Concrete & Grace

Charger got an answer, but it wasn’t the one she wanted. Her heart sank into her stomach as Rozalina sputtered out her reasoning. 

“But I… I can not forget Clara. I would rather die remembering her.”

Something began to worm it’s way into the very center of her brain; something began to wriggle, to squirm, to demand to be acknowledged and heard – something long since buried. Charger’s eyes unfocused as she listened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she did not move to stop them, despite the mascara that trickled down with it. The Something was getting louder and closer.

“Please… try to find her. Tell her of what I did. Tell her I love her.”

Absently, Charger continued to stare at Rozalina long after she finished speaking. She addressed Shirou, and then tried to quell her own tears. It was futile, it seemed. 

Time had stopped for Charger. She was lost – it felt as though she was merely a statue or an observer to this reality. All her energy had gone to pressing the Something back into it’s place. It writhed and shrieked at her attempts; too long, it had been invisible, and the day when it would rule was close to cresting. 

Like someone had banged a gong in her ear, as Rozalina’s throat was encased in unforgiving steel, Charger whipped around and sunk her face into the closest soft object. She couldn’t watch. 

Her ears, however, went uncovered. She could hear the roar of the crowd as Rozalina entered the ring, and the unmistakable sound of skin colliding with skin. Then it repeated – there were the same sounds, all anew, all fresh, until – 

Until it stopped, and Charger knew that the girl was dead. 

Shakily, as though she had collapsed and was just regaining consciousness, she raised her head from what she had buried it in. Blue fabric met her eyes, and soon afterwards, she found herself staring into the brown eyes of Mitsuki. It seemed as though he was the object of her self-censoring. A black smudge of mascara confirmed that.

Immediately, Charger jolted away, and covered her face with her own hands. 

“Ah – shaa – Sorry, gosh, I’m so so so sorry. There’s a stain, and, oh god – Oh god, what’s happening? Why did – Why did any of this have to…?”

“… But… But why?”

Charger’s voice was small, but it seemed loud as the court room fell silent in the midst of Rozalina’s tale – her confession, as it were.

She had moved from her podium in front of Kumi in the direction of Mitsuki before it all fell together. Hesitantly approaching the janitor, she asked for one of his candies. She hadn’t left his side since.

A lemon candy rolled around her mouth as she spoke, and she tried her hardest not to choke on it. She was choking up already – watching someone else cry, breaking down, wasn’t easy on her.

“Wh-why would you… Accept that? Y-you were… Risking your life, or – or hers. That’s… That doesn’t make any sense.”

Her ruby eyes blinked back tears.

“You have a life. She – she had a life. Outside of this castle, you both… You both have people waiting, don’t you? Why would you… Fight her? Even if she wanted to just, like, pick a fight – why would you go?”

The street musician stepped closer to Mitsuki, gazing over his podium at the violinist, bright red eyes boring into ice blue. There was no animosity, no hatred – just a lack of understanding… And, almost, compassion.

“You… You could’ve said no. Was she – was she going to hurt you, if you didn’t go? Or did… Or, did you…”

Her brows knit together. None of this made sense to her – none at all.

“Did you – did you believe, the… The Kumi? That it would… Make you forget someone? Was it the motive and Eris-san who made you do it? Or just…”

Having rolled away from the body rather effectively, Charger was left to only stare and gag for… Probably somewhere around five minutes before regaining her better senses. Toothpaste had managed to dribble down her chin and was running the risk of falling onto her corset by the time she was able to move to mop some up.

Easy to say, Charger left the room faster than lightning. This – if this was hazing, this was so, so not cool. Way not cool. Who even thought of this?! The instant Charger was able to access a phone, she’d be talking to her manager and getting the hell out of there. Best school in the country, her left foot!

Without realizing it, Charger found herself fumbling with the knob to enter her own room. Ruby red eyes stared at the handle for a few moments.

What if this… Wasn’t hazing?

She shook her head vigorously. No, no, no! That was not reasonable. What sort of twisted, Battle Royale world would this be if that kind of thing could happen?

That being said – or thought, rather – the girl entered her room, and closed the door behind her.

Time passed quickly as she milled about the duplex that she occupied with Akemi. Absently, she tidied the bathroom that the two of them shared, before… Staring at Akemi’s door.

One little peek wouldn’t hurt, would it?

The call went out for the students to assemble before long, and Charger came in tow. Nervously, she filed in behind the others, and listened to Kumi, before –

Executed?

Charger’s heart stopped. What the hell could that mean? Surely, that couldn’t…?

The phrase didn’t seem to keep her other students back. Introductions were going around, and information was being passed out, and that guy was taking off his shirt –

She immediately covered her eyes, almost afraid to see his bare chest. About five minutes later, after a girl named Shiroi introduced herself, she moved her fingers from her face, cleared her throat, and stepped forward.

“H-hello! My - My name is Charger Nitrous! I am the Super High School Level Street Musician! I was on the radio, and my song is– Wait, um, that’s… Not important. Sorry.”

She followed this statement with a deep, unwavering bow. Charger’s hands were shaking from nervousness – she wasn’t used to speaking like this, in front of others – and she thought she was about to knock herself off balance from the sheer magnitude of anxiety she was feeling. Thankfully, she did not.

“Um, I didn’t – I didn’t really check many places, s-sorry. I got… Scared. But, um, I did – I did look in Akemi’s room.”

She glanced towards her roommate, and mouthed a quick “sorry” before continuing.

“She – she had some, um… Gauze, and stuff, like… Stuff for wounds, in her drawers. But she… Did… Get hurt, by the… By Kumi-san…”

Charger turned around, glancing briefly at Kumi, before turning back sharply. If it’s possible, she looked more scared than before.

“I-I know I don’t have much, but I will do my very best to help! I, um, wait… H-hang on…”

tw: possible emetophobia?

Surely, the motive was… False, right? This all had to be a game, some sort of test, a ruse, hazing – Hazing was common in large schools, or so she had heard. She could never forget someone important to her. No, no, there’s no possible medical way to have something like that happen. 

The announcement to draw the students to the dining hall caught the musician in the middle of brushing her teeth. She looked up from the bathroom mirror, where she’d been staring at the mint flavored foam and bubbles that surrounded her mouth. She felt too anxious to shower – she figured that something like the common practice of brushing her teeth would help calm her down. It’d been working so far.

With incredible trepidation, she stuck her head out of the bathroom door, finding naught but her own empty dorm room. She advanced further, stepping into the hallway. Confused students, much like her, were milling around, headed, undoubtedly, towards the dining hall.

Toothbrush still firmly clenched in her mouth, Charger followed. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what she should be expecting. Perhaps it was a surprise, like a faculty member here to tell them all they’d been punked, that they could laugh now. Haha, such a good joke! They’d really had them going, they’d wheeze, hands clapped around their sides from mirth. 

It was a few moments of her idly scrubbing her teeth before the crowd of students in front of her briefly parted, and allowed Charger to view the scene in front of her.

Her toothbrush clattered to the floor.

“GaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAUGGHGGHGGGGGGGGG –”

What had begun as a shriek of terror ended as Charger fumbled to stop aspirating the toothpaste in her mouth. She fell to her knees, sputtering violently as she scrambled backwards from the girl’s body. Charger continued to move until she hit a wall, where she curled against it, dumbfounded. Her eyes refused to leave the corpse.

“I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…. I’m…”

The janitor muttered these words quietly as he stepped back a slight pace or two, slightly raising his hands in apology. Internally, he was already wondering if perhaps he would be better just leaving now, given how he’d… except… she was… she appeared to be flustered, now? She was apologizing, and… it was her error, not his, apparently. She startled easily, she said. That was a relief, he supposed, as he returned to his former neutral stance. 

(He didn’t understand what was ‘weird’ about her reaction, but if she said it was, it was. She knew better than he did.)

And quite frankly, her next words, which Mitsuki answered with a solemn and understanding nod, were reassuring in a sense, even if they didn’t explain anything.

“Oh. So it’s not just me. That’s… reassuring, actually.”

For a minute, Mitsuki really had been worried that something had gone wrong. But if other people were in his position, then… well, it was still bad, he supposed, but it wasn’t the particular kind of bad he had feared. 

There was an awkward pause before the janitor added

“I wonder what might have happened… this certainly doesn’t seem normal, I think. And I’m not sure I like it much”

True, being in a castle would probably be an interesting experience, but… mm… it definitely hadn’t been on the itinerary. Nor could he remember how he’d arrived. And he didn’t know where he was. Did his grandparents know? Or did they not know? Because if they didn’t…

Her gut churned with uneasiness as, following his apology, he muttered something about how her memory was “reassuring”. How... Could that be reassuring, when he didn’t remember as well?

Anxiety continued to mount in her mind during the few moments that either of them went without speaking. Charger’s eyes turned to her nails as she rolled over her thoughts rapidly, trying to figure out what she could possibly say to aid this situation, and perhaps reverse the damage she had done previously. The young man before her was remarkably hard to read: other than the crestfallen expression at, what was essentially, her paranoid instance of lashing out, he’d barely shown much of an expression. Slowly, however, he spoke once more. Charger didn’t disagree with him -- this was unusual... More than unusual, even -- Bizarre, abnormal, and entirely unexpected. 

“I-It wasn’t on the itinerary for the school, y-yeah.”

Immediately after those words passed her lips, Charger began to interally chide herself for contributing nothing to the conversation. Stupid, stupid stupid! How was that going to help at all?! Though her brow continued to look knit together, Charger forced a bit of a small smile onto her face. Hopefully, it appeared natural.

“H-hey, though, maybe... Maybe this is like... This is a castle, right? Maybe we’re on, like, a special research field outing! Like, I can only imagine how old this place must be, s-so it’s probably special privilege that we’re here, right? Maybe you and I are just super jet lagged! I’ve never been on a plane before, after all, and, um... I-If we’re in a castle, we’re probably in Europe, right?”

Momentarily, she gazed upwards at the light filtering through the rafters. It was... A bit hard to tell the scheme of the architecture from their position, which could put her statements more into question.

Better change the subject.

☆ Mitsuki, reaction thread!

☆  Lily, kitchen thread!

☆ Eris!

☆ Shirou!

It was a misty morning, fog yet to be evaporated by rising sun, when Charger sat at Kenshin’s kitchen bar on a chair so tall that her feet couldn’t reach the ground. She’d tied her pink hair into a low knot after she woke up on the couch in his living room, wound around a pillow. Her mouth had been dry; surely, she’d not snored the entire night? Just in case, the musician fixed herself a mug of tea to sip at as she waited for her manager to show his face. Though the man had given her permission to share his apartment until more stable housing was acquired, he rarely seemed to be in it.

Charger’s mug sat flat on the granite counter, long since gone cold, before the front door’s lock clicked, and a young man, face pointed and professional-looking haircut slashed with salt and pepper specks, crossed the welcome mat. Before Charger could even squeak out a “good morning”, Kenshin had hastened across the living room and into the kitchen. With almost an aggravated gesture, Kenshin slid a pile of mail across the granite, towards the girl. Some of it was bills, paychecks – addressed to him – but on top of it all, like a dragon upon a strange, postage-marked throne, sat a pristine piece of parchment, sealed, with the name “Charger Nitrous” printed on the envelope. 

A baffled glance from Charger brought Kenshin, with arms crossed over his neat, tailed suit, to grunt, “Go on. Open it. It’s addressed to you.”

Nervously, a pair of faintly shaking hands brought the letter closer to her, and broke the seal. A message lay comfortably nestled within. She parsed the paper from the envelope, and slowly, hesitantly, unfolded it.

Within ten minutes, Charger Nitrous, face in her hands, had broken down to tears. Her eyes had shot across the page more than once, taking in the words over, and over, and over. It was almost as though she thought that, should she stop looking at the typeset, it would vanish into the aether.

You have been cordially invited to attend Hope’s Peak Academy.

Try as he might, none of Kenshin’s words of criticism or sour-noted advice (“You’re just starting your career. You can’t afford to go to school right now! You don’t want to be a flash in the pan, do you?”), could pierce the veil of happiness that orbited Charger’s mind. Almost immediately, the girl had begun to pen her acceptance. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of! Hope’s Peak was the greatest school in Japan, and she had been invited to attend – her! She was just a girl with a guitar, who had – by their standards – earned the right to study with the world’s best.

Upon informing the record company of her decision, it was as though Kenshin had gone totally unheard. Tatsuyama Records’ CEO was almost as excited as Charger had been. More and more to her manager’s chagrin, the company had not only taken Charger out to a celebratory dinner, but was more than willing to provide a car to transport her and her effects to the school. 

The days that lay between Charger and her move in date seemed to all but melt away in the summer haze. When the date became all too real, the tension between her and her dissenting manager could almost be cut with a knife. Addressing the issue was pushed to the absolute last minute before Charger left Kenshin’s apartment for the last time.

After she had picked up her guitar, hoisting it over her shoulder, Charger’s manager stopped her, cleared his throat, and said, almost grudgingly, “Good luck, kid. You deserve it.”

Charger beamed. Though this approval was grudging, it was approval – something she would treasure like a beloved family heirloom.

Sitting in the company car was almost uncomfortable. Charger wasn’t used to being inside a luxury vehicle – the shiny black car, elegant on the outside, was nearly as well dressed on the inside, with a spacious cab, leather seats, and a screen that, should she wish it, could be unfolded to watch who knows what. Perhaps she had been pushed to the brink of anxiety – or was it excitement? – that the lids of her eyes grew heavy. With her guitar safely tucked between her knees, the musician drifted off, comfortable in the fact that when she woke, it would be at Hope’s Peak Academy.

How wrong she was.

When red eyes would next come into focus, it would be in the realm of darkness, rife with the smell of must and… Bleach? Fear permeated Charger’s body as she, shakily, tried to sit up on her hands and knees.

Had she been abducted?

But more importantly, where was her guitar?!

After a moment, lights turned on, and her pupils shrunk to take it all in. Warily, she rose to her feet, and relief washed over her as she noticed her guitar leaning against the wall. Slowly, the rest of her surroundings began to sink in; there were others here, too. Were they other Hope’s Peak students? 

As the door opened, she found herself to view a cute girl with an equally cute, but outdated outfit. She revealed to them that they were in a castle, and she was – an exorcist??

Charger’s mind began to speed. Where were they? Who was this woman? Who were the other students? Why were they in a castle? Why did they need an exorcist?! Her hands soon had a cellphone – or something similar – foisted into them. She turned it over as questions continued to marinate her mind. She’d never owned a cellphone before, let alone one so fancy… 

Rules scrolled across the screen, and Charger was struggling to take this all in. Thankfully, there was, apparently, a room waiting for her, but… How did she… Get here?

A monotone noise took her by surprise. Charger found herself nearly jumping out of her skin as someone spoke to her. 

“Gyaaaah!! Idon'thaveanymoney!”

Wrong reaction!

After a rather staunch silence, Charger put her hands over her face and groaned. Why did she always have to do these sorts of things?

Turning more to face the person addressing her, Charger offered a deep bow to him.

“Ghhh, I’m sorry, I get – I get startled, like, really easily. I’m sorry if I’m being weird, um…”

She straightened, then glanced away. He had asked her a question. What had he asked – Her memory! Yeah, her memory… What did she remember…

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Charger is heavily subscribed to the “blanket burrito” method. She’ll layer three or four heavily blankets, tuck them under her legs, and pull them over her head. Despite her cocoon-like sleeping arrangements, Charger does tend to be a very light sleeper -- likely, this was developed as a survival instinct, due to having often slept behind dumpsters in the past year. She largely prefers sleeping bags to loose blankets, to the point where she’ll have a sleeping bag within a sleeping bag, if the temperature calls for it. As for how long she sleeps, Charger tends to sleep in two to three hour bursts. When she wakes in the middle of the night, she has to get up and get water or something -- she can’t just lay there and wait to fall asleep again. This, likely, is another survival tactic she developed.

What music they enjoy: Her playlist is a lot of the music she enjoys!

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: Charger takes about an hour to an hour and a half to get ready; this includes dressing, doing her hair, and doing her makeup. If she has an oncoming interview that day, Charger will often be subjected to three or four hours in a salon for a Full Do-Up. Most of the time, the salon experiences leave Charger in a whirlwind; the sheer fact that people can do her makeup with such efficiency (not hesitantly applying eyeliner as she does) is stunning to her.

Their favourite thing to collect: However boring it may be, Charger has begun collecting guitar picks! She has roughly twenty, now, and her favorite is one that is slightly transparent with grey smokey accents. She keeps them all in a small match box by her bedside. Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she likes to run her fingers over them and reorganize them. When she was on the road, she would tend to take the free leaflets and stash them up in her jacket, usually to read as she sat on the bus or on her breaks while busking. 

Left or right-handed: Charger writes with her left hand, but she strums her guitar with her right, which is unusual. 

Religion (if any): Charger was raised by a Catholic family, though she tries not to make a mention of it and practices in private. As an idol, she’s really not permitted to have a religious slant.

Favourite sport: Despite her meek nature, Charger is surprisingly good at sports, though she’d never really taken the time to participate in many outside of baseball. As one could imagine, her baseball skills -- after her period of homelessness -- are rather rusty. Her preferred position was shortstop.

Favourite touristy thing to do when traveling: Charger, having across a solid majority of Japan, has never really done many things construed as “touristy”. One occasion she couldn’t pass up, however, was the chance to visit a park in Nara where one would be given the opportunity to feed deer. She saved up for a week or two to be able to swing both feeding herself and being able to afford that luxury. It is an experience she’s very happy to have had. 

Favourite kind of weather: As someone who was outside for a majority of the most recent occurrences in her life, Charger found an appreciation for cool, overcast days with a light breeze. Spring weather in general is typically favorable for her. She has grown to despising rain, and almost being afraid of thunder. 

A weird/obscure fear they have: Dogs. Charger is terrified of most dogs. This is due to the fact that their bark terrifies her; its so loud and sharp! However, some dogs have earned a place in her heart; shiba inus, likely due to their soft and rounded appearance, are not counted amongst the dogs to be feared.

aoi height chart?? idk man

“Of course. I could even try doing a duet, though– er I should warn you, I’m not very good.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously.

“I’m still not entirely sure why they recruited me, really.”

He looked off to the side, clearing his throat. Best to not dwell on that subject.

“Oh, but my sister plays electric guitar– I know a little bit about them. She was a little protective of hers though so I never got to play it much.”

His face brightened at her name– okay, it was strange, but it was English. Maybe her parents were hippies or something, that might explain a lot.

“Charger…Nitrous? You aren’t American by any chance, are you? I was born there myself.”

He returned the bow.

At the mention of America, Charger’s face, alike his, too brightened.

“Y-yeah! Well, I mean, um... My parents... Are American, that is. I’ve never left Japan.”

As he had, earlier in the conversation, Charger’s eyes drifted from his, glancing elsewhere in the room, before she lowered her head entirely to stare at her sneakers.

“S-sorry if you were hoping I’d know English, or anything. I only know a few words, from, y’anno... School. A-and hearing them talk. I mean, I know some, but not enough to be... Y’anno, fluent. Despite my name, and everything, I mean.”

When she lifted her head again, this time, she seemed to be mirroring his patient, peaceful smile from before. 

“Hey, music’s music! I’m sure you’re here for a reason, yeah? You’ve gotta have talent to get a Super High School Level! And it sounds like you come from a musical family -- right? I don’t mean to make, um, assumptions, but -- with your sister...”

She drifted off momentarily, but seemed to regain her train of thought relatively quickly.

“Say, do you have a, um... Musical Super High School Level? I mean, I shouldn’t have assumed -- stupid me, really, always making airheaded mistakes -- but I... Context clues.”

Charger straightened her stance. She seemed more proud and determined than she had at any previous point in the conversation.