to be the leader of the group, despite having very little experience to her name. She was—is—an individual people don't have trouble following.

He keeps his steps careful and deliberate—perhaps a bit hesitant, because he'll be damned if he still doesn't feel nervousness eating away at him like some sort of disease that shows no outward symptoms, but he wants to do things right. He starts to feel the rhythm of the music—all made up of words he can't understand, but perhaps it's better that way—and finds it easier to as the music inches towards its conclusion. He learns to move a split-second after she does, like there's no pause at all. He doubts he moves with anything that could be described as elegance, but he can keep in time, and he'll be damned if he's going to step on her feet. He can follow the pace she sets.

But wanting to do things right also means stepping up and taking the lead eventually. She led him all September. He had initiated very little. Kept his role passive and did what needed to be done when it was necessary. But this September's his, too. He waits for the song to change, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium she's set.

When the song ends, there's a few silent seconds in-between, and in the interim of them coming to a standstill, he tugs her gently back and to the left, almost playfully, though not entirely so. Unlike some people, he's not going to ask her to show him again, and she is right about one thing: he learns quickly. Learns even quicker from his mistakes.

And then a new song starts. Slower, quieter, and thankfully in a language they understand. He still doesn't know quite what he's doing—dancing still ain't his thing and never will be—but he can pretend for a few minutes.]

[greatseal]

[Despite the fun of the chase, teasing him and pushing him out of his comfort zone, what she really enjoys is when he finally gives in and steps up to challenge her back. And so she doesn't object to the change in leadership. She leans in closer to him - he feels a lot warmer than usual, out here without the coat - and allows him to spin them around in time to the new song.

To any outsider it probably looks incredibly silly, maybe even awkward. Two teenagers trying to move in sync with only one song's worth of practice. But from her vantage point, he's pretty much perfect.]