Asa Mitaka

[scrapdraught]

WAR

what is it good for

absolutely nothing

Comments

WEEK 0: First Sunday

[scrapdraught]

[After the npcs have toodled off they meet in the void. Camille addresses her off-handedly, just by virtue of being in earshot.]

Christ. What do you make of all that?

[halved]

It's insane. They're insane.

WEEK 1: Monday

[scrapdraught]

[At the door of an animal crossing house, debating a crime.]

Nobody's home, right? No where. They're all abandoned.

[halved]

[she is also debating a crime, but looking more torn up about it.]

Maybe they're more "set dressing," and no one ever lived here in the first place.

WEEK 1: Saturday

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[Asa isn't the first person she's looking for, but she's glad to have found her nonetheless. Camille waves as she approaches, though the motion itself feels like sacrilege. The mood is dour and no one is happy to see anyone.]

Hey, Asa.

[halved]

[we are all dead and dying inside.

she looks up from where she's been more or less gazing into the void, wondering what the fuck happened today.]

... Hey. You okay?

WEEK 1: Sunday

[scrapdraught]

[Trashes our saturday]

Asa.

[Wherever she is (deservedly) lying down, Camille finds her eventually. She looks pale, sweat dotting her brow, but that's nothing. Second hand frights after a fight to the death.

There's so much to say and no way to say it. Camille swallows thickly, wishing she'd paid closer attention. To Erin, to Asa. Nona. She's losing people quicker than cash at a casino. It can't keep up like this.]

...I'm sorry. How are you...did the docs look at you?

[halved]

[hello, camille... at least one of your casino chips is still alive and unstabbed? asa looks over to her, a little sluggish and in pain, but thankfully conscious again.]

... Hey. [she nods.] Yeah. Daan took care of me after I fainted, I think.

week two, monday.

[halved]

[imagine being powerful enough to write a proper starter during memshare week. i was also going to put this down for tuesday but then i glanced at the mingly.................... britt has britted again.

anyway— shadows immediately seize them and pull them into darkness, where they will experience a memory. enjoy!]

[scrapdraught]

[THE MEMORY TAKES THEM.

Camille hasn't seen anything like it without her parking her ass in a theatre seat. It's Spider-man crossed with Hellraiser, superhero shit if they let the bones snap and the blood burst free.

She hates every minute of it. But she is both within and outside of Asa in this moment, and she feels the desperation and the sweat as if it were her own body pumping adrenaline. The phantom double disturbs her, as does the chainsaw-headed hero with deep sea teeth. There's monsters in pursuit, and when their luck at last runs out it's in the mouth of a goliath Star Wars worm.

The vision fades. Camille's hand has snarled into Asa's top. She doesn't know when she grabbed it.

The girl had two arms.

The girl wanted to live.

The phantom wanted him dead.

She blinks, schooling her stomach into settling without upturning her lunch. She looks to the younger woman, sweating, mortified.]

What?

WEEK 2: Friday

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[Coming back from Invest, pretending Totty ran ahead. Camille is hugging at her middle as she walks, ashen faced and stinking of smoke.]

Who was with you in there last night?

[halved]

... To be honest, too many. There were about fifteen of us.

[on the other hand, asa's face has gone a little blank. vacant. the bad thoughts can't catch her if she refuses to process them in the first place. ]

But Cloud wasn't there last night. I don't know where he came from.

week two, saturday.

[halved]

[... hi, camille. asa is approaching the barrier and taking a moment to stare at her. what is she up to?]

[scrapdraught]

[whatever she wants.]

Ah! Asa! Welcome, you've made it. I haven't ascertained the exact specifications of this barrier, so your timing is excellent. I'm wondering about the porosity, I suspect it is not truly impassable. More of a fine mesh, if you will. If you could assist me — we need something quite thin and small. Such as a needle, or a blade of grass. Anything that we could feasibly pass through a very small hole.

week three, monday.

[halved]

[new week, new locations. today, camille can find asa in roth, sitting among the sea of stars. she pulls her gaze away from the lights to look at her. hi.]

... Everything's in ruins, but it's still weirdly pretty.

[scrapdraught]

[She comes up slow, hugging her middle as usual. Mesmerized by the stars herself.]

Broken doesn't have to mean busted. People pay good money to see ruins all the time.

[She comes to a stop at a few yards out. She doesn't want to intrude. Can't know where or when her company will be welcome anymore. Even if she's getting warmer welcomes than John Keene had once he'd wiggled up the list of local suspects.

People here are way too lenient. Must be a side effect of all their extraordinary lives.]

I can find another stargazing spot, if you wanted peace and quiet.

week four, tuesday.

[halved]

[well, well... look who has a pulse again.

it would be nice if she didn't have to face camille again after, you know, traumatizing the shit out of her by assisting in her murder and then resurrecting her in an attempt to exorcise the monster. but it's a small realm and there are only so many places to hide. besides, it seems rude to run away from this now.

so when she comes across camille at some point after their public confession, she freezes up like a deer in the headlights and stares at her. hi.]

[scrapdraught]

[ah.

To be fair Camille also stiffens at first. Then slides her hands into her pockets. Shrugs. Uncomfortable, but downtrodden. Unthreatening.]

Asa.

WEEK 4: Friday

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[Girl we gotta stop finding bodies together.

Anyway let's say they finally caught up to the bulletin. Camille goes quiet.]

...Oh, god.

[Izutsumi is a shock. As is Rondo. Especially after this week.]

[halved]

[asa truly wishes she would stop finding bodies in general, honestly.

her thoughts have more or less turned into white noise since the moment she laid her eyes on the posters. jumbled and utterly incomprehensible. but there's one little question she can't help but to ask herself, clear as day despite how scrambled her brain is right now:

Is this our fault?]

week four, sunday.

[halved]

[looking for her! where can she find her?

though regardless of where she finds her, asa is giving camille a once-over to check the state of her injuries. girl, you better have kinned shrek in his depression era.]

... The swamp?

[scrapdraught]

I've swamped.

[They can be at the clown clinic! what has become of their beautiful theatre. Camille has a bandage over her now empty eye socket and spirits are low. Arm jab is also healed up, thank god.]

They put me in while I was unconscious, couldn't have dodged it if I tried.

WEEK 5: Monday

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[A very huggy if depressed Camille has herded sweet Asa to the Tea Garden. They will have a nice and calming time among plants and hot drinks.

Though she still finds it a little daunting to look at her. "Him."]

Have a seat, I'll grab us something.

[Gently sits Gaston down to tea I guess.]

[halved]

[pov: you are camille looking at gasaton.

which is to say, asa is pouting something terrible when she finally pries herself from camille to sit down. grumbling:]

This is so stupid...

week five, friday.

[halved]

[asa was on her way to check out the posters, but now she's staring at the baby jail set up by the pyre in absolute shock.]

Already?

omg i almost lost this one

[scrapdraught]

[Already.

Camille is staring at it too, though her face has already taken on a haunted quality.]

It's Kate.

week five, sunday.

[halved]

[camille can find her in the somnovium apartments, looking over the furniture. the vibes are not great, but when have they ever been?]

... It feels like a waste to leave all the furniture here.

[scrapdraught]

[Find her she will. Didn't get a chance to scope the place out beyond scooping up Yuffie and Anis.]

It might be a pain in the ass to move things, but yeah, I agree. Anything you have in mind?

week six, monday.

[halved]

[okay, well. they are in (throws dart) the cathedral. asa is looking around with a frown.]

... This is probably where the next execution is going to happen, isn't it?

[scrapdraught]

Don't say that.

[Less a lecture and more a groan.]

There's no point in being morbid before we have to be.

WEEK 6: Friday

[scrapdraught]

[Hello fellow burn victim.

Camille will be sitting at the pyre, looking absolutely drained.]

One more week. Just one.

[halved]

[hello, fellow burn victim.

asa is taking up a whole bench, laying on her side and staring unblinkingly at the posters.

a little vacantly:]

... Right...

WEEK 6: Sunday

[scrapdraught]

[Jesus.

Camille has stopped by the refectory, briefly. She's got food from the market while it's still good, but is struggling to put together a half-decent meal. She never was much of a cook to begin with and now she's down a hand.

Dropping a slice of turkey on the floor. Gritting teeth.]

...Damn it.

[halved]

[asa watches this happen, like. ah.]

... It takes some getting used to.

[why are they both down a hand and an eye. help.]

WEEK 7: Monday ((SPOILERS, CW: parental/caregiver abuse, self harm, vomit, sadism, exposure))

[scrapdraught]

[jumps into memshare — Asa will be able to see all her horrible scars in this ofc, even if it doesn't mention off the bat.]



"Camille and I will have drinks in my bedroom," she said to the others, fixing her hair in the sideboard mirror. She was dressed for it, I realized, already in her nightgown. Just as I had as a child when I was summoned to her, I trailed her up the stairs.

And then I was inside her room, where I'd always wanted to be. That massive bed, pillows sprouting off it like barnacles. The full-length mirror embedded in the wall. And the famous ivory floor that made everything glow as if we were in a snowy, moonlit landscape. She tossed the pillows to the floor, pulled back the covers and motioned for me to sit in bed, then got in next to me. All those months after Marian died when she kept to her room and refused me, I wouldn't have dared to imagine myself curled up in bed with my mother. Now here I was, more than fifteen years too late.

She ran her fingers through my hair and handed me my drink. A sniff: smelled like brown apples. I held it stiffly but didn't sip.

"When I was a little girl, my mother took me into the North Woods and left me," Adora said. "She didn't seem angry or upset. Indifferent. Almost bored. She didn't explain why. She didn't say a word to me, in fact. Just told me to get in the car. I was barefoot. When we got there, she took me by the hand and very efficiently pulled me along the trail, then off the trail, then dropped my hand and told me not to follow her. I was eight, just a small thing. My feet were ripped into strips by the time I got home, and she just looked up at me from the evening paper, and went to her room. This room."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"When a child knows that young that her mother doesn't care for her, bad things happen."

"Believe me, I know what that feels like," I said. Her hands were still running through my hair, one finger toying with my bare circle of scalp.

"I wanted to love you, Camille. But you were so hard. Marian, she was so easy."

"Enough, Momma," I said.

"No. Not enough. Let me take care of you, Camille. Just once, need me."

Let it end. Let it all end.

"Let's do it then," I said. I swallowed the drink in a belt, peeled her hands from my head, and willed my voice to be steady.

"I needed you all along, Momma. In a real way. Not a need you created so you could turn it on and off. And I can't ever forgive you for Marian. She was a baby."

"She'll always be my baby," my mother said.

~*&*~

I fell asleep without the fan on, woke up with the sheets stuck to me. My own sweat and urine. Teeth chattering and my heartbeat thumping behind my eyeballs. I grabbed the trash can beside my bed and threw up. Hot liquid, with four kernels of corn bobbing on top.

My mother was in my room before I pulled myself back onto the bed. I pictured her sitting in the hall chair, next to the photo of Marian, darning socks while she waited for me to sicken.

"Come on, baby. Into the bathtub with you," she murmured. She pulled my shirt over my head, my pajama bottoms down. I could see her eyes on my neck, breasts hips, legs for a sharp blue second.

I vomited again as I got into the tub, my mother holding my hand for balance. More hot liquid down my front and onto the porcelain.

Adora snapped a towel from the rack, poured rubbing alcohol into it, wiped me down with objectivity of a window cleaner. I sat in the bathtub as she poured glasses of cold water over my head to bring the fever down. Fed me two more pills and another glass of milk the colour of weak sky. I took it all with the same bitter vengeance that fueled me on two-day benders. I'm not down yet, what else you got? I wanted it to be vicious. I owed Marian that much.

Vomiting into the tub, draining the tub, refilling, draining. Icepacks on my shoulders, between my legs. Heat packs on my forehead, my knees. Tweezers into the wound on my ankle, rubbing alcohol poured after. Water flushing pink. Vanish, vanish, vanish,, pleading from my neck.

Adora's lashes were plucked clean, the left eye dribbling plump tears, her upper lip continually bathed with her tongue. As I was losing consciousness, a thought: I am being cared for. My mother is in a sweat mothering me. Flattering. No one else would do this for me. Marian. I'm jealous of Marian.

~*&*~

I was floating in a half-full bath of lukewarm water when I woke again to screams. Weak and steaming, I pulled myself out of the bath, wrapped a thin cotton robe around me—my mother's high screams jangling in my ears—and opened the door just as Richard busted in.

"Camille, are you okay?" My mother's wails, wild and ragged, cutting the air behind him.

Then, his mouth fell open. He tilted my head to one side, looked at the cuts on my neck. Pulled open my robe and flinched.

"Jesus Christ." A psychic wobbling: He teetered between laughter and fear.

"What's wrong with my mother?"

"What's wrong with you? You're a cutter?"

"I cut words," I muttered, as if it made a difference.

"Words, I can see that."

"Why is my mother screaming?" I felt woozy, sat down on the floor, hard.

"Camille, are you sick?"

I nodded. "Did you find something?"

Vickery and several officers tumbled past my room. My mother staggered by a few seconds later, her hands wrapped in her hair, screaming at them to get out, to have respect, to know they'll be very sorry.

"Not yet. How sick are you?" He felt my forehead, tied my robe shut, refused to look at my face anymore.

I shrugged like a sulking child.

"Everyone has to leave the house, Camille. Put on some clothes and I'll get you to the doctor's."

"Yes, you need your evidence. I hope I have enough poison left in me."

[halved]

[ah.

as hellish as asa's life has been, it hasn't all been bad. she had a loving family. a mom who loved and doted over her. a mom who only had her best interests in mind and never hurt her. a mom who, ultimately, put her own life at risk to save asa's and paid the price for it.

the idea of being treated so horribly by your own mother is completely alien to her. it feels like it should be impossible to act so vile towards your own daughter, and yet — here it is. the audacity of telling someone you're supposed to care for that they were so hard to love makes her blood boil. it's so pointlessly cruel.]

Why... [a little wobbly. shock, anger and horror all come through, bubbling to the surface.] How could she do that to you? What kind of mother is she?!

week seven, saturday.

[halved]

[honest to god just laying on the ground somewhere after whatever the fuck just happened. she was briefly a god's parent? it was horny? it exploded?

she glances at camille.]

We did it?

[HOW DID WE DO IT.]

[scrapdraught]

'Fraid so.

[WHAT THE HELL EVEN HAPPENED TOTTY NEGGED IT TO DEATH.

Camille has sprawled similarly, actually. She never made claims to maturity or decorum.]

How much of that was on purpose and how much was just by happy accident?