divinetree | Hamuko-posting

The year is 2017, and the world is at peace.

That's the world that most perceive, anyway. A world dominated by a once-sleeping god, one deeply connected to cognitive reality, one that has carried out an attempt to control the population...

...to spare them. To free them all from their hurt.

In 2017, Hamuko Arisato was meant to be 25. Meant to have graduated from Gekkoukan High School, attended some college, she'd dated here and there even - everyone remembered her for her brilliant, jovial personality and her outstanding academics. Sharp as a tack, inspirational, a veritable leader in anything she did - getting ready to settle down and start a family.

But something unsettling happened. It's in her records, now - suddenly the young woman started sleeping far too often. Lost her job. Was discovered undressed in the middle of winter, blacked out and laying in the street. Her body was fine, but psychologists and psychiatrists noted strange incongruousness with memory.

Hamuko Arisato recalls all of the years leading up as they happened, but claims to feel violently disconnected from reality due to memories reflecting another life entirely. Referral to specialist needed.

She's shipped from specialist to specialist. Gradually from a general practitioner into the cognitive psience field, even.

Subject has become better at masking her distress as well as more attuned to reality. Incongruent memories persist, causing depressive episodes and inability to connect to others.

As for Hamuko? She's not sure what to do. It feels... like having two lifetimes living in her mind. It makes her... tired. Maybe this was all just a terrible dream. Maybe she just needed to live with the hallucinations. Nobody felt right. But maybe it was her. For lack of a way to cope, Hamuko was asleep outside of yet another research office, passed out on the bench before her scheduled appointment.

Maruki let out a slow breath, staring at the words on his screen. His own writing, neat yet clinical, laid out every single detail, every calculated misdirection. There was no hesitation in his notes, no indication of the gnawing discomfort that was beginning to settle in his chest.

Still, he scrunched up slightly, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His temples slightly ached, perhaps from the strain of that entire conversation. The soft hum of his office lights felt like a relentless pressure against his skull.

His hand drifted to his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, itching—itching—to press the call button.

He could do it. Right now.

Dial the number, tell her everything.

Every flaw. Every inconsistency in her thoughts. Every problem she couldn’t even see in herself.

He could fix her. Right now.

A shudder ran through his shoulders.

But, no. The lie wouldn’t hold if he played his hand too early. He knew that. The story had to unfold properly, organically, at the right pace.

A slow exhale, then. His fingers curled away from the phone, pressing against the edge of his desk instead.

He exhaled sharply, pushing back from his desk with too much force, the chair rolling a few inches away. The motion left him unsteady, unmoored, but he embraced it, let himself sway for a moment before he stepped forward, moving without direction, without purpose.

He laughed. A small, breathy thing that barely had form, but it curled in his throat, and suddenly, he couldn’t stop moving.

His body felt strangely light.

The exhaustion clung to him, but so did something else. Something that settled beneath his skin and coiled in his chest like a whispering, writhing thing.

What an odd woman she is.

What a strange,

strange woman.

His shoes barely made a sound as he started moving. Not quite pacing. More like gliding, each step carrying a strange rhythm.

He hummed softly to himself. A tune with no real melody, no real structure—just something for his lips to follow.

He lifted his arms slightly, twirling—once, just slightly, like a man moving through the motions of a forgotten dance.

Azathoth stirred, murmuring through the cracks in his mind.

This is taking too long.

"Patience," he murmured, as if the thought were something external, something separate from himself. His voice lilted with amusement, with something just a shade too delighted.

His steps were light, almost playful, as he wove through the space of his office. He spun once, a lazy, uncoordinated turn that sent his lab coat billowing just slightly.

He caught sight of himself in the reflection of the window. His own face, so calm, so unreadable, but the eyes—

The eyes betrayed him.

There was something burning there, something hollow and ravenous.

His lips twisted—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

How long has it been?

How long since he spoke to someone, really spoke to them—not as a doctor, not as a researcher, but as himself?

The thought hit him like a dull hammer to the chest. He staggered, fingers brushing against the edge of his desk as he steadied himself.

~~Far too long.~~

And yet, there she was—so close, so close, and yet still so broken.

He closed his eyes.

She would stay. She had to stay.

She was so lost, so fractured, and he had the answer.

Why did she resist? Why did she keep looking for her suffering like it was some missing limb she refused to let go of?

Did she seriously think she was meant to suffer?

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Now he just had to...wait for her message. His phone wasn't on silent, he can easily check if someone messages him. Since no one else but her remembered him, it would be far easier to discern that.

Edited 2025-02-26 02:11 (UTC)

Her exploration brought her a lot of answers - not everything was gone, even if a lot of it seemed to have been glossed over. Whatever supernatural force was affecting things couldn't hide it all though - deep in the bottom of her new favorite bag, wrapped in cloth to stay hidden, was an Evoker.

She didn't need it today. But she wasn't going to let that thing out of her sight, not while she worked to find out what in the hell was going on.

All of her sleuthing aside, though - she was looking forward to meeting up with Shibusawa. He was such a mixed bag when they texted about nothing in particular, but there was a realness to him, a sadness... Hamuko was determined to let him know that he wasn't alone in all of this. It was for him, and anyone else 'left behind' like the two of them, that Hamuko wanted to fight for now.

Double checking the address in her messages with the theater she found out of the station, Hamuko felt a bit relieved and a little curious what the 'date' would be like, even if it'd probably be pretty obvious it was only pretense to get him to show up again.

(((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))
I made it!

The "Problem Case"...

Sinking... (that evening?night?)

The next 'date'