teaserving | ⏪ INBOX

[It's surreal, how the distance seems to stretch on when it shouldn't be so far in, but that's how it is on a scape like this, he supposes. Eventually, they do manage to get inside, leaving the most obvious thing in the room.

In his arms, he's still carrying Kirigiri, and he's loath to put her down, but he needs his hands free.]

Here, back on your feet, kid.

[Gently, he eases her down.]

I'm still here. Not going anywhere.

[Reluctantly, he approaches the brightly wrapped package. It's begging to be opened, taunting, a clear mockery even before he knows its contents.

A sick game, he bets.]

You probably shouldn't.

[She's resorted to holding up the wall now, backing out of the center of the room and retreating to one of the standing walls until her shoulderblades are pressed up against it — not out of fear, seemingly, but purely from an unconscious desire to put as much distance as possible between herself and the table. Under the perfectly clear glass beneath their feet, far down below, there are the tops of trees, flowers, grass. It's almost like they're standing in a terrarium.

As Abbacchio approaches the box, he'll see that there are six black rectangles set into the lid — which doesn't actually seem to be held shut with anything, but which is stuck fast with dream logic for the moment anyway — that, like the computer, seem like they're waiting for a password of sorts to surrender the lid.]

I tried to warn Naegi-kun, too, but he looked.

If I don't, what are the odds that we don't get the closure needed?

[His fingers rest on the top of the box, looking at the rectangles. Is there something he should be doing? He isn't sure.]

Don't worry about me. Is opening this going to be bad for you?

...That's true. We don't escape until all the mysteries have been solved.

[She looks away, lips pressed together into a thin line that has them turning white.]

It's six letters, isn't it?

[She didn't even look at the box, how could she possibly know th— oh, right, it's a dream.]

F-A-T-H-E-R.

[Hell of a password. It's not a good sign for the contents, is it? His first thought is a severed head. That'd be the kind of thing he's dealt with before. Maybe something else?

Abbacchio puts in the password as indicated.]

All right. I'm opening it.

[The worst thing is, in real life, Kirigiri never looked into the box, and in her dreams that just makes it all the worse.

Naegi had remarked aloud that it was bones — human bones. She hadn't expected them to be dried out by that point, herself. She'd assumed there might still be meat stuck to them, for all that the room didn't smell of anything rotting. She'd assumed —

She doesn't know what she'd assumed. But her dream fills it in for her, anyway — a cardboard box that somehow manages to be partially filled with thick black blood yet never warps or soaks the material it's constructed of. The bones are arranged in a pile, because there are only so many ways that a human body can be made to fit in a box of this size, after all. The head is ghastly, mostly a skull but still with patches of flesh and hair attached, still just enough to tell that it belonged to the man Abbacchio had seen in the picture outside.

The mouth is open, the jaw half-broken. It makes it look like he died screaming.]

[Though he's good at keeping his reactions muted, Abbacchio still grimaces at the gruesome sight. He's still otherwise, holding the lid in his fingers as he looks down at the horrific arrangement. There's a part of him that suspects it's exaggerated by the dream, but the truth of it is still likely there: her father's body was left for her to find.

Slowly, he places the lid back down.]

Shit.

[He lets out a slow breath, desperately wishing he had something to drink. But he doesn't; it's Kirigiri's dream, and he has to tend to her. Because he does care, so much.]

Do you know what happened to him?

...

[She doesn't answer right away, which is probably half an answer in and of itself. She's leaning heavily against the wall, now, her body the third side of a triangle between the wall and the floor. If her feet were to slip, she'd fall for sure.]

He must've been executed. I don't know how long before we all woke up.

[She clutches at her arm, her bare fingers digging heavy into the sleeve, the scarred burned skin of her hand still lighter than the dark violet of her coat.]

We thought all along that being locked in was a confinement. Something to escape from. But it was his plan all along — to put barricades between us and the outside world, to keep us safe inside.

He didn't realize he was locking the source of it all in with us, when he did. That mistake cost him his life, and set our killing game in motion.

[Another mistake, but this one motivated to protect the students of the school -- and by extension, his daughter. People still died anyway, regrettably. Nothing can take that back now.

Abbacchio steps back from the box, turning to give Kirigiri his full attention. As he approaches, he stops just a bit away, then holds out his arms.]

...Come here. If you want.

The person who set the killing game in motion, they must have left this here on purpose I take it.

For me to find. No one else would have cared...about...

[She stays still a moment, her eyes squeezed shut, her face turned away. Her knuckles, beneath the scars, are tensed; the skin pulls tight over them, making them bulge.

Then, abruptly, she shoves away from the wall, pigtails streaming behind her like a banner as she sprints across the room and throws herself into Abbacchio's open arms, burying her face in his chest and clinging like she's never let herself otherwise.

Muffled against his body, her voice comes fractured and thin.]

...the worst...he's the worst kind of father...leaving me behind again...!

[Swiftly, he catches her into an embrace, strong and holding onto her as she clings on. He holds on, determined to for once be someone else's support. Especially for her.

It must be terrible to still hold onto these feelings and never truly get much closure. If Kirigiri and her father ever spoke before the murder games, then she'd have no memory of it. Anything they built is gone, stolen from her.

It frames her request the first day they met in real perspective.

Don't abandon me.]

I'm sorry, kid.

[She doesn't cry, even in her dreams. But even so, her vision still goes blurry, and with it, the rest of the room around them turns blurry too — smudging into blotches of color and shadow like ink left out in the rain. On the plus side, that means the horrific spectacle of the box gets largely blotted out, but so do the finer details of the setting as well, until the only things left with any real clarity are Abbacchio and Kirigiri themselves.

A soft violet light glows from her bare right hand, where the gemstone is usually obscured by her gloves. He's holding her now, and that's more than enough for Synchrony to begin; she clings on tight until the tempest of emotion she's been holding so tightly inside her is calmed with the infusion of his steadying reassurance, and then after a while she stops clutching and settles just for embracing.]

Even like this you're keeping your promise.

[He didn't leave her alone to this dream. Somehow, he still made sure he was at her side. He kept his promise.]

Even here like this...

[A hand goes to the back of her head, cradling her and letting her hold on as she needs him. There's a lot to do to clean up his act, he realizes, but he wants be here for her. For something she never really properly had.

The feelings pour out from her, and from under his jacket his ruby glows as he responds, giving her his affection.]

I'm a lot of things, but I wouldn't break my promise to you.

I'm here, kid. I've got you.

⏪ INBOX | NOCTIUM

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