HereComesTheSnow — Roleplayer Guild

NAGASE ERI

"Great! Let's get started, then, time's a wasting."

We had a big deal to train for, so the quicker we got to work, the better chances we stood. I was already thinking of a few ways I could use Kuraokami-sama's gift that I hadn't tried yet, albeit namely in the form of weaponry that I was interested in. I'll readily admit it, I wasn't engaged enough yet to really start getting creative...

Which only served to reinforce the notion that I should have expedited the process. You know how it is, you need to start up before you really shift into gear. You can't just put the snowball on the hill and expect it to grow, you had to get it rolling down.

One thing was impeding that starting forward motion, though.

"Oh, uh, sensei?" I ask as I finally walk all the way into the room. "How do we turn this thing on, exactly?"

Tomoda Nakamichi

You stir at the motion you're put through. The voices gathering around. They sound, funnily enough, like they're underwater to you. Seems like the people who wrote things like that had the right idea, or maybe even very good memory during periods of brain operation at suboptimal capacity.

But yes, they're there, audible, muffled, and in complete contrast to the comparatively clear whisper burning in the back of your skull.

You aren't your relationships.

Ghostlike, ephemeral, and at the very edge of your perception, it acts almost as a spark to start the rest of you up.

Who were you?

"Mom, I wanted frosted flakes for dinner, why you gotta be like that with the piano?"

You were a young man having a hard time putting a coherent train of thought together as you came to, if nothing else.

Hell, your family doesn't even own a piano.

Don't avoid the question.

...

"Oof. Did someone hit me with a bus? I feel like hell." you state jokingly, as the cobwebs clear. With considerable effort and ache to fight through, you sit up. Everyone looks about... Marginally, let's say, better than you feel. 

And you know why that is.

You adjust your shades and hold the bridge of your nose. You wish it'd shut up. You wish it'd go away. You wish you didn't hear it or have it bugging you right now.

And slowly it dawns on you why.

The smirk fades.

You've been running. This whole damn time, you've been running.

You've ran right into everyone else who'd take you's life, because you didn't like your own.

It wasn't bad. It wasn't suffering. It wasn't a life even particularly hard.

You're a normal high-school kid. If anything, it's easy.

It's boring. It's dull. You want something more out of it.

It's why you try to codify everything with dumb references and pop culture parallels.

It's why you've taken interest in glorified ghost stories and folk tales.

It's why you've distracted yourself with everyone else's lives instead of looking at what you had.

You've been running from your normal, easy life because you don't feel satisfied with it.

One more time— Who are you?

...

You look, candidly, at your surroundings. A void with a floor made of butterflies.

Yeah, that counts as pretty abnormal.

You, garnering a reputation as the most boisterous man in whatever room you walk into, say it lowly to yourself. Not a mutter, not a mumble, not a whisper. Much like the voice at the back of your head, it's soft, quiet—

And clear.

"I'm Tomoda Nakamichi."

And you've found your interesting life.

Persona.

This time it's not a club you reach for, but a card emitting a blue light that puts the butterflies to shame. It's a hot blue, brimming with energy and potential. Instinctively, you know what it represents, what it means. What it means to you, and only you.

You grip it tight, and crush.

You feel a rush. A wave of self-actualization. Self-realization. Self-determination.

You're your own goddamn man, man.

Fire shoots through your veins. Rising to your feet, even in spite of your beaten state, you stand tall. For behind you stands taller still a pumpkin-headed spirit of fire. Your spirit of fire.

Pyro Jack.

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