hadriel | 第5: esteemed emily #1 (voice)

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第5: esteemed emily #1 (voice)

[The few "letters" Emily has received since graciously offering her services as an advice-giver are, as expected, shit. Hell, two of them aren't even real requests, just her idiot friends being idiots ~~(in the best way, she misses when it was always like this, simple, harmless, fun)~~. The one actually serious one is about as bad as she'd thought she'd get from the hopeless disasters in this cave, so hey. This isn't bad.

Honestly, the hardest part about this is deciding what format to do this in. Finally, on the morning of the 21st, she decides to just get this shit done. At least one idiot out there needs her help. She doesn't want to video this (mostly because she doesn't want to work with the shitty makeup here, come on, she knows what cameras do to you), but text won't convey her message quite well enough, so. Voice it is.]

I'm just going to dive right into this. I got three submissions. I'm going to read them off one at a time and answer each before I go to the next one. These are supposed to be anonymous, so try not to be such assholes that you out someone if you figure out who they are.

Unless they're obviously trolling, which-- well. You'll see.

Here goes.

First up is this fucking gem [heavy is the sarcasm in Esteemed Emily's voice]:

Esteemed Emily,

I have a friend who is a total nerd but in complete denial about it, even though she's getting nerdier by the day and soon may surpass even me in the nerd ways. What should I do to help her accept her true self and her destiny?

Signed,
I'm locking my door so don't bother coming down here

[There's a pause where Emily sighs quietly, but even in the relative silence, it's exceedingly clear how unimpressed she is.] Chris, you're an idiot. You wish I were a nerd, just so you could claim you're cool by association with me. Newsflash: you aren't. Code yourself an app that'll run through some formulas or whatever to help you get the fuck over the fact that you will always and forever be the second nerdiest person I know.

Second, an actual question:

So say an opinionated girl made out with the local teenage girl hater. She's fairly conflicted about the whole thing. What should she do?

-Opinionated Girl

I'm guessing you're a teenage girl, so my first thought is, why the fuck did you make out with someone who hates you? Do you hate yourself too?

[NOBODY can guess who the local teenage girl hater is, right? Jesus fucking Christ.]

Seriously, I don't know what the fuck to tell you. Like, we all make mistakes, [she's thinking about Mike] but... like why are you conflicted here. He hates you. Was he that good that you want to hate makeout and maybe hatefuck? That's up to you, but if it were me, I would punch him in the balls and move on unless he changes his ways. Please fucking love yourself. Or at least be safe, goddamn.

[Another pause for breath. Christ. Dealing with hopeless people is hard.]

Finally, the best of the litter [again with the sarcasm]:

hey em i got this friend who likes giving people advice but im clearly better at giving advice i never steer anyone wrong

how do i take her job

Do I even need to tell you how wrong you are? Idiot. Besides, nobody's stopping you from starting Jolly Josh or whatever. No, you know what? Stick to shitposting. You've got that down to a science.

[Another pause, another sigh, and (if you listen very closely) a very dramatic eyeroll.]

Look, just stop being disasters, all right? There's like five of you that have come to me asking for dating advice already. Just talk to the person you like. If you want to fuck them, ask them. If you want to hold hands, ask them. If you want to just be best goddamn friends with them, ask them.

That's literally it. Stop being morons.

Goddamn.

[End.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Mello speaks many languages but unfortunately, chatspeak isn't one of them.]

Is something wrong with your phone?

What year are you from? It's chatspeak, laughing my ass off, a more extreme version of lol (laughing out loud) but less extreme than roflmao (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off).

[Since Misa's here now and there's literally no such thing as being too cautious about what information on him is discoverable, Mello switches to a locked channel.]

It was 2010, January. I don't spend a lot of time on the Internet.

[He had other people to do that for him, until they were all killed. Even after, he used the Internet for finding information, not chatting.]

It's really not funny.

[ so paranoid, though she understands. ]

You're not missing much, it's still mostly porn, cat videos, and trolls.

Also, it is kind of funny! I can't believe she thought asking that was a good plan! [ The whole thing has her tickled pink, sorry not sorry. ]

Unfortunately, I can. That girl's got a big mouth.

[So really, it's not surprising that she'd blab about this, even anonymously to an advice column.]

You would know, huh?

[ no, she does not think she's a comedian, why do you ask? ]

I'm laughing on the inside. Really.

[Spoilers: he's not.]

Oh, come on, it was funny. Don't be so sour, it all could have been much more embarrassing, I'm sure.

I'm sure it will be, eventually.

[Because that's just the way his luck tends to run.]

Everyone will forget about it tomorrow. [ Except him and Big Mouth, of course. ] Don't let it bother you.

It's not just this. She knows other things too, and if she can't keep her mouth shut about something like this, I have no reason to believe she'll keep quiet about the rest of it, either.

I'm sure you told her not to let anything she knows about you slip, but did you ask her not to tell about the make-out? [ when people get emotional, they get messy. ]

[Boy, does Mello ever know that.]

I didn't think it needed to be explicitly stated. Kissing and telling is usually frowned upon.

Is anything about the relationship between the two of you usual? It was incredibly stupid of her to be so obvious, but she's just seeking advice because you've confused her.

No.

[Mello doesn't do relationships, unless they're a way toward something else that he wants. Nothing about this business with Ai is normal, and she isn't the only one who is confused.]

It was a mistake. I wasn't thinking.

As far as mistakes go, Mello, it's pretty fucking minor. Not to mention fixable as long as you talk to her.

She's impossible to talk to. Believe me, I've tried.

[There's a delay between the last message and this one, just long enough for Mello's entire worldview to shatter. His voice is tense - more tense than usual, at least. Something has deeply unsettled him.]

Are you any good at throwing knives?

[ she'd been in the middle of typing up a response, one that really amounted to try again, when the call comes in. he sounds stressed, bothered.

is this whole issue causing him that much trouble? ]

Because that's a skill most people need to develop in their lives. [ That's a no, Mello. Her dad taught her a lot of things, but that was not among them. When it comes to knives, she just focuses on stabbing. ] I'm a quick learner, though.

Yeah, me too. I haven't ever really done it either ... no time like the present, though.

[He pauses, inhales a shaky breath.]

Anyway, you should come find out. I'm in the park, a quarter mile in along the river.

[It's a sideways way of asking, but he's been too direct about too much already today, and he's drawn up his shields as much as he can muster.]

Edited 2016-09-02 21:21 (UTC)

Yeah, sure. I'll be there in twenty.

[ It takes a little longer than twenty minutes, but, in her defense, she stops by the armory to grab a couple of extra knives in varying weights, stuffing them into her knapsack; she's seen knife throwing before, but she's really not sure what to expect, and wants to cover her bases. Soon, she's walking briskly along one of the many trails, occasionally kicking a stone out of her way and watching it roll. It's never a bad day to visit the park, not when the deities are quiet.

When she spots Mello, she gives a lazy, three-fingered wave. She's ditched the dark hoodie today, and has opted in for her slightly stained, but still incredibly comfortable, bright orange jacket, hood up. Her small knapsack hangs over her shoulder, resting against her hip, and nestled in her boot is the well-worn handle of a kitchen knife. She appears to be an easy mood today, shoulders less tense. ]

Hey. [ She says. It sounds lame to hear ears. ]

[Mello, on the other hand, is even more tense than usual, if that's even possible - he jumps, slightly startled, when Sharon approaches, but nods in greeting once he recognizes it's her. He doesn't smile, but he is glad to see her.]

Hey.

[There's a row of three trees about ten feet away from where he's standing, and he's hastily painted a bullseye target on each one with some leftover paint from Hope's last cleanup efforts. His jacket hangs folded over a low branch on one of the trees behind him, gloves tucked away inside the pockets; he's wearing the same black leather vest and pants combination as always. Four knives of varying sizes are scattered around the base of the center tree, and Mello holds a fifth in his hand, which he raises, aims, and throws at the target - and misses. The knife's handle hits the trunk, and the knife tumbles to the ground. As it turns out, Mello isn't very good at this.]

Damn it.

[He pushes an irritated breath out through his teeth and marches over to retrieve the knives.]

[ It does not surprise her to see him startle, even with the knowledge that she would be arriving. Mello's world has become increasingly complicated as the weeks have gone on, and the arrival of his enemy has only made it worse (everything seems to be making it worse). In truth, she thinks he's handling it a lot better than she could, but she knows that it's only a matter of time before the stress of it all builds up and forces him to crack, if he hasn't already.

She slips her knapsack off as she comes closer, letting it hit the ground with a gentle thud, before she takes in the trees and the painted bullseyes; it appears as if Mello's skill in this department isn't just lacking, but rather nonexistent. ]

I brought extra knives. [ She didn't know what she would need, or how many he'd bring, so she took initiative. She kneels by her sack, opening it up and pulling out a variety of blades; the lengths vary, as do the weights, and many of them appear to lack in the typical handle (some wrapped, but others only bare their tang). She lays them out in no particular order before she picks a smaller one up. ]

You got any tips? [ He may not be adept, but it's likely he knows more than she does. ]

Thanks.

[Not just for the knives; he also means thanks for being here. In truth, Mello feels very close to cracking, which is why he's here, letting off some of that pressure in a focused show of the violence he feels like enacting on the entire world. He gathers up the knives and brings his own collection to Sharon's, dropping them on the ground next to hers as he drops himself into a crouch, studying the assortment and chewing agitatedly on the nail of his index finger.]

Not really. I don't - I don't really know what I'm doing.

[Not just with the knives. His entire world has shifted out of balance, giving him cause to question every truth he has ever believed.]

[ She brushes the gratitude off, only offering an easy smile in response. It's not like it was any trouble, and she knows that, even if it were, she'd still find a way to make it here. She'd rather spend her time with him than alone, digging at the wounds in her heart knowing she shouldn't. Alone, she makes herself worse. With him, near him, she's not sure what it makes herself, but it's not worse—it's never really worse. ]

We'll figure it out together, then. [ She shrugs, observing him beneath the length of her bangs. There's no judgement, no questions. He's not in a good place, teetering on an edge with no way to step back down, and Sharon doesn't know what to do or how to help. There has to be words for this situation, anything small that could offer even an ounce of comfort, but if they exist in the world, they're not ones she's ever known.

She straightens up, adjusting her grip on her chosen knife; she first holds it by the tang, and then adjusts so she grips the tip of it gently between her fingers. The targets aren't far, and with their width, she figures her throw will stick, but when she does, the blade rotates in the air and embeds itself into the dirt at the tree's base. She curses beneath her breath, and grabs another knife from the pile. ]

I used to imagine someone I hated when I'd go the range. [ She bounces the knife in her hand, not looking at him. She's talking to fill the space between them, to move his mind from whatever subject that threatens to overwhelm him. ] Most of the time, it was just like dicks I knew from school, other times... people I couldn't remember, but could imagine. [ A woman in a blue dress coat, eyes that she'd have nightmares of. Other times, a janitor, with his uniform soiled. Back then, Sharon hadn't understood what any of that had meant, but now she does. She clears her throat. ]

I always thought it helped with my aim. [ She throws again and. Nope. Way off. Try again, loser. ]

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