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Prologue

The Slaughterhouse.

What a strange name for a club. I look alternatively at my flatmate and the bright red kanji spread on the old brick façade, while I catch my breath from the half-hour walk from the nearest train station.

I'm cold, I'm wet, and I'm tired. I haven't spent enough time exercising (any time?) since I arrived in Tokyo. I miss the hills behind the university. It's funny how that heart attack and Yamaku have changed me. Before, I was a city kid. The only space I needed was a football field from time to time. Now, I don't do football any more: the sudden efforts, the changes of rhythm, the risks of injury, they augment the chances of my heart regulation system giving up and shutting down everything, including my life. Low-impact, endurance, like fast walking, are the things for me. And paradoxically, they require more space than harder-hitting sports. At least if you are to enjoy them.

And I'd like to enjoy something in my life, for once. More than that training position, for instance. I'm only in my first year of uni, and I already know the basic salaryman path I envisioned sucks. I've only been on that training position for one month, and I already know the job sucks. Powerpoints, resources plannings and risks analysis seen from afar, irritable and bossy bosses, objectives changing three times per day... I'd rather be part of the guys who do the job – monitoring might sound like you're higher on the social ladder, but it sucks. Who cares for the social ladder? Someone like me, whose heart might stop the next minute just because?

The mud that my shoes splash on my pants doesn't improve my mood. This post-industrial neighbourhood is really dilapidated. The drawbacks of the countryside without its advantages.

"You know it really was a slaughterhouse?" My flatmate quips. "They closed it down ten years ago. Impossible to maintain health and safety standards in such an old building."

I'd guess it's also too close to the city. Too costly to bring live animals here, when you can bring them in the form of refrigerated meat.

"And they made it into a night-club?"

I've never seen a club so lowly advertised. I wouldn't even know where the entrance is, if it wasn't for Yukio leading me. Plus that building is so huge, aren't clubs supposed to be smaller affairs? And what about those broken windows? Without the bass I now hear pulsing, I'd say he's tricking me.

"Underground night-club," he corrects me with an apologetic smile, "it's more like a squat. The building wasn't used, some musician thought it was a shame and decided to use it for rehearsals, then they started partying..."

And you've made me walk this far to hang-out in a squat?

"Man, you don't understand: that's the trendiest place in Tokyo," Yukio notices my frown and tries to cheer me up, "you've got to experience it before it becomes famous and the authorities have to close it. They've got the star-DJ of the future in there!"

"Plus," he adds in a lower voice, "those art students are really wild. First time I went, there were three girls dancing naked in the middle of the room. Completely naked, I don't kid you! One even had a dick, can you imagine that? You see that pretty girl dancing topless, you get closer for a better view, and there's this thing between her legs..."

I'm not really interested in seeing naked girls that I'm not on at-least-friendly terms with. It would only make me feel more lonely. Plus, with the current weather and the broken windows, I doubt anybody will feel like dancing naked without being completely wasted. And I'm not interested in dicks, and don't want to be staring at that transsexual more than I'd like someone staring at the scar on my chest.

But Yukio is at least right on one point: now that I'm here, I'd better get inside and see what that looks like.

-+-

At first, it feels like I'm blind and deaf. The main room is nearly empty, and barely lit, and I'm unable to use my eyes anyway: the music is so loud that it takes everything else out. I cannot even listen to it, just feel it. I'd bet even Shizune would have been able to dance to it. That is, if she had stopped being bossy long enough to enjoy life.

I briefly wonder if all those vibrations might make my heart do something funny, but I force myself not to panic. I will feel pain, if it does. I hope. I should have warned Yukio about my condition, so he knows what to do if I collapse. The poor guy will feel guilty about my death, otherwise.

Not that I like Yukio that much. But he's been friendly enough, with a friendless guy like me. He might be an interchangeable young corporate slave, he's still a nice man, somewhere. Or I thought he was an interchangeable young corporate slave? How did someone like him learn of such an underground place?

Now that I got time to catch my breath from the sonic assault, and that my eyes are adjusted to the low light level, I can look at the room. It's basically a big old hangar, with cheap coloured lights and black-light neons scattered around, a couple of old and beaten couches along the walls, a concrete bar and a makeshift DJ stand in the corner. A guy is hunched there, mixing the rhythmic noise that's driving me blind. The room smells... I prefer not to analyse what it smells.

A dozen people, mostly girls, are scattered around the middle of the room, undulating on what appears to be the informal dance-floor, and a handful of others spacing out on a couch. There's also a couple making out on the side. The guy is all over her, shamelessly caressing her buttocks through her skirt in plain sight. I wonder if they're going to stop sometime, or if he's going to undress her there.

On the side opposite to the DJ, a big cement wall, several openings show corridors leading to what must have been the offices. One of them is lit more strongly than the others. Ignoring Yukio's hungry gaze toward the dancing girls, I decide to do a bit of exploring and walk around the room to that exit.

To my relief, as soon as I step out of the shadow and into the corridor, the noise level drops down a few notches. The walls must be quite thick. A conversation would still need to be close and loud, but at least, it's now tolerable.

Several doors are in various states of opening farther in the corridor, one is fully open and the room inside is brightly lit. I wander up to it, to end in a room looking like a cross between an art gallery and an artist workshop. The walls are covered with paintings, hung a bit haphazardly, like the people who put them there didn't realize the room would be a bit small for them, and in the centre, a cute girl dressed in black and purple lace is working on another one.

She winks and smile at me, shakes her head, and goes back to add some yellow to her canvas, ignoring me in the process. I step behind her and look at her canvas. She's painting some kind of sunflowers. They're really realistic, I can tell that her technique is top notch, even with the yellowish light, but I can't feel moved. Something's missing. If you want to be photographic, why not use a camera? Van Gogh is old, and he already knew that. (Yes, I still remember things from my days in the art club. I'm bad at forgetting things)

I decide to look at the paintings on the walls. They're clearly not from the same person. A sign somewhere explains that it's a class gallery. So, all these are made by first years, by people my age, like this girl? Some of them are really good, some I can't understand, and some very bland. I pity their artists, it must feel really bad to be compared to the good ones everyday.

And then, I see it. That big painting, with clouds and stars, or what I think are clouds and stars, all distorted, all rendered with large swaths of dark colours that could be coming from a nightmare. I feel a shiver, and my heart skips a beat while it accelerate. Somehow, through the emotions, I take the time to notice the music is now far enough that I can hear my heart. That's a little comfort. I don't like it when I can't monitor my heart. I run my hand on the brush lines, reproducing those gestures I've seen so often. Somewhere behind me, the sunflowers girl snorts, and I remove my hand before she can berate me for touching. I glance at the label, but it doesn't tell me anything I hadn't already guessed: Nameless #36 – Rin Tezuka

===========

Suggested soundtrack for Prologue: The Devin Townsend Project - Heart Baby
Timeline (in case you didn't guess): One year and change after Rin's neutral end
Act 1 over there

This was good, and if what I think is right is actually right, hen we get to see Rin after she left Yamaki. Hope so, it could make a cute story. Or is it going to be depressing and angsty? Either way I'd like to see how it turns out.

Okay, you got me. I really hope you continue this, it looks very interesting.

Also, "I'm bad at forgetting things". Foreshadow?

scott1and wrote:This was good, and if what I think is right is actually right, hen we get to see Rin after she left Yamaki. Hope so, it could make a cute story. Or is it going to be depressing and angsty? Either way I'd like to see how it turns out.

My hope is to have a nice ending, but with a heart-broken Hisao as a narrator, I can't guarantee an angst-free path

Sperance wrote:"I'm bad at forgetting things". Foreshadow?

Of course... What's the point of a fanfic if you can't re-use (or twist) some of the original best quotes?

gecko wrote:

scott1and wrote:This was good, and if what I think is right is actually right, hen we get to see Rin after she left Yamaki. Hope so, it could make a cute story. Or is it going to be depressing and angsty? Either way I'd like to see how it turns out.

My hope is to have a nice ending, but with a heart-broken Hisao as a narrator, I can't guarantee an angst-free path

Don't worry, angst is good.

"You like that?"

The sunflowers girl has put her brush down, and is now watching me. Nearly frowning. I feel ill-at-ease under her gaze, and decide to step around the question.

"Not really," I finally answer.

Nothing better than a bit of truth to help a white lie. I'm really not sure if I like it, the memories it evokes are quite painful. But I'm not sure that's the right question. The right question is more like should I like it?

"Is art to be liked?"

This time, the girl really stares at me.

"Oh, yes, I forgot again," she answers, dripping with sarcasm, "real art is made by tortured souls, who paint with their blood, and will never be understood in their lifetime, not that we'll have to wait long because they'll commit suicide before turning 30..."

Fortunately, she's interrupted by Yukio's arrival.

"Here you are!"

I'm going to answer, but I realize he's looking at the girl. After a moment, he smiles at me.

"You've already met? Good. Hisao, this is my sister, Mio. Who still doesn't know how to dress normally, apparently."

"The parents sent you to spy me?"

"No, I just wanted you to meet my friend."

What? Is he trying to set us up? I wonder why. What does Yukio knows about me that he considers it would be good for his sister to meet me? That I know how to make coffee for meetings, format and print minutes afterwards, and be generally polite? That as a flatmate, I'm quiet and clean? Maybe it's just that he doesn't like her hanging with the kind of crowd where you can end dancing with a naked transsexual? But at least, now I know how someone like him knows of such a place.

"Still on your flowers?" They have continued their small talk while I zoned out, drawn again to Rin's painting.

"Hey, I've got to work! Contrary to the armless wonder whose colour splashing seem to fascinate your friend so much, I've got no gimmick to rely on if I start presenting sub-par work or relying on nonsense. Either I'm perfect, either the teachers will tear me apart."

I open my mouth to ask more details, but catch myself before I do. It's no use. She has forgotten me. Not letting go will just be painful. I have to stop.

Fortunately, Yukio stops me by dragging both of us, one by each arm, back to the main room.

"Come on, it's time to dance!"

Mio laughs at her brother's antics. She's got a nice laugh. Maybe she's nice, after all? Maybe it's not too bad to forget about monitoring my heart a bit to dance with her?

Unfortunately, as soon as I go through the threshold toward the now thirty or so people on the dance floor, I immediately notice a face that shouldn't be familiar any more.

Rin.

Her eyes are closed, and she's... dancing? That's a way to describe it. Her sandalled feet aren't moving, but her shoulders are rubbing in rhythm on the naked and tattooed torso of a tall lanky guy behind her. She's wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, with her trademark knots on the sleeves. She's looking at the ceiling, and when she raises her shoulders, the t-shirt follows and shows her belly-button.

"Is she still with Ken?" I heard Mio ask another girl. "I thought he would have dumped her by now."

The guy puts his huge hands on her hips. I want to turn away, go back into the corridor, but at that moment, her gaze descends and meets mine. Something white in her hair – paint? – gleams under the black light.

Her wandering eyes lock on me, with an intensity I only remember having when she painted, her shoulders relax, and she sinks on that Ken guy behind her. I don't dare make a move, now, frozen like cattle in a car's headlights. Ken's hands move up, start caressing naked skin above her waist line. My mouth is dry and I'm glad I can't hear my heart as I lose the notion of time.

Suddenly, the music jerks, the DJ probably having fumbled a transition.

Rin blinks, shakes her head, blinks again. She looks down at Ken's hands, then back at me, then at Ken's hands again with a frown. She lurches forward out of his grasp, and turns to face him.

When he reaches for her, she pushes him away with a foot on his chest. Which I would find quite impressive if I was a martial arts buff, given that Ken's chest is approximatively level with Rin's head, and that she lacks upper members to help her balance. But from Rin, that doesn't even surprise me, even after one year trying to forget her. Ken, on the other hand, must still not be used to it, because he loses his own balance and ends sitting on the ground. While he gets up, Rin walks away. Not that he seems very affected, because he just dusts his jeans before smiling at Mio and Yukio, like he'd just walked in alone.

"See, I told you," I overhear Mio shouting in her brother's ear, "what a prima donna!"

I can't really fault her for thinking that. I don't know if they do group assignments in their school, but if they do, working with Rin must be a drag.

Now, I'd like to make sense of what I've just seen. But I don't think Rin would be pleased for me to acknowledge her, and Ken is walking toward us, greeted enthusiastically by Mio. I'd better put that under a lid and act like a normal human being.

===

Suggested soundtrack for act 1: TAT - Here's To You
Scene 2 there

Oooh, boyo... Yeah, I figured Rin wouldn't be very popular. Keep it up!

Ravin Rin in a disco...I like it. Good to see this still going, keep up the good work.

gecko wrote:A guy is hunched there, mixing the rhythmic noise that's driving me blind.

I think you might have meant a different loss of sensing there…

griffon8 wrote:

gecko wrote:A guy is hunched there, mixing the rhythmic noise that's driving me blind.

I think you might have meant a different loss of sensing there…

No, I really meant that Hisao was so overwhelmed by the decibels that he forgot temporarily how to look.
But thanks: on the other hand, this has NOT been beta-read and I'm not a native English speaker: don't hesitate to raise anything you find strange, the most probably explanation is that it's not done on purposed but because I made a mistake

Mio ~ Ken's birthday tonight: let's crash his rehearsal!

Hisao ~ I'm included?

Mio ~ Of course!

That text message caught me by surprise. Okay, after a couple hours dancing near her – if you can call that barely moving in rhythm I did dancing – and a beer offered by Ken, I had given Mio my phone number, but honestly, I didn't think it was anything but politeness.

I mean, she'd been talking with Ken more than with me – not that the noise level gave us a lot of talking possibilities. I'd shared enough of the discussion to know that Ken wasn't an art student, but a musician, but I hadn't expected it to be enough to be included in their friends' circle. I mean, who was I for them, except Mio's brother temporary flatmate? Who, in one month, would be back to his countryside university and probably never be heard from again? Did they just decide to make it a huge party, and they needed numbers? Or was my being in the list an error but she's too polite to say it?

But despite my reservations, I'm now entering the Slaughterhouse, and alone – Yukio hasn't been invited. I'm not going to make friends by continuing to spend my evenings reading and trying to ignore Yukio's television, am I? And Mio's cute enough, seeing her dance will at least make for good memories.

And I find myself alone in a dark and silent main room.

Hisao ~ @Slaughterhouse. Where are you?

Mio ~ Ken's room

Hisao ~ Where?

Mio ~ Stay, coming down now

I hadn't even realized there were stairs or another floor to the building, but I soon hear Mio's heels clanking on a metallic stair. She's carrying some kind of pedal board, and followed by Ken and two other guys with bags, instruments and laptops.
"Need a hand?" I ask.

"We've got everything, thanks!"

They start setting up, using the DJ set and plugging into its amplification, and I understand the two other guys are Ken's bandmates. While they work, Mio plops on the nearest couch, and I decide to sit with her, at what I calculate is a polite but friendly distance.

Soon we're making small talk, while some people I don't know enter, greet Ken, and go sit on the other couch or simply wander around. I can explain Mio why I'm in Tokyo, training in her brother's company; and I can't hide how the job annoys me, but she laughs it out.

"Well, it's a salaryman job, what do you expect? Why do you think I argued with my parents until they accepted to send me to art school?"

I can only smile at that, while Ken and his bandmates start drowning us in music, but it's not a happy smile. Because I don't really know why I choose that cheap university... Because they accepted me, I suppose, and I felt guilty to have my parents working overtime to pay for Yamaku. But the problem isn't really the university itself: I've come to appreciate the calm and space that comes with it being in the middle of nowhere. Now that I'm in Tokyo, I even long for it. No, it's more the course I chose. Once again, I suppose I chose it because it was the best I could get with my marks. And I suppose I chose well, I'm quite good at it if I judge by my current marks – there's a reason I got this training period in Tokyo while a lot of my classmates wanted it. But I really don't fancy spending the rest of my life looking at project completion percentages and spending figures.

Why did I go with the flow like that, instead of really researching the possibilities? And why didn't I work more on my exams, so I could have more of them? I see one possible cause: Rin Tezuka. It's hard to dedicate oneself to studies when you spend most of your nights trying to understand what went wrong and how you might have prevented it. Pretty useless, when it's about a person who said she'd forget you, but I couldn't help myself.

And speaking of the devil... I'm there in my thoughts when my line-of-sight to Ken is interrupted by a characteristic armless silhouette. Rin looks around like she's bored, then simply decides to sit down by my side on the couch. Our shoulders are nearly touching, and I suddenly feel very ill-at-ease. Is she ignoring me? Has she really forgotten me? Luckily, the loud music makes it easy not to speak. Even if I wanted to, I'd have to shout – not very polite toward Ken. So, in the end, I just remain silent and listen to the music.

It's a strange mix. Ken's band is composed of a DJ, a guitarist, and himself on bass and voice. They all have computers and there are plenty of sounds and loops triggered by I don't know who, that make some kind of electronic dance music, but they add very aggressive, and very loud, guitars on that. I'm not sure how to like it, but Mio, on my right, seems captivated. Rin, on my left, still looks bored.

We remain like that for the best part of one hour. I realize, that, strangely, despite our lack of communication, I don't feel lonely. Or at least, much less lonely than I do at work during coffee breaks, or amongst other business students. I don't know why. Is Mio that friendly, that she makes me feel like that?

"Break time! I need a beer!"

With those words, Ken puts his bass down, and the music stops. Someone hands him a bottle, and he makes his way towards us. I'm trying to decide how I feel about his music, in case he asks, but his words are for Rin:

"I thought you had to work?"

She nods. "But I can't do it. I'm missing one colour."

Ken chuckles. "And you thought I might have it? Remember the part where I'm colour-blind?"

"Maybe it's not a colour?" She shrugs. "Do you have something to smoke?"

At the same time, some girl calls out for Ken from the other side of the room. Apparently, there's some gift to be opened, or cake to be cut. Without a word, with a strange mocking smile, Ken drops a metallic cigarette box on Rin's lap and ambles his way toward the group waiting for him.

Bringing her feet on her lap, Rin manages to open it – sitting a knee on my own lap at the same time, without acknowledging me in any other way. But the contents end spilled between her legs, and she lets out a frustrated sigh. After a second of silence, she bumps me with her shoulder.

I look at her, with raised eyebrows, and our gazes cross.

She looks alternatively at me, and at the cigarettes, lighter, cigarette-paper, and brown bits of I don't know what rolling on the couch.

First time in one hour she acknowledges my presence. But I don't know what she wants.

She puts the box in my hand, stands, and starts fishing the different bits with one foot, putting them in the box. As soon as I understand what she's doing, I help with my free hand, and soon every cigarette, or other object, is back in the box.

Rin looks at the floor, or rather at the layer of dirt covering the floor, and sighs again.

"Care to roll us one? I lack a proper surface."

"I can try."

Honestly, I've got no idea how to do that. I thought she just wanted me to light her a cigarette. But that cannot be that complicated can it?

Rin gives me the instructions and yes, it's not that complicated – but that doesn't mean it doesn't necessitate some dexterity, and I'm apparently not better at it than at drawing. In the end, after I've wasted four sheets of paper, Mio steals the preparation from us and finishes the rolling herself, making it look so easy that I suspect she's used to that. I wonder if her brother knows? She lights it, and pulls on it a couple times before passing it down.

I wonder briefly if I should try or just pass it down to Rin. Is that stuff dangerous for my heart? In the end, not wanting to feel so old-fashioned near Mio, I take just one short draft, and hand it down to Rin, monitoring my heartbeat. It doesn't seem to move, but neither does Rin's foot, back in her sandal. I end putting the joint directly to her mouth, helping her smoke.

The memories this simple act trigger surprise me by their freshness. I sigh, hand the joint back to Mio, and we continue smoking together silently, relaxing in silence while Ken and his other friends laugh loudly on the other side of the room.

After a while, I calm down, managing to negotiate some kind of truce with my memories. There are worst place to be, than relaxing between two pretty girls. And my heart doesn't seem to mind the smoke. If anything, it seems slower, steadier than usual. I notice Mio's closer, our shoulders now touching. Hers is warm, like Rin's breath on my fingers. Did she move, or do I take more space?

===

Scene 3 there

Aaah... Nostalgia is a powerful force, isn't it Hisao? I somehow get the feeling Rin hasn't forgotten about him, but this he has. Miscomunication is going to be their bane, me thinks. Again. Keep up the good work!

Wow. This is . . . astonishingly good. I really like the idea of a followup to Rin's bad end (because the "neutral" ending was the real bad end, no question about it), and I'm very glad you've decided to run with it. The fact that you write like you know what you're doing doesn't hurt, either. Keep up the good work!

"What's the colour of a black hole?" Rin finally breaks the silence.

"Isn't it black?" Mio asks.

"In that book," Rin answers, "the man says it's not. Because a black hole has a temperature, so it must glow... Not in the right frequency for human eyes, but I still need to paint it... I suppose the proper question is what would be the colour you would see a black hole if you could see it?"

I don't even shrug – or I do it mentally. You're the artist, Rin. How do you want me to answer that? With words?

"I knew that Brief History of Time book was a trap as soon as I saw it on the list," Mio adds, "how are you supposed to make art with a science book?"

Rin casts her a puzzled glance, like such a book not being deemed art-worthy stumps her.

"What did you choose?" I ask.

"A French book, The Little Prince. Nice, short, written for children, full of striking descriptions... But it was a trap too."

"Why?"

"You see, the book includes the author's own art... Once you've seen it, it's hard to forget about it and do your own thing!"

"It's one of Ken's favourites," Rin informs us casually.

"I reckon it's good," Mio answers, "not at all what I expected from a children's book... But I've already discarded five drafts! I wonder how I'm going to get something to hand to the teacher on Monday."

"I've seen you paint, surely you can draw something nice," I try to cheer her up while I mentally note another book to try. I've already read A Brief History of Time, of course, it was on Mutou's summer read list. I understand how someone like Rin could be fascinated by it – to the extent that anyone could understand Rin, of course.

"The teachers don't care about nice! What they want is that we work as hard as we can. If anything in your painting is unexplainable or seems to easy, they tear you apart! I can only imagine what they would say if my art seems even just inspired by the author's art." She pauses and sighs. "They played it nice at the beginning of the year, to let us time to adjust, but now, only Miss Tezuka here can get a pass for saying that she's got nothing to explain because that's a painting that explains nothing..."

"False," interrupted Rin, "Yamakazi told me that I've overused this concept, that I've lost the right to use it again. I'm not sure what he means by that, but I got Ds on my last assignments..."

"Aren't you on a scholarship?" Mio sounds concerned, now. "Can you keep it if you get bad marks?"

Rin nods. She looks away, vaguely watching Ken preparing for a second set, but I can feel her shoulder tensing.

"I don't like to think about the future."

"But you have to!" Mio seems shocked, now.

Rin's now looking down, at her feet. "I can't. I don't know who I will be."

"Whatever," I feel the need to intrude in the discussion, "you'll still be better with that scholarship paid. Can't you ask for a second chance, explain you misunderstood the instructions?"

Rin might have broken my heart, I still can't cope seeing her down like that. Still, I've got no other solution to offer her. Telling her that she'd better hurry find that colour for a black hole seems a bad idea.

Ken starts his second set and we remain silent, drowned in his sound. Now that I'm more familiar with his music I begin to take a liking to it. Unfortunately, I'm too puzzled by Rin's gloominess to fully appreciate it.

Rin leaves during the set, her head still down. My gaze follows her to the door. If Ken notices, he doesn't show it. Mio stays put against my shoulder, but when the set ends, she stands, look at me still seated on the couch, with an expression I don't know how to read, and leaves toward the stairs and Ken's rehearsal room without a word.

I decide to go back to the station and my flat. The trip is long and lonely, but I'm used to it. Being lonely seems to be my normal state of mind currently.

===

Act 2 this way

Well, this is getting more and more strangely depresing as it goes on. Keep it up!