#((hoo...))

“What are you doing out there? You’re just making it worse, rattling the handle like that.”

With a huff, she coughed, folding her arms in annoyance. All Anda could do was gawk at the woman in front of them, whose aggravation only seemed to grow the more they stared in disbelief. Her hair never fell naturally even now, as she carefully coaxed each hair into place to look like a proper executive. Even now, she wore her business suit proudly, though her makeup was smudged by circumstance.

Something about it was haunting. A sense of de-ja vu.

“...Well? I didn’t see you on board when we all got on, and I’ve been all over this train. I don’t...”

But the more she peered into their face, the faster the ire ebbed, until she put her hands to her mouth to gawk back at the person before her still silenced by shock.

“...Anda.”

Her hands went to their face, cold to the touch, before turning away to cough. And before she could say anything more, the empath fumbled with the antidote spray, giving her an ample dose of the stuff with the fervor of a child. The coughing persisted, until it seemed she could breathe as well as they could. Looking down the isle, it was easy to see why that was!  It was hard to feel fatigue when one used misery as an energy source; and oh, was there plenty here.

“Anda! Oh, my darling--what are you doing here?! You’re not supposed to be here, Mother told me you--nevermind. That--that there in your hand. Let me see it, darling.”

“S-sure.”

“Good. Stop crying, sweetie. Everything will be okay, your father will fix it.”

Over the bottle was passed, and Anda was gifted with a big, broad smile--not at all recognizing the expression their mother was giving them.

“I’ll keep this here in case I need it. Your father is in the next car--go straight there and help him, okay? Can you do that for me?”

A nod was given to her in response, but Anda turned to the table beside them, about to take the second spray and administer the cure to the other ailing passengers when they were yanked backward by their shirt.

“What are you doing?!” “Helping?” “No, you’re wasting time on them. Your father needs help at the front, you need to--” “Mom, these people are being poisoned by something. I can’t just... I thought you were going to help me?” “I am helping, honey. You get easily distracted still, see? You need to Go Up There.”

Her words were accented pointedly, urged in a hushed whisper so no one else would hear. And it was hard to, over the moans of the suffering passengers.

“You have that... thing, don’t you? That family curse? Use that, gather all the strength you can, and help your father detach the engine. He can’t do it alone. Standing around going person-to-person won’t help him.”

As Anda’s gaze moved to the isle again, their head was snapped back to face their mother’s, a cold hand on their chin.  Her eyes were less kind.

“We finally have a chance to get off this train--your father and I. We’ll take you with us, I promise. Take that chance. For us.”

“...I can’t.” “Anda.” “You don’t get it, mom. Everyone here is just as desperate to save themselves as you are. They have families, and husbands, and--” “And right now, that doesn’t matter. Stop standing here sobbing, and go.”

Something about her tone--about how easy that was to say--threw them.

“Please, don’t make this difficult like you did the night before the awards party. You’ll only make it worse.”

But again, Anda shook their head even more firmly, pushing her hand away from their face.

“You want to do what’s easier instead of what’s right.” “Anda, why are you--” “Just--shut up.” (”...Sorry mom.”) “If you want to go help Dad, get up yourself. I’m not letting all these people die to save him.”

With that, they made for the bottle she held, (”You don’t need to hog all that to yourself...”) But she ripped it away from their hand defiantly, knowing full and well Anda wouldn’t be bold enough to take it by force. So with the one remaining bottle, they turned, trying to get everyone at the table closer together to get them all in a few sprays. Already, the effect of their strength felt a tug... But these people wouldn’t die of poison here, either.

The next table went much the same. Another, after that. All the way to the front, where about half the capacity of the traincar had been occupying. There were more people in this room than the last, and it drained on Anda’s antidote supply. Weary they became once more, taking one final look to the woman in the back of the car, holding the other reserve.

She didn’t even look at them.

(”...It’s the most you’ve talked to me since you left, and that was all you had to say.”)

Tears welled and burned more streaks across their cheek, by no one’s volition but Anda’s own. And so, wiping them off on their already-soaked sleeve, they placed their hand on the handle. The passengers behind them began to help each other with the temporary revival they received. One window smashed. Another began to crack as Anda pulled the sliding door open to Car Two.

(”I don’t remember you being that selfish... That’s not what you sounded like after you left. When you left those letters.”)

Another breath...

(”...I haven’t seen him in years either. I...”)

A shake of the head.

(”No, I can’t keep standing here. If he detaches the head car, it’ll just keep going faster without all the weight pulling it back.”) ... (”...Wherever it’s headed, that is.”) ... (”Come on--for real this time. Quit dicking around monologuing and go.”)

Ichirou’s sitting at the table, coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other. It’s just for show, really—he can’t find it in himself to idly read when there’s so obviously something wrong with his daughter and absolutely no way for him to know what it is exactly. 

Mayumi had tried to call the Hero Commission directly to try and get some answers, but even that led to minimal luck: the line had constantly been busy, and even when she did get to speak to a representative, she was simply told that the family would be receiving a personal call from the head of the commission with the finer details, but what she could be told was that there had been an accident during the internship orientation—but nobody had been hurt, not really. Her daughter was perhaps just experiencing some shock but would surely explain herself in no time. There was no need to worry.

No need to worry.

Needless to say, Mayumi had screamed and yelled and threatened the helpless representative, demanding to speak to an actual head of the commission “as soon as fucking possible”—only to be promptly hung up on.

She hadn’t gotten another call through since.

Not wanting to drag her mother into the mess and not wanting to somehow make things even worse for herself, Mayumi’s settled for canceling all further appointments so that she can remain at her vigilant post in her home, waiting—praying—for the moment that Momo will finally come down the stairs. Ichirou, too, has stopped going to work and has been sleeping at the dining room table while Mayumi’s taken the living room sofa; they both know that, logically, there are countless bedrooms for them to choose from… but both fear the possibility that they’ll miss their daughter.

And it really is just Momo that ties the two together at this point, so that’s probably why their personal sleeping arrangements have yet to be brought up. Though, to be fair, they haven’t been saying much to each other at all.

Mayumi’s slumped over the tabletop, absentmindedly watching the steam from her tea drift ever upwards when she sees it in the periphery of her vision: the gentle steps as someone makes their way down the staircase.

She sits up immediately in surprise and, noticing the change in her demeanor, Ichirou is quick to turn his attention to the staircase as well.

Sure enough, there’s Momo: a blanket thrown over the  hero’s outfit she’s yet to change out of and her hair oily and stuck to the sides of her face. She makes eye contact with no one as she takes her seat at the dining room table.

Mayumi’s lips part in greeting, but no sound comes out. From the corner of her eye, she sees Ichirou shake his head at her and, for once, she consciously agrees with his silent warning. Her husband pours Momo a fresh cup of tea from the pot as Mayumi hurries to the kitchen to grab a makeshift breakfast.

Momo finishes the meal in silence. And every time Mayumi tries to break it, she catches Ichirou subtly shaking his head. Her heart surges in her chest as Momo stands up, wishing, wanting to say something but not being able to find the proper thing to say. She doesn’t know where her courage has gone, but it seems that it’s nowhere to be found.

For a few moments, Momo lingers in the entranceway, fingers gripping tightly onto a nearby column for support. She doesn’t turn around when she finally speaks.