“You’ve never cared about anyone before. Not enough to make a deal for them.”

Barry’s Butsudan Blues

Barry had even removed his shoes. Partly out of respect for the deceased ancestors venerated by the Akiyama family, but really to help him make as little noise as possible when he rifled through the household shrine’s scrolls, statuettes and candles in search of something valuable he could trade in the backstreet markets of Tokyo to feed his drugs habit. Unfortunately for the Australian exchange student, Barry’s attempted smash and grab was interrupted by Madamu Akiyama herself, a flight attendant for Japan Airlines and up early to crew a flight to San Francisco. Aghast at what she saw, the outraged mistress of the home flung herself on the ungrateful lodger, pulling him away from the Butsudan. The two grappled in the front room for some minutes, as the desperate Barry tried to escape the woman’s grip, but, skilled in JAL-trained restraint technique, the furious stewardess soon had the man in a painful armlock, forcing him to surrender. Mrs Akiyama then tied the defeated Barry’s hands behind him and bound her captive to a chair. The humiliated Barry protested bitterly only for the Japanese matron then to gag him with a strip of tape. “This shrine shall not hear the profanities of the gaijin,” she intoned as she tidied the family shrine, so disgracefully disrupted by her erstwhile Australian guest.

(a little snippet of my D&D character’s current plight)

There was precious little light so Rika kept her eyes closed, attempting her manipulations of the lock using only touch, hearing, and instinct.  

You didn't even run. Why didn't you run?

The door of her cell seemed to have only the one lock, but it was like nothing she had ever come across before. Every time she was sure she had the solution, it would fail. It was like the innards of the lock changed between attempts.  

You're so good at running. You always used to beat me back in the village when we raced.

Sweat dripped from her brow into her eyes, stinging them. She sighed and sat back on her heels. Time for a rest.

We ran down to the fishing dock and back, finishing our contest by climbing up into the hayloft.  

Sitting on the moldy straw that made up her bed, she slipped the lock-picks back into her shoe before examining her knees. Scraped and bruised they had started to bleed from hours of kneeling on the damp stone floor.  

Even out of breath we laughed so much.

Why was she even trying. She should just help her captors with whatever they want so they'd let her go. She didn't owe the others anything. Her friends...what did she need of friends.

Then we would go to the well and drink the cool, clear water until our stomachs bulged.

Except her friends had saved her life. And they were trying to figure out what was wrong with the world. Could she really live with herself if she betrayed them?

Sometimes we'd fall asleep in the loft, staying there the whole night.  

Rika rolled up in a ball in the straw. Her head hurt too much to think. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning.