Shin Tokyo vignettes [REPOST]
Sep. 8th, 2008 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fromastudio posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
almondinflower...as said before, unpolished muse-development stuff. Reposted here for completeness and because reading them probably makes the main Streets of Nippon story marginally less WTH.
wildcat
summary: Marui tests Kirihara's Immune capacities. (timeline 2468/2469 CE)
Bunta concentrated; stared at the wall through eyes narrowed to slits, felt how the materialness of the room seemed to rush through him - air, convection currents, water vapour, nitrogen, all weaving themselves into familiar artificial patterns.
Tried to connect the shape to a dark head of curly hair leaning against scarlet leather, and the spell dissipated, collapsed into a chaos of elements, molecules spreading and realigning with thermodynamics, much to Bunta’s dismay.
“Had your fun yet?” Akaya said in a bored voice. He was sixteen years old this autumn, grown mysterious with long tanned limbs and catlike hostility – a wildcat, one of those sibilant, ferocious creatures that haunted the mountains of the Romani Republic, the ones that bit first, asked questions later, and scratched you to pieces in-between.
They’d known from the day Akaya arrived at their doorstep, that he was anything but a tame kitten, Bunta thought. “One and a half metres in every direction. That’s the extent of your Immunity. I’m getting some activity at one metre, but nothing I can consciously control.”
“And if you can’t manage it, no one should be able to, right?”
“There is no telekinetic in Kantou better than myself,” Bunta said simply. Akaya yawned and stretched out his entire body – contours of muscle and clothing shifting gracefully, fingers raking the leather sofa.
“What about Fuji Syuusuke?” he asked.
They were all the best at what they did, each in his own way – though even among the Eight, Akaya’s battle technique was outstanding: fluidity and motion and attack, attack, attack, with eyes that seemed to hate the whole world, except Yukimura but then none of them could really hate Yukimura, although they’d all tried at some point.
If Akaya liked blood too much, was a little too fond of toying with his opponents, - well then, he wasn’t the only one. Yagyuu, also – for that matter, Yanagi--
They all had their own problems.
“What about Fuji?” He examined a jade ashtray perched above the fireplace, filled with what looked like brightly-wrapped chocolates. Jackal had bought them, which meant they should be safe enough. “In terms of precision control, he’s still less capable than I am. Anyway, Yukimura will finish him off sooner or later.”
“Maybe we should kill him before then.” It would be a mercy; whatever Akaya and Bunta could do, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as nasty as their president’s exploits.
It was not really Yukimura’s fault – but then Bunta had long since moved past the point where he could blame Yukimura for anything.
In that way he envied Akaya, who moved in a glorious, willful world of his own, who still seemed to understand the difference between ‘Rikkai’ and ‘Yukimura’ and ‘myself’, whereas for Bunta it had all gotten mixed up a long time ago; there was no telling where he himself ended and Yukimura began - or where Rikkai was meant to be.
landscape painting
summary: Fuji and Yukimura's first encounter in VR. Set two/three years before Streets of Nippon.
Virtual landscaping had been all the rage in Nippon when Syuusuke was about five years old. It was a concept that had been around for decades, centuries even - but until neural networks on planet Gibson were sufficiently developed to support the interface that such programs required, it had been out of the general public’s reach.
These days it was a form of art - (the virtual landscape exhibit formed the greater part of the Gibson Online Museum) - a pastime for hobbyists; an educational tool for primary school children.
The virtual space Syuusuke was now in had been set up by the New Kantou Educational Association. It was designed for children between the ages of 9 and 13 – the standard age range in which most Nippon citizens underwent the surgery to have their neural connection points installed - to train them in the basics of VR control.
The well-informed landscapist would have scoffed at the limitations of the program – the lack of olfactory sensory input, for instance, and the preponderance of grey space – the fuzzy areas where no data could be processed. This particular space could stretch no further than a hundred square metres in any direction – it was strictly limited to squares, polygons and quadratic curves. Anything more sophisticated had to be inputted mathematically.
Syuusuke believed that true creativity sprung from limitation.
He narrowed his eyes, concentrated, and a trapezoid section of the Mona Lisa appeared in front of him. He stepped on it; it felt cold and squishy like dried-up slime. When he stepped on it again, the texture had changed to that of a Persian rug.
He was about to create another panel of flooring, this time using a section from a twenty-first century anime series called Bleach, when the entire landscape changed around him.
Green, wet grass licked at his bare ankles; varicoloured sunlight filtered in through the encroaching leaves that brushed at his hair. On the other side of the room, sparrows twittered.
Syuusuke’s eyes went wide and wary; almost involuntarily, he put up a telekinetic barrier.
Don't bother with that; I’m not here to hurt you. Besides, the voice added, I don’t have a scrap of Kinetic talent; that barrier won’t do you any good.
Telepath. Syuusuke pushed back at the neural interface at the back of his mind. The forest shifted and became a cold, white space – floorless, wall-less, and ceiling-less.
“Pretty good,” came the voice again – physical, or rather virtual, this time. It sounded sweet and lilting. It appeared to be coming from behind his left ear; Syuusuke knew better than to turn around.
“With that move, you determined that I wasn’t casting a telepathic illusion. However,” and finally the presence embodied itself, standing about a metre (or what seemed like a metre, given the lack of physical parameters in this place) in front of Syuusuke, “all you’ve managed to ascertain is my level of control over a virtual space. Whether I can recreate the same effect telepathically, you have no idea.”
The avatar was thin, blue-eyed, with hair the colour of a seaweed-tinted ocean. It looked to be about nine years old.
“I should introduce myself,” it said. Its voice sounded even younger than it looked, save for the trained, precise elocution. “Yukimura Seiichi. President of the Rikkai syndicate of the Nueva Kanagawa area.” It raised its right arm sideways; an infodevice appeared at its fingertips.
Perfect VR control, Syuusuke thought, and kept the eyes of his own avatar closed.
“Fuji Syuusuke, Seigaku syndicate, committee member – despite having been a member for only three months. Brother of the celebrated clairvoyant Fuji Yumiko, and St. Rudolph runner Fuji Yuuta. Second highest overall score in the National Student’s Exam of 2466, but top in literature and history. Psionic capability estimated at 8 in telekinetics; telepathic and precognitive abilities suspected to lie in the 98th percentile. Well, that’s what Renji has on you anyway,” Yukimura snapped his fingers; the infodevice disappeared. “You sounded so interesting, I had to meet you for myself.”
The voice seemed to be coming straight from the blue-haired figure, but there was something disembodied about it, something that had nothing to do with lack of VR finesse.
“There’s something very wrong with you,” he said.
“The latest theory is that I’m going to die within three months,” Yukimura said indifferently, looking down at the nonexistent ground. “But that’s not important. I wanted to find out more about you. Why would someone slated to go on full scholarship to Old Earth choose to drop the offer, and join a syndicate as a runner instead?”
He smiled. “Why would he, indeed? I wonder.”
“…so, it’s your brother.”
His smile froze.
“You should learn to keep your emotions under control.” The virtual space swirled, turned into a murky rainbow. “See, even the network is picking up on your feedback.”
“…you’re an Empath,” he said.
“Level 9, and level 8 precognitive,” Yukimura said. “I’m pretty bad at everything else, though.”
Which answered the question about his abilities as an Illusionist. “Is that so?” said Syuusuke. And he leaned back, felt for a thin thread of data, and pulled. Reality collapsed like a falling house of cards.
Syuusuke had no significant Empathic abilities, not even sensory ones, so it had to be Yukimura projecting the emotions as the VR space warped around them: surprise, amusement and open admiration.
You’re good. he said. It’s such a shame Tezuka tends to keep his followers.
And then he was gone, and the space was grey space again. Syuusuke sat cross-legged on the nonexistent ground, and smiled.
So that was Kanagawa’s Rikkai. And he set to recreating his mosaic floor.
early mission
notes: drabble originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ashesto. Shishido recalls one of his early runs with Hyoutei.
Shishido Ryou would never forget the spring of 2466 – his third year as a runner, Wakashi’s first, and how they chased Sakaki’s small black plane across the New Mongolian border, reckless and exuberant like the adolescents they were; Wakashi’s piloting too aggressive and Ryou’s too erratic, while Taki hovered on wind currents, perfectly attuned to machinery as always. He was cool and reserved until they picked up the cargo and saw the bionic weapons, and then he seemed to glimmer with excitement, from the core of his being: this was the last time Ryou ever saw him with both eyes intact.
wildcat
summary: Marui tests Kirihara's Immune capacities. (timeline 2468/2469 CE)
Bunta concentrated; stared at the wall through eyes narrowed to slits, felt how the materialness of the room seemed to rush through him - air, convection currents, water vapour, nitrogen, all weaving themselves into familiar artificial patterns.
Tried to connect the shape to a dark head of curly hair leaning against scarlet leather, and the spell dissipated, collapsed into a chaos of elements, molecules spreading and realigning with thermodynamics, much to Bunta’s dismay.
“Had your fun yet?” Akaya said in a bored voice. He was sixteen years old this autumn, grown mysterious with long tanned limbs and catlike hostility – a wildcat, one of those sibilant, ferocious creatures that haunted the mountains of the Romani Republic, the ones that bit first, asked questions later, and scratched you to pieces in-between.
They’d known from the day Akaya arrived at their doorstep, that he was anything but a tame kitten, Bunta thought. “One and a half metres in every direction. That’s the extent of your Immunity. I’m getting some activity at one metre, but nothing I can consciously control.”
“And if you can’t manage it, no one should be able to, right?”
“There is no telekinetic in Kantou better than myself,” Bunta said simply. Akaya yawned and stretched out his entire body – contours of muscle and clothing shifting gracefully, fingers raking the leather sofa.
“What about Fuji Syuusuke?” he asked.
They were all the best at what they did, each in his own way – though even among the Eight, Akaya’s battle technique was outstanding: fluidity and motion and attack, attack, attack, with eyes that seemed to hate the whole world, except Yukimura but then none of them could really hate Yukimura, although they’d all tried at some point.
If Akaya liked blood too much, was a little too fond of toying with his opponents, - well then, he wasn’t the only one. Yagyuu, also – for that matter, Yanagi--
They all had their own problems.
“What about Fuji?” He examined a jade ashtray perched above the fireplace, filled with what looked like brightly-wrapped chocolates. Jackal had bought them, which meant they should be safe enough. “In terms of precision control, he’s still less capable than I am. Anyway, Yukimura will finish him off sooner or later.”
“Maybe we should kill him before then.” It would be a mercy; whatever Akaya and Bunta could do, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as nasty as their president’s exploits.
It was not really Yukimura’s fault – but then Bunta had long since moved past the point where he could blame Yukimura for anything.
In that way he envied Akaya, who moved in a glorious, willful world of his own, who still seemed to understand the difference between ‘Rikkai’ and ‘Yukimura’ and ‘myself’, whereas for Bunta it had all gotten mixed up a long time ago; there was no telling where he himself ended and Yukimura began - or where Rikkai was meant to be.
landscape painting
summary: Fuji and Yukimura's first encounter in VR. Set two/three years before Streets of Nippon.
Virtual landscaping had been all the rage in Nippon when Syuusuke was about five years old. It was a concept that had been around for decades, centuries even - but until neural networks on planet Gibson were sufficiently developed to support the interface that such programs required, it had been out of the general public’s reach.
These days it was a form of art - (the virtual landscape exhibit formed the greater part of the Gibson Online Museum) - a pastime for hobbyists; an educational tool for primary school children.
The virtual space Syuusuke was now in had been set up by the New Kantou Educational Association. It was designed for children between the ages of 9 and 13 – the standard age range in which most Nippon citizens underwent the surgery to have their neural connection points installed - to train them in the basics of VR control.
The well-informed landscapist would have scoffed at the limitations of the program – the lack of olfactory sensory input, for instance, and the preponderance of grey space – the fuzzy areas where no data could be processed. This particular space could stretch no further than a hundred square metres in any direction – it was strictly limited to squares, polygons and quadratic curves. Anything more sophisticated had to be inputted mathematically.
Syuusuke believed that true creativity sprung from limitation.
He narrowed his eyes, concentrated, and a trapezoid section of the Mona Lisa appeared in front of him. He stepped on it; it felt cold and squishy like dried-up slime. When he stepped on it again, the texture had changed to that of a Persian rug.
He was about to create another panel of flooring, this time using a section from a twenty-first century anime series called Bleach, when the entire landscape changed around him.
Green, wet grass licked at his bare ankles; varicoloured sunlight filtered in through the encroaching leaves that brushed at his hair. On the other side of the room, sparrows twittered.
Syuusuke’s eyes went wide and wary; almost involuntarily, he put up a telekinetic barrier.
Don't bother with that; I’m not here to hurt you. Besides, the voice added, I don’t have a scrap of Kinetic talent; that barrier won’t do you any good.
Telepath. Syuusuke pushed back at the neural interface at the back of his mind. The forest shifted and became a cold, white space – floorless, wall-less, and ceiling-less.
“Pretty good,” came the voice again – physical, or rather virtual, this time. It sounded sweet and lilting. It appeared to be coming from behind his left ear; Syuusuke knew better than to turn around.
“With that move, you determined that I wasn’t casting a telepathic illusion. However,” and finally the presence embodied itself, standing about a metre (or what seemed like a metre, given the lack of physical parameters in this place) in front of Syuusuke, “all you’ve managed to ascertain is my level of control over a virtual space. Whether I can recreate the same effect telepathically, you have no idea.”
The avatar was thin, blue-eyed, with hair the colour of a seaweed-tinted ocean. It looked to be about nine years old.
“I should introduce myself,” it said. Its voice sounded even younger than it looked, save for the trained, precise elocution. “Yukimura Seiichi. President of the Rikkai syndicate of the Nueva Kanagawa area.” It raised its right arm sideways; an infodevice appeared at its fingertips.
Perfect VR control, Syuusuke thought, and kept the eyes of his own avatar closed.
“Fuji Syuusuke, Seigaku syndicate, committee member – despite having been a member for only three months. Brother of the celebrated clairvoyant Fuji Yumiko, and St. Rudolph runner Fuji Yuuta. Second highest overall score in the National Student’s Exam of 2466, but top in literature and history. Psionic capability estimated at 8 in telekinetics; telepathic and precognitive abilities suspected to lie in the 98th percentile. Well, that’s what Renji has on you anyway,” Yukimura snapped his fingers; the infodevice disappeared. “You sounded so interesting, I had to meet you for myself.”
The voice seemed to be coming straight from the blue-haired figure, but there was something disembodied about it, something that had nothing to do with lack of VR finesse.
“There’s something very wrong with you,” he said.
“The latest theory is that I’m going to die within three months,” Yukimura said indifferently, looking down at the nonexistent ground. “But that’s not important. I wanted to find out more about you. Why would someone slated to go on full scholarship to Old Earth choose to drop the offer, and join a syndicate as a runner instead?”
He smiled. “Why would he, indeed? I wonder.”
“…so, it’s your brother.”
His smile froze.
“You should learn to keep your emotions under control.” The virtual space swirled, turned into a murky rainbow. “See, even the network is picking up on your feedback.”
“…you’re an Empath,” he said.
“Level 9, and level 8 precognitive,” Yukimura said. “I’m pretty bad at everything else, though.”
Which answered the question about his abilities as an Illusionist. “Is that so?” said Syuusuke. And he leaned back, felt for a thin thread of data, and pulled. Reality collapsed like a falling house of cards.
Syuusuke had no significant Empathic abilities, not even sensory ones, so it had to be Yukimura projecting the emotions as the VR space warped around them: surprise, amusement and open admiration.
You’re good. he said. It’s such a shame Tezuka tends to keep his followers.
And then he was gone, and the space was grey space again. Syuusuke sat cross-legged on the nonexistent ground, and smiled.
So that was Kanagawa’s Rikkai. And he set to recreating his mosaic floor.
early mission
notes: drabble originally written for
ashesto. Shishido recalls one of his early runs with Hyoutei.Shishido Ryou would never forget the spring of 2466 – his third year as a runner, Wakashi’s first, and how they chased Sakaki’s small black plane across the New Mongolian border, reckless and exuberant like the adolescents they were; Wakashi’s piloting too aggressive and Ryou’s too erratic, while Taki hovered on wind currents, perfectly attuned to machinery as always. He was cool and reserved until they picked up the cargo and saw the bionic weapons, and then he seemed to glimmer with excitement, from the core of his being: this was the last time Ryou ever saw him with both eyes intact.
