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 Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 8:53 pm
When next he awoke, Evren was struck by the silence in the apartment.
It took him a moment to figure out why it felt so weird. Aside from the sounds of Max’s hooves against the wooden floors, or the occasional blare of the television in an attempt to liven things up, the place was usually quiet as the grave. Which, considering the circumstances, wasn’t the smartest expression for him to be using.
For some reason, it didn’t bother him to think about. And that led him to the heart of the matter: nothing was bothering him. Not the events of the past forty-eight hours. Not the the thoughts that had plagued him earlier. Not the seemingly inescapable chaos of that very morning.
It wasn’t just silence that permeated the apartment, but stillness. Nothing was moving. Just blinking and breathing made him feel like he was breaking some sort of sacred covenant, but even that didn’t bother him. He just felt numb all over, inside and out.
This, Evren decided, needed to be tested. He started with the obvious, pinching himself to see if it was a dream. Nothing. He didn’t wake up, and while the pinch hurt about as much as he’d expected, he didn’t feel any particular way about it. Not even annoyed at himself for trying so cliche.
He moved on to pushing the limits of his mental calm, first thinking of the pathetic figure he’d been with Misao. That was totally ineffective; he hadn’t said anything offensive to her, and she’d already proven herself to be one of the most accepting and understanding individuals he’d ever met. He’d been rude to Eriol, especially after spending the night on his couch, but it wasn’t anything that a simple apology couldn’t fix. Both Lumi and Mr. Fisch probably had low opinions of him, after everything that had happened, but he’d engaged them in a professional capacity, so as long as he paid their invoices and kept things civil, while they might not be the best of friends, he could at least keep his relationship with each of them from deteriorating further.
Somehow, he’d found himself at the eye of the storm. He could still feel his anxiety swirling around him, ready to take over. But right then, he felt blissfully detached from it all. He had enough distance to get a clearer, more reasonable perspective of the way things stood, and he had to admit, the situation wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Certainly not bad enough to make him consider some of the excessive actions he’d brainstormed the night before.
Then he thought about the spirit, and felt sick to his stomach. That beautiful, peaceful calm began to flake at the edges, the pieces getting swept up in the vortex as its eye began to shrink. Maybe that situation wasn’t quite as bad as he’d first thought, either, but that didn’t make it okay. Nothing, he suspected, would ever make it okay. And everything bad that had happened to him since was as a direct result of his mistakes.
Would he ever be free from that? Did he deserve to be? Would he ever find an answer that satisfied him, without it feeling like a cop out?
The tornado pulled him in again, but this time, the winds in his head felt less severe, less overpowering. His mind racing, but instead of angry shouting that threatened to drown out all other thought, it was more of a low-grade background noise. It was annoying and unpleasant, but it didn’t get in the way of him preparing some food, watching some television, and getting in a workout. More than he’d been able to do all day. He might have taken it as a victory, if he didn’t feel so weak and lazy for getting so caught up in the first place.
He still didn’t know what he was going to do, what the best way forward was. But hiding under the covers, frozen with fear, wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had to really take responsibility, and he couldn’t do that if he killed himself, or never saw another person for the rest of his life. While he couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes, inaction was a decision too, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was still scared, but he couldn't let fear get in the way of trying his best. That felt more wrong than any of his other failures, even through the haze of chatter in his head.
”Tomorrow,” he told himself, and tried not to let the word spook him. ”Tomorrow, you’re going to make things better. Somehow.”
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 8:55 pm
”Wakey wakey, sleepyhead!”
Evren jerked awake, flailing wildly as he tried to get his bearings. He hadn’t slept well, he still didn’t feel well, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was an intruder in his home.
Then something seared into his arm, and he decided that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He also shrieked, for good measure.
”Jeez, Ev, scream a little louder. I don’t think they heard you on Mars.” The voice - one that would have been easily recognized if he wasn’t half asleep - turned sympathetic, and something soft brushed against his arm, making him jerk away. ”Look, I’m sorry, but you knocked the coffee out of my hands! Are you okay?”
He blinked slowly, and the shadow in front of him finally came into focus. ”Derya? What the hell are you doing here?”
His sister, who’d looked concerned just a moment ago, switched gears like a pro. ”What do you mean, what am I doing here? It’s Saturday, Ev.” He continued to stare, not getting the significance, not even knowing what day of the week it was until she’d told him. ”Second Saturday of the month… c’mon, Ev, you know.”
It took him a few more seconds of dazed gawking before the puzzle pieces finally fell in place. ”Breakfast. Oh man, Der, I… I’m sorry.” The second Saturday of every month, the two of them got together for breakfast and to catch up on each other’s lives, usually over the latest episode of Masked Marauder. They alternated hosting duties, meeting at her place in the warm months, his in colder weather. It was such a part of his routine that he never gave it much thought, but with everything that had happened in the past couple weeks, he’d forgotten it completely. ”I’m really out of it.”
”No kidding,” Derya said dryly, trying to mop up coffee with Evren’s quilt. ”Here I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, since you were still catching z’s, and you go and turn the tables on me. Is everything okay?”
”Aside from first-degree coffee burns and a mild heart attack, just peachy.” Rolling his eyes, Evren started to get out of bed. Instead of planting his feet on the floor, he stepped in something squashy, skidded backwards, and banged his head on the headboard. For just an instant, he could swear he saw stars.
The next thing he knew, Derya was hauling him to his feet. ”This is just not your morning, Ev.”
”And whose fault is that?” Evren demanded, rubbing his head with his good arm. Now that he was up, he could see the remains of scrambled eggs on the floor, along with a couple of slices of toast and some scattered orange wedges. ”Went all out, didn’t you?”
Derya abruptly dropped his hands. ”I was trying to do something nice for you. How was I to know you’d freak out and assault me like a maniac?”
”I was not a-” No, Evren told himself. He didn’t want to have a fight. Or prolong one, since it seemed they’d already started. Clearly, she had meant well, and just because it didn’t work out the way she planned didn’t give him the right to attack her for it.
Without noticing the irony in his realization, he grabbed for her hand and squeezed it gently. ”Sorry, Der. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just… well, things have been…”
”Wait, don’t tell me yet! There’s more breakfast in the kitchen. Let’s get this cleaned up and catch up while we chow down, okay?” There was no further apology, but Evren was used to that. He was also starving, and more than willing to do anything that got him a real breakfast.
Half an hour later, they were sitting on the couch with TV trays full of breakfast redux. With Masked Marauder pre-empted that week, they’d put it on some cartoon with brightly colored monsters, which made good background noise for chatting. Or rather, for chatter.
”So I told him, you know? I said ‘I’m not gonna put up with it anymore, Lou, so deal with it!’ I mean, know the boutique has a certain image, but these are my creations. They already have control of the advertising, the display, the packaging, not to mention the pricing. Don’t think I don’t know they charge about six times what I do, and sure, I know that’s what companies do, but I’m already making them rich. The least they can do is let me get my supplies where I want! They just want more kickbacks, but it costs me more to do things their way, and they’ve already got the good end of the deal as it is, you know?”
It took Evren a moment to notice Derya looking at him expectantly, and he dutifully chimed in with a hearty ”Mhmm.” This was the way things always went with the two of them, her spilling her guts, and him nodding and occasionally offering his opinion, though whether she ever listened or took his advice was beyond him. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. The important thing was that she had a place she felt comfortable talking about the things that bothered her, and if that place was his place, he was always willing to oblige. Even when she droned on.
And on.
And on.
He was used to the rhythm of her talking, and could generally tell when he was expected to nod or agree, leaving him with plenty of time to think about his own issues. Usually, this meant he was running through fight choreography in his head, or planning his schedule, or trying to decide what he’d have for lunch. None of which was was high on his priority list right then.
It was harder to listen to Derya when the whirlwind in his head was still spinning, reminding him of his mistakes, his anxieties, his total lack of direction. Being inside his headspace right then was not particularly pleasant. If anything, he found himself being more attentive than usual, just to focus on something else for a while. But no matter how he tried to push his own thoughts aside, he found them creeping back in, taking over.
Maybe this was a good time to reverse the flow of the conversation. Evren seldom talked about much more than work and his volunteer gigs, and those were mainly stories starring other people, where he played a supporting role and his feelings didn’t matter. Not that he didn’t trust her or anything - Derya was the member of the family who came closest to actually understanding him - but he wasn’t really a big ‘spill your guts’ kind of guy. Personal feelings were, well, personal.
As she kept talking, this time about an argument with one of her suppliers, he quickly turned his head away, looking at the kitchen. Or rather, at the essence jar and soul bottle that were still tucked between the lavender and the sage. If this wasn’t the time to share what was really going on with him, personal feelings and all, what was? Derya was family. Even if she didn’t understand - which was likely, because if he didn’t understand, how could anyone else? - she would still accept him, still care about him.
He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. What would be the point in telling her? It wasn’t like she could grant him absolution. Misao had told him that he needed to work this out himself, and he believed that. Talking about it didn’t make him feel good, and even if Derya didn’t hold his mistake against him, it would still change the way she saw him, and he didn’t want that to happen. Not yet, anyway.
Talking, he decided, wasn’t always the answer. And maybe it didn’t have to be. As much as yammering on and on was probably therapeutic for her, listening - or appearing to, at least - was sort of therapeutic for him. It made him feel like he was being helpful, which was a feeling he wanted to hang onto, instead of the uncertainty and remorse that plagued him. It gave him something to think about, other than what had happened. And it connected him with someone he loved. What more could he ask for?
”Ev, are you listening?”
Evren snapped back to the present, and flashed Derya a big grin. ”Yeah. Yeah, I am.” And this time, he really, truly meant it. ”So go on, what happened next?”
”Well, you won’t believe…”
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 8:57 pm
Finally, the day had arrived. After being preempted by holidays and sporting events, Masqued Marauder was back in production. It was Evren’s first day back at the studio since December. Since before everything had happened. Since the last time he really felt like a hero.
He still struggled with his feelings about the soul capture. Some days were better than others. Some minutes were better than others. He could go from the depths of despair, where he wanted to turn himself into the police and hope for a life sentence, to clear blue skies, where he was almost hopeful that this would work out after all, in a matter of seconds. The horror and guilt never quite went away, but sometimes he could do other things in spite of feeling awful. And sometimes, he didn’t have the energy for anything else.
Before all of this, he’d been looking forward to going back to work, and kind of bummed to have such a long vacation in the first place. Originally, he’d been planning to fill it with more volunteering time, since he wasn’t much for leisure, but that had fallen by the wayside. One of the first things he did, once he was up to it, was call to apologize for the handful of shifts he’d missed, citing “extenuating circumstances.” That wasn’t an option for work, and he’d never imagined wanting to miss a day. Now, he found himself wondering if it was time for a career change.
How could he justify playing the part of a hero when he knew he was anything but? Sure, he knew all along it was just acting, and he didn’t expect his coworkers to be legit heroes. But he had always thought that if he tried to act like a hero, to keep the ideals of justice and compassion in his mind and his heart, that gave him the right to don the guise of one. It was silly, and on some level he knew that, but he’d basically based his life around the heroic mindset. What was he supposed to do, now that he’d shattered everything he believed in?
Since he wasn’t the sort of guy who could just pull a no show, the first step took him to the studio. There, he fended off questions from the crew about his holidays, turning them around when he could, trying to keep the focus on anyone other than him. Seeing them got him out of his own headspace for a while, and he was almost starting to feel like he was going to be okay.
Then the fight choreographer called a meeting, and he panicked. And ran.
It was so stupid, he told himself, hiding behind a rack of costumes in the dressing room he shared with other suit actors. He knew he couldn’t stay there forever. He had to own up to what had happened, and make a decision about what he was going to do. But he really didn’t know what that was yet. He had no idea what to say to anyone, to explain what he was thinking - how could he explain something he didn’t understand himself?
The door to the dressing room opened, and Evren hunkered down behind the costume rack, praying whoever it was would leave soon. Just because he knew this was no way to act didn’t stop him from hoping he could get away with it a while longer.
”Evren, are you in here?” There was some rustling and then, to Evren’s horror, a number of costumes were pushed aside, exposing him and his idiocy. ”What the heck are you doing, Ev?”
”Shhhhh,” Evren hissed, running to the door and shutting it as fast as he could. Of all the people who could have found him, Chris - Cristobal Velasquez, the suit actor who played Masqued Marauder - was probably one of the best. True, Chris never quite understood when he talked about the duty those who portrayed heroes owed to society, but at least they had discussed the matter before. At least what he wanted to say wouldn’t come out of nowhere.
Chris raised his eyebrows, looking more puzzled than concerned. ”I assume you know it’s morning meeting time, and were aware of that when you shut the door. So I’ll skip to the heart of the matter: what are you doing in here?”
”I don’t think I can be a hero anymore,” Evren blurted out, fiddling with the doorknob behind him until the lock popped into place. Making that admission was hard enough without worrying about someone else walking in on their impromptu conference.
Somehow, Chris managed to look even more confused. ”What’s wrong? Are you hurt? I know you hate missing tapings, but if you’ve got an injury-”
Evren shook his head impatiently. ”I’m not hurt. I’m just... I’m not a hero, Chris. I can’t do it.” He was a fool to think he ever could, though he supposed that wasn’t the main issue at that point in time.
”Uh-huh,” Chris said slowly, sitting in front of one of the mirrors. ”Look, we’ve talked about this before, so I don’t want to give another ‘you expect way too much from actors’ speech. So what do you want to do?”
”I don’t know!” Just as he’d been afraid of, talking this out was accomplishing nothing more than making him feel worse. He didn’t mind admitting when he’d screwed up to people who could help fix things, but having everyone know his flaws for no reason was really humiliating.
He half expected Chris to laugh, to be pleased that all his ideals and morals had crumbled around him. Instead, all he got was a shrug. ”I’m kind of confused here, Ev. Are you saying you’re sick of the hero game? Don’t want to help the populace? Not gunning to be the next Mother Teresa?”
There was some teasing in there, but Evren didn’t even notice it, too put off by the real question Chris was asking. ”That’s not it! I… I don’t want to stop, but I have stopped.”
”So… what, you fell off the wagon or something? Trying to decide whether to get back on?”
Hearing it put so simply made Evren angry, though he had no idea why. ”I want to, but it’s not that easy!”
Here Chris did laugh, but it was short and sweet, without the malice he’d been expecting. ”Sure it is, Ev. You’ve got some pretty lofty ideals there. But they’re just that: ideals. Nobody actually lives up to them. Not me, not you, and definitely not the heroes we play on TV. You’re the one who always says we have to aim for them anyway. Are you honestly telling me you want to throw in the towel just because you slipped up? What’d you do, anyway?”
Talking about what had happened with people who'd been there, or knew enough of the details to get the idea, was hard enough. Evren really didn’t think he had it in him to walk yet another person through it from the beginning. So he just shrugged and stared at the floor, looking and feeling like a sulky teenager. ”It’s complicated.”
”Of course it’s complicated. Life is complicated. You’ve still gotta figure out what you want to do with it. Screwing up doesn’t mean it’s all over. Heck, doesn’t it mean you’ve gotta try even harder?” Chris smiled reassuringly. ”You know, by your logic.”
It was his logic. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d spouted for much of his life, up until just a few days ago. So much of Evren's life had been built on these heroic ideals, of protecting those who couldn't protect themselves, making a lasting difference in the world at large, and living a life anyone would be proud of. His beliefs had little relation to the kind of work he did; reality having far fewer evil monsters and pure soldiers of justice. That didn't keep the two from being connected in his head. Just because there were different kinds of heroes didn't make one more heroic than the other.
Ever since he was a kid, he'd wanted to stand atop that tower and be a beacon, guiding others when they needed help. Then he'd gone and killed one of them, and it felt like the tower collapsed under him, burying him in rubble and broken dreams. And it served him right. If the spirit's story was over, it just wasn’t right that his continued.
Not that he could fix things by quitting. Not that he could fix things at all, but atonement was impossible when you just gave up. Was it better to make sure he was punished, or to try even harder to reach the high bar he’d set for himself? The first option might keep him from hurting anyone else, but it would definitely keep him from helping them. Trying was risky, but gave him the chance to do enough good that, maybe someday, even if he could never make it up to the spirit, he could at least make it up to the world.
True, he'd snuffed out one star, and no amount of effort could fix that. But if he could make himself shine brighter than ever, maybe, just maybe, he could fill the world with the amount of light he'd taken away.
Evren took a slow, shuddering breath. It still felt unreal and contrived, but no more so than hiding behind a rack of spandex suits. ”Okay. Let’s give it a try.” He couldn’t guarantee more than that, unwilling to make more promises that he couldn’t keep, but it was something. A step in a direction. And though he wasn’t sure it was the right one, it felt better than being paralyzed by indecision.
Chris punched him in the shoulder lightly. ”There you go! I knew you’d never really give up the Boy Scout act. So let’s get the show on the road!” Continuing to chat about how life was too short to waste with self-doubt, he dragged Evren out of the dressing room, his grip a little stronger than it might have needed to be.
So he wasn’t really a hero. He probably never would be. But Chris was right about one thing: if he didn’t start climbing that tower again, he’d never accomplish what he wanted. This incident wasn’t his cue to get out of the business. It was his cue to try harder than ever. Though he still didn’t know what form that should take yet, he had to try something. And why not start with what he really loved?
If he really went all out, maybe he could even inspire one of the kids watching to become a real hero. It wouldn’t fix his problems, but it might give them some sort of meaning. Maybe meaning was what he really needed, something to justify the senseless loss. And now, while he hadn’t found it yet, at least he had hope that one day, he just might.
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 8:58 pm
And so, life went on.
It went in fits and starts, but it went. The weight Evren felt never fully lifted, and there were still times he felt as though it would crush him, as it should. Then something else would happen, and his mind would shift, and he could walk, run, and even jump with this burden on his shoulders. It didn't make sense to him, and he tried not to think about it too much, since that made everything feel worse. All he could really do was try to feel his way through.
Though he kept to the status quo as much as he could, focusing on work, volunteering when he had the time, life didn't go back to normal. He wasn't sure it ever could, or should, but there were a few parts that felt out of place, like his lifestyle couldn't fit together properly with so many pieces missing from his routine.
He took a leave of absence from the ninja gym, not wanting to run into Eriol there. Until he figured out what he was going to do, he needed space from everyone and everything that could force him to make a decision. This needed to come from him, and not from anyone else. For the same reason, he avoided the Zen Gardens area, which, being on the other side of Gaia, was much easier. Working out at home was boring, and he couldn't do much in the way of obstacle training, but that was the price he had to pay for impartiality.
The library he avoided entirely, not even calling to cancel his read-aloud. Which was rude and unprofessional, and he didn't care. He was angry with the staff, for making a bad situation worse. He was also feeling guilty, both over the damage that had been caused during the transfer ritual, and the two books that were sitting on his nightstand. Every so often he tried to look through them, but the writing was totally incomprehensible to him, and even leafing through the pages tended to make him feel dazed.
He never thought about returning the books, even though holding on to them made him a thief. And there was no reason to, with the spirit sealed away. Still, he didn't want to give up that connection, and if the library didn't care about the one the books had created, it didn't deserve to get them back. So there they sat, collecting dust.
In the kitchen, the essence jar and soul bottle did the same thing. It was silly to just leave them there, but Evren wasn't ready to take the next step and contact the Lab. Part of him felt that, if he thought about it long enough, a solution - a real one - might occur to him. Part of him was certain that he'd proven his total incompetence when it came to being a guardian, and since the Lab would surely find someone else to care for the Raevan, the only time he had with them was now, before they were even born.
Mostly, he didn't know why he left things the way they were, but every time he tried to do something, he stopped before he could even start. He just wasn't ready to make that kind of decision yet.
So, life went on, but it had no momentum. For all of Evren's activity, he was still frozen.
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Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2017 11:47 pm
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Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2017 11:48 pm
After making a mess of what he felt was his one chance to really sort out the mess he was in, Evren’s spirits were as low as they had ever been. All he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and not have to look anyone in the eye for about five years. Or ever again. Since that wasn’t really an option, he settled for the next best thing: a Masqued Marauder marathon.
The spare room in his apartment housed most of the merchandise and memorabilia he gathered from the shows he was in and those he followed, and the Masked Marauder collection was, far and away, the jewel in the crown. He had figures, transformation devices, weapons, t-shirts, posters, old costume pieces, scripts, photos, and, of course, every DVD that had been released to date. Most of it was packed away in boxes, since he didn’t really have the room to show it off, and anything on display would turn into a dust magnet. It just sat there, waiting for when it was needed, when it could show its true colors and come to the rescue, just like the heroes it depicted.
By the time the popcorn was ready, he had changed into his pajamas and a Neo Masque flight jacket, salvaged after it had gotten too worn for television. Max curled up on the couch next to him, watching the screen as if waiting for the show to begin. Evren smiled a little as he popped in a random DVD and sang along to the opening theme, punctuating it with the occasional crunch of a popcorn kernel. But it felt like he was just going through the motions. Whatever salvation he was looking for, this wasn’t going to give it to him, or he wouldn’t still be in this mess. He was starting to think nothing could help. But giving up wasn’t an option for these guys, and it wasn’t an option for him either.
So he watched as Masqued Marauder and Neo Masque battled the forces of evil that threatened Gaia, occasionally chiming in with the well-known catchphrases, even though his job generally didn’t involve speaking. The hyped up fighting and powerful speeches were like a balm on his psyche; even though he knew better than anyone that it was all an act, he was still comforted by the firm insistence that justice would win in the end.
”Maybe a hero will show up and take me out,” he muttered, putting the DVD back in its case and starting up another. ”Now that would be justice.”
Thinking that way didn’t help anything. Evren knew that. But he didn’t really know what else to think. He pressed play, not even singing with the main theme anymore, just waiting until the steady stream of compressed heroism beat down his tension enough that he had a chance to fall asleep.
Instead, what he got was one of the first appearances of Neo Masque as a regular character. It featured a cunning ploy by the villain, sending one of his minions to infiltrate Masked Marauder’s hideout. And it worked: the hideout was destroyed, one of Masked Marauder’s supporters was injured, and it was only thanks to the timely arrival of Neo Masque that the damage wasn’t worse.
Though it had been months, if not years, since Evren had watched this particular episode, he knew what was coming. For the first time that night, he was on the edge of his seat, popcorn forgotten, his stomach tied in knots for reasons he couldn’t quite identify.
“I told you,” Masqued Marauder said coldly, releasing his transformation and becoming mild-mannered Mark Mariner once again. Except his manner was far from mild: his eyes were wide, and he kept looking around, as if expecting another attack at any moment, while his voice was just short of a scream. “You don’t want my help. All of this was my fault! If I keep going, I’ll just make things worse. You’re better off doing this without me.” He stumbled off, clearly planning to leave, but he didn’t get away fast enough.
“That’s not true,” Neo Masque insisted. Unlike his counterpart, he stayed transformed, and because of this, Evren could remember this scene, could feel some of the movements that he’d practiced for it, even though it was just one action scene in one episode of a show he’d done for years. Then, he’d been excited to get to work with the actor who played Mark Mariner, the untransformed Neo Masque, whose performance had helped inspire Evren to take up suit acting in the first place. The story had been interesting, but because it helped establish the character he got to play, not because he ever imagined finding himself in this kind of situation.
Undaunted by Evren’s mounting unease, Neo Masque gripped Mark by the shoulders, shouting in his face - or pretending to, while the lines were dubbed in later. “You’re the one who’s been protecting Gaia all along. Are you really going to abandon them just because you made one mistake?”
Mark pulled away, refusing to look Neo Masque in the eye. Or in the mask. “It wasn’t just some mistake. Look around! The hideout is gone. Cam is in the hospital. And if you hadn’t shown up when you did, people could have died. All because of me. All I do is make your job harder. You should count yourself lucky that I know when to call it quits.”
“Lucky? Lucky?” Neo Masque’s voice was shrill with disbelief, and he shook his head so vigorously it was a miracle his helmet stayed on. “I’m lucky that Gaia has someone like you as its protector. We all are! Yes, you made a mistake, and yes, people got hurt. But even more people will get hurt if you walk away!” He put himself between Mark and the camera, a living, breathing, immovable object.
But Mark was an unstoppable force, barrelling into Neo Masque, as if that was the only way to get past. “I can’t put you guys in danger again,” he cried desperately. “I can’t! If you really want to protect everyone, if you really want to serve justice, you should destroy me, here and now-”
Then there was darkness and silence, so sudden that Evren nearly jumped off the couch. The TV was off, but the clock on the DVD player was still lit, still playing, so it wasn’t a power outage. He looked down to see if Max had stepped on the remote, but the Kin was fast asleep. The remote was in his hand, his finger poised over the power button. He looked at it uncomprehendingly for a few moments before he pressed the button again. As awful as this felt, something told him he needed to see the episode through to the end.
The screen came back to life, showing Mark and Neo Masque in the middle of what looked like a wrestling match. Every so often, Mark would make another desperate plea to Neo Masque, to be let go or killed off, lest he endanger anyone else. And Neo Masque would try, repeatedly, to convince Mark how badly mistaken he was, how much everyone needed him, how much good he had already done, and would surely continue to do. The lines themselves were silly and overdone, but Evren was still caught up in the moment, feeling like he was there, but not as Neo Masque. This time, he was Mark Mariner, and because of that, it felt like he was fighting with himself.
And really, wasn’t that what he’d been doing all this time? He knew what needed to be done, but he was too scared of making more mistakes to take action. And he’d cut himself from anyone who might stand up and tell him to get over himself.
Nobody else could help him get past these feelings of failure and self-doubt. Misao had said as much, and Evren agreed. But Neo Masque wasn’t somebody else. The lines were scripted, the fight choreographed, but he felt like he was finally hearing his true self for the first time in months. Neo Masque was talking directly to him, and because he was Neo Masque, because this was all for show, Evren could accept the message in a way he couldn’t from anyone else, or from days and weeks of self-reflection. He needed to see his thoughts and feelings blown out of proportion, in order to see how ridiculous they were- how ridiculous he was. The combination of self and other, of reality and fiction, pushed the words through his thick skull so that he could finally understand.
The spirit, as he knew it, was gone. There was nothing he could do to change that fact, no matter how much he wished otherwise. And that, he’d thought, was it. That mistake disqualified him from being good at anything else, other than lazing about feeling bad about everything, or running from the responsibility he had asked for. While he had no way of knowing for sure what the spirit wanted, he could say with confidence that it wasn’t to become a kitchen knickknack. It deserved a second chance.
Maybe, just maybe, he could have one too.
As Mark and Neo Masque lay in a tangled heap, too tired from their fight to even move, finally talking at a volume that didn’t hurt the ears, Evren shut the TV off again. Then he buried his face in his hands, laughing and crying and wondering how an idiot like him had made it this far. It seemed impossible, and maybe it was. Maybe the mental ditch he’d driven himself into was a symptom of this larger problem, or the universe’s attempt at putting him in his rightful place. But this idiot had a job to do, and he was done compounding his mistakes by delaying the inevitable.
It was time to end this.
”No,” he corrected himself, wiping his eyes on his sleeve before striking a pose in the dark. ”It’s time to begin this.”
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Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2017 11:50 pm
Once he’d washed his face and cleaned up the remains of his pity party, Evren was raring to get moving, hoping to somehow make up for lost time. He would have brought the bottle to the lab then and there, if it hadn’t been two o’clock in the morning. Instead, he pulled out the briefcase the bottle had come in, upended it on the coffee table, and began sorting through the documents, signing the ones that needed signing, and fishing out the business card for the courier service. He wasn’t going to give himself the option of wimping out when he got to the lab. If he was doing this, he needed to make sure it got done.
It was tempting to sign the forms and have that be the end of it, but that wouldn’t feel right. He owed the lab an explanation for what had happened. Ready as he was to take on this task, he had to give the information they needed to make an educated choice. If they decided that he was an unfit guardian because of how he’d handled the capture - or procrastinated sending the bottle in - that was something he’d have to accept. It was something he’d been telling himself for months; he couldn’t prevent someone who was actually qualified from making that judgement call.
Even with that understanding, it took a couple of hours, and several drafts, until Evren had a note he was more or less satisfied with.
Quote: To Whom It May Concern:
Lab 305 has my gratitude for providing me with this unique opportunity. This is something I have wanted for quite some time. However, I regret to inform you that the circumstances surrounding my soul capture may have affected my eligibility for guardianship. Despite my best efforts, the soul contained in this bottle was caught accidentally, and may not have been freely given. My reluctance to address this matter has caused me to delay returning the soul and essence to the lab, which I can only hope will not adversely affect the creation process. Because of this, I will understand if my guardianship is revoked. I only want what is best for the Raevan-to-be, and I will accept whatever decision you come to.
The soul that was captured is that of a kyōrinrin, which, I am told, is a type of yōkai born from very old books. I am far from an expert on yōkai, or Japan, or spirits in general, but have been in contact with people who can educate me further on these subjects. I know I have been far from a shining example of guardianship thus far, but I assure you that I will do my best to rectify this fact if I am to continue in this role. If not, please give my best wishes to the new guardian if you see it fit to do so.
My apologies and thanks once again,
Evren Candemir
It was, Evren thought, an overly stiff and formal letter, but at least it was probably inoffensive. It conveyed the facts, showed his sincerity and repentance, and gave them an opening to send him packing. And with his alarm clock going off in just four hours, it was too late to try another rewrite.
Instead, he went into the kitchen and ran his fingers along the cold glass surface of the essence jar, and then the soul bottle. To his profound relief, neither was actually dusty - he’d been too careful for that - but he still felt bad for leaving them there so long, with only the plants for company. ”Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. ”Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.”
He could have packed them then, but that felt like a cold gesture. Better to give them one last night in the open, under the night sky. He cracked the window, shivering as a cool breeze blew through him, rustling the tips of the lavender and sage. It was, he hoped, a good last night together. And a good prelude to whatever came next.
The next morning, before even getting out of bed, he called the courier service and arranged for immediate pickup. Once he was dressed, he packed both bottles away with the utmost care, slipping the note in with the signed paperwork. A stroke of inspiration made him dash into the spare room, returning moments later with a Neo Masque keychain from his collection, tucking it into the case with everything else. That way, if the lab decided to find someone more suitable to act as guardian, he could still be there for the Raevan in some form.
The doorbell surprised him, making him slam the briefcase shut. Which was silly, because he was expecting the courier, but he didn’t think “immediate pickup” would happen quite that quickly. After cracking the briefcase open to make sure the contents were unharmed, he locked it up tightly and handed it over, along with a good-sized tip for the speedy arrival.
Without the bottles, the apartment felt empty. It made no sense, since the soul didn’t really have a presence, trapped as it was. It was disheartening, and yet somehow freeing. Maybe the soul wasn’t the only thing that was gone. Maybe a little of his guilt was gone too.
Evren didn’t know what would happen next, whether the lab would choose someone else, or whether he was basically a parent already. But whatever was coming, he was done running from it. He would face it head-on. Set an example. And maybe, just maybe, he could even handle whatever else the world might throw at him.
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Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2017 11:50 pm
After finally sending the bottles back to the lab, Evren was consumed by one impossible question: now what?
What was a maybe-guardian maybe-not supposed to do? Tell his family? Start shopping for someone who might never come? Forget his troubles by binge-watching Masqued Marauder?
He decided he’d had enough of the latter to last him a while, and neither of the other options appealed to him. But, he thought, it might not be a bad idea to clean up the spare room. At best, it would be ready for a new family member. At worst, it would be neat and organized for the next time his dad or one of his sisters wanted to stay over.
Not that the room was a pigsty. Most of his merchandise was neatly packed away, with only one or two containers open, their contents scattered about from his recent marathon. Boxing them up was a matter of minutes. The problem was what to do with the boxes, which took up half of the floor space in the small room. Some would fit in the closet, but he’d have to leave room for whatever the Raevan wanted to store. And what could he do with the rest?
Two boxes fit in the front closet, under Evren’s winter and outdoor gear, his motorcycle helmets and ninja training tools. Another two were shoved in his bedroom closet, under racks of Masqued Marauder shirts and the two suits he owned, one casual, one formal, neither of which got much wear. That left eight boxes unaccounted for, and he was at a loss for what to do with them. He was out of closet space. There was no clearance under either bed. His own room was barely bigger than the spare one, with no convenient corner to use for storage.
He mulled it over for a few more minutes before giving up. Getting rid of the boxes was simply not an option. If anything, they would probably multiply as he took on new roles. He could leave them where they were, but that would mean discomfort for his charge. If he wound up having one. Part of being a guardian was making sacrifices, so he knew what he had to do.
Half an hour later, the boxes were lined up along the east wall of his room, blocking the window completely. He’d miss that view, but he supposed that the problem of curtains was finally solved, if only temporarily. Eventually, he’d come up with a better solution. Or perhaps he’d move everything back to the spare room, when it became clear no one else would use it. Only time would tell which way it would go.
Pleased with his work, Evren grabbed an orange from the kitchen counter and flopped down on the couch. No matter what happened, he’d made some home improvements, of a sort. This was progress. He was moving forward, in spite of his uncertainty. And that felt good, for about as long as it took him to eat the orange. But as he cleaned up the peel, that gnawing question began to plague him again.
Now what?
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Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2017 11:54 pm
And so, life went on. This time, Evren went with it.
Though he was still anxious about what had happened, and what would - or wouldn’t - come next, at least now he was moving. Every so often he would panic, wondering if the Lab had decided to rescind his guardianship after all, but he reminded himself that they would do whatever was best for the Raevan-to-be, and since that was what he wanted most, he had to be okay with that. Even if it wasn’t what was best for him.
He still couldn’t bring himself to tell his family about it. Not until he knew for sure, one way or the other, what would happen. And it was, he supposed, a bit early to start buying everything a magical child would need. Not that he knew all that much about what magical children needed. In an effort to keep the ball rolling, he took small steps, trying to make his living space more livable for others. At the very least it would make things more livable to him. Or make the empty space echo more. It was hard to say, when everything in his life felt weird and out of place. Which, he supposed, made it the perfect time to make some changes.
Citing a lack of storage space, he moved several boxes to his father’s house, stashing them in the attic where no one would disturb them. He bought a new entertainment center, with room for his TV, DVD player, and several seasons worth of Masqued Marauder discs. Or it would, once it was assembled. Until then, it was just another box taking up valuable space in the apartment.
He gave the guest room a fresh coat of paint, changing the walls from dingy white to a cheerful sky blue. He bought new linens for the bed, bright spring green, and hung a couple of Masqued Marauder posters. He lurked at used book stores, picking up cheap finds that he thought looked interesting, assembling them on a makeshift bookshelf made of a milk crate and some wire. Surely, the spirit, or whoever they became, would appreciate old, pre-loved books. Or he could read them.
That was his problem. He couldn’t quite get himself to do anything that could end up wasted if the Lab found a new, more suitable guardian. Even though that was a worst-case scenario, he couldn’t keep himself from preparing for it, even as he tried to hope for the best.
Maybe that was why his next attempt at preparation brought him back to Zen Gardens. It had been a few months since his last visit, and the trees were bursting with new life. ”You should have come earlier,” Misao told him by way of a greeting. Despite the warmer weather she was still wearing the same thing he’d seen her in before, with her sleeves tied up with a thick cord so she could clean the statues in front of the shrine.
Guilt blossomed anew, and he looked away, embarrassed. ”I know. I’m sorry for leaving you hanging, after you were so much help-”
”Not that,” she said dismissively, barely able to keep the smile off her face. ”You missed the sakura. In some parts of the gardens, they bloom all year, but here, you have to come at the right time. Late April is usually best. By now, they’re all gone.”
That was hardly the most pressing issue on Evren’s mind, and he thought the trees looked lovely as they were, but he didn’t want to argue about something so silly. ”Yes, I see. I’ll try to see it next year.”
Misao put her sponge down on top of the stone lantern she’d been scrubbing and dried her hands on her hakama. ”You could see them elsewhere, of course. But we tend not to appreciate that which is always within our grasp. We enjoy sakura so much because they are only with us for a short while, so we are determined to make the most of the time we have.”
”I see.” It still wasn’t what he’d wanted to talk about, but it was clearly an important issue to her.
”Well, don’t just stand there. Come in, have some tea, and tell me what you have been up to.” Without any further preamble she headed back into the shrine, put the kettle on to heat, and sat at the low table, just like when they’d first met.
Then there was silence, to the point that Evren wished she’d start talking about flowers again. Even though he’d rehearsed what he wanted to say, his mind was totally blank.
”Has the kyōrinrin been reborn yet?”
Startled out of his thoughts, Evren shook his head. Then he shrugged. ”I don’t know. I don’t think so? It’s probably too soon. I only gave them the bottle a few weeks ago…” And that was painful to admit to someone who knew all the details of the capture, who knew just how long the soul had been sitting on his kitchen counter.
Rather than scold him, Misao folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. ”So what are you doing now?”
It was a relief to not have to explain himself, but it didn’t really ease Evren’s discomfort. ”Preparing, as best I can. They may find a more suitable guardian, someone who actually knows what they’re doing. But I’m getting things ready at home, and I… I was wondering if you could teach them about kyōrinrin and yōkai and stuff. If they do come to me, I mean. And even if they don’t, I was hoping you could teach me a little more about spirits in general, so I don’t… well, so I don’t screw up again.”
”You did the best you could with the information you had,” Misao said, her voice level.
”Then next time, I want to be better informed. I want to help, not just make bad situations worse.”
Was that pain on Misao’s face, or just frustration? ”If you hold onto your guilt, it will poison anything you try to create. There is nothing I can teach you to help with that.”
That was something Evren knew already. But he was working through it, sort of. And he already knew how he was going to handle that problem, if the Raevan did come to him. ”What about the rest?
Misao didn’t look convinced, but after a few moments, she let out a tired sigh. Then, before Evren could get too worried about what she would say, she flashed him a smile. ”You and yours can come to me anytime. I helped get you this far. I’m not about to jump off the ride now.”
”Do you feel guilty about what happened?” There was no reason for her to, really. This was all on his shoulders.
”No,” she replied immediately, which was both a relief and a surprise. ”But, having come this far, I want to see where you and your ward end up.”
Evren cracked a smile at that, finally relaxing, if only a little. ”That makes two of us.”
And with any luck, they’d both be able to do just that.
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