View source for 2024-09-27: STAGE(small idol) - Songs of False Alleluia in Limbo's Ascending/Descending Spiral Ladder

*'''Log: 2024-09-27: STAGE(small idol) - Songs of False Alleluia in Limbo's Ascending\Descending Spiral Ladder'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Leila Misakiyama]], [[Character :: Yuliana Kafim]], [[Character :: Shinji Ikari]], [[Character :: Asciel Colette]], [[Character :: Yuta Hibiki]], [[Character :: Chise Asukagawa]], [[Character :: Elisa Kafim]]
*'''Where: Idol Livehouse, Nouvelle Tokyo''' 
*'''OOC - IC Date: 27 Sept UC0099''' 
*'''Summary''': ''An idol walks onto a small stage and puts on a show. Questions about the self, about the outsized importance of stories and who they focus on, and the imposition of a girl who's grasping for something more.''

----


 <Pose Tracker> Leila Misakiyama has posed.
<poem>
Breathe in through the nose. Breathe out through the mouth. Breathe in. Breathe out. Check the sleeves again. Check the way the outfit feels on the skin. Check the nail polish. Check that it holds under light pressure. Check that nothing's festering on the skin. Check the mental list. Check the lyrics. Check the general train of thought. Check everything except looking outside. If there's noises, that means at least one person. That's good. One is enough, a personal goal in the here and now. Here. There. Checking for the 5th time that day in front of the backstage mirror, patting her own cheek. Doublechecking everything one last time. The clock on the wall nears the appointed hour.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhh-" There's a point to wonder, the continual self-doubt of creation. Would it work? Would it hit? Would it pierce? Would it lacerate? Would it wound? Would it score where its supposed to hit? Questions upon questions drilling at that singular focus, the fake bunny-ears sprouting from her head wobbling with every side tilt of the skull. "-hhhhhmmmmmmmm...I can't stand around and do nothing." That soft mutter sealed the deal. 

And that was that. A tap against her own chin, spinning around once to allow gravity to take the wheel. Everything's as good as she could make it (with a freelancer's assistance) in the time provided. A drink of water, a stare into the mirror. Fiery eyes gazing back. Everything's good. Everything's planned and unplanned, a whirlwind of improvisation and guidelines. There was nothing else than to face the music.

A self-satisfied nod. Taking the mask on the desk and slipping it on. Obscuring the eyes, leaving the mouth and chin exposed. Perfect.

"...Uhu. I do look nice like this."
<span style='color:#FF0000;'>"Mmh? Why wouldn't you?"</span>
"Lots of things."

---

There's barely a stir at the appointed hour. A basement venue was the address, payment at the door. Sure, there was the usual: A bar for the peckish and freewheeling, standing room only, a narrow room with a stage at one end, and a heaping amount of air-conditioned chill. 

The stage itself was comparatively small; In contrast to such popular, megabuster idols who had focus on cameras and over-the-top displays, this stage was only lined with red satin curtains. A trio of displays at the top, a few cameras setup to capture three front-facing angles of the stage. A projector from above projecting onto the bare wall in the back, the poster picture of Bullton and a countdown to the appointed time. 

With little to do but wait for an empty stage, there's at least some (mildly expensive) barfood! ...Seriously, it's at least a good fast food meal's worth for 8 wings. Such is the nightlife. 

-

         <span style='color:#FF0000;'>00:00:03
         00:00:02
         00:00:01</span>
         <span style='color:#E161D0;'>00:00:00</span>

And the projector shuts off. The stage is flooded with black, a product of every light around the stage slowly powering down. Blackness. Darkness. The silent tick of nothing for a few moments, the sounds of someone shuffling onto the stage. The soft breathing flickering through the speakers, the shifts of cloth dragging along the floor. Slow, careful steps to the center, the barest of illumination from beyond the stage showcasing a large figure making its way to the center of the stage. 

Three. Two. One.

A single spotlight clicks on. White from an angle, displaying the person on stage.

A robed figure on stage: A woman clad in a junihitoe kimono, the various layers revealed in the stark light. A chinese-style jacket adorned in various silken shades, a shimmering pattern of forget-me-not flowers glinting in the harsh, moving spotlights. an ostentainable amount of layers showing through the front. Magenta. Yellow. Pink. Red. Robe overflowing onto the floor, face obscured by a half-mask that covered only the eyes. The head adorned with a crown of equally shimmering gold, pink bunny ears from the base that matched the twintails of the slim figure.

A held microphone, simple, wireless, generic. A black one that could be obtained anywhere, manifested with the power of some cash and dredged up from the supply box of the establishment. Pure white gloves of dainty lace with a single red thread along the stitching.

A hannya half-mask latched on to mask the eyes and nose, a block of white adorned in red and black outlines. A smooth brow, small horns poking out from the forehead as the nose juts forward, the very shape of the mask evoking a crane. 

And a red, lipsticked smile. "Hiiii, everyone~" A high-pitched voice brimming with emotions. "I don't know how many of you came because of the picture, because you have no reason to be at home on a Friday night, or because you wandered in without a reason at all~! But! I'm glad you came anyways. Mmmmh, truth be told, even one was the goal for tonight. So long as it hits someone, that's what matters, right~?" A tilt of her head to the side.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>
        Masami Kubo is here with her wife, Aoi, to enjoy the down-town glitz of Nouvelle Tokyo. They're dark-skinned Japanese -- and judging by the lavender headscarf Masami's wearing, they're not from the dominant ''culture,'' either -- but they definitely both belong here. They have the papers to prove it.

        They're all fake, of course, but Yuliana and Elisa Kafim can't exactly go out as ''themselves'' these days.

        In a lovely purple dress with big, poofy folds along its waist -- they're not hiding anything, honest! -- Masami squeezes her wife's arm, where they've set up shop at the bar. (The expensive bar food doesn't phase them; they're quite wealthy.) "It's a lovely little atmosphere, isn't it...? Ah, it seems the performance is starting -- I'm going to get a little closer and see what it's about. You'll take care of our food, won't you...?"

        She leans over, and kisses her wife on the cheek, before she hops up off of the bar stool -- leaving behind a ''non-alcoholic cocktail,'' because her medications don't mix well -- and approaches the stage, with its simple veils. Her circle of silence travels with her, but only directly ''around'' her; her frills are hidden thoughtfully behind her ears, under her hijab, and she's restraining her full power.

        It's fine if her wife wants to keep an eye on her, of course.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shinji Ikari has posed.
<poem>
        Kaworu's birthday was earlier this month. He spent it doing the opposite of celebrating, instead watching a certain truth be leaked beyond its jealously guarded borders. Shinji had been busy with various errands too. It was fine; they both know Kaworu doesn't really like the anniversary of his birth. But Shinji doesn't want to just ignore it, either.
        
        "You're free this Friday? How about we get together and do something, then?" he suggests to his closest friend by phone. "Whatever you're in the mood for doing!"
        
        "Hmmm... There's a small concert I was considering attending, but..." Kaworu audibly hesitates. "I don't know if you would like it..."
        
        "Huh? Why wouldn't I like it?"
        
        Silence.
        
        Shinji knows these silences of Kaworu's well. It means there's something he's hiding--something he has to hide, most likely. He's probably right. But Shinji tightens his grip on his phone anyway as he stares out a window on the Ra Mari II into Magallanica. The city is as bustling as ever. The same can't be said for the Earth below.
        
        "Kaworu-kun. I ''want'' to be a part of your life," Shinji murmurs. "Wherever you want to go, take me there with you."
        
        He can hear him smile, somehow. "Shinji-kun... All right. If you're sure..."
        
                ~ &#42; ~
        
        And so Shinji and Kaworu show up at an underground bar where some indie singer is going to perform. Both of them are dressed casually, Shinji in his now-usual jeans and a hoodie, Kaworu in slacks and a navy blue button-up shirt. There's some trouble at the door, where they both get carded. Their IDs confirm that they're legally adults--they just look young, that's all. In they go to join the standing room. Kaworu eschews bar food, and so does Shinji, who'd made a point to eat before coming.
        
        The spotlight comes on. The girl on stage has an impressive get-up for an indie performer, Shinji thinks. He glances at Kaworu, who is watching her with his usual faint smile. He looks over to meet Shinji's gaze, and his smile deepens. Shinji automatically smiles back. It's easier to not drown in despair these days, even with so much to despair over.
        
        Shinji doesn't notice anyone else in particular in the tiny crowd. Kaworu, meanwhile, is discreet enough to not interrupt someone else's date.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Asciel Colette has posed.
<poem>
        Asciel Colette is here for her own reasons, separate from anything Leila offered. ...Namely, of course, these days she's a recurring associate of Leila's, and so she wanted to see the girl perform. After all, to Asciel, Leila is...

        ...She wonders that herself sometimes. Friend? Not quite. Ally? Not really. ...'Antithesis', perhaps, and Asciel keeps diligent track of those. After all, so much of the world is antithetical to her, and it is from that which she derives the strength to move forward.

        The guise and pseudonym of "Lana Nielsen", wearing red and hair recolored to blonde, is one Leila would find familiar, and one which also unmistakeably stands out in the crowd. After all, she stands head and shoulders above all the others, ducking to get through doorways of the cramped little venue.

        Being packed like sardines like this seems to be a touch difficult for Asciel - her hand's protectively at her chest, guarding a vulnerability of the spirit that still is tender, even over a year and a half into having one at all.

        Standing selfishly in the center of the crowd, hand holding a drink she'll uselessly let go to waste, Leila's arrival merits a raise of that cup, liquid splashing up to the ceiling. She offers up a boisterous "That's right!~" to that crowd-provoking question - leading the charge on provoking it herself.

        Is it cheating? For an idol to be in the audience? Is it a -challenge-? Perhaps that's what's in the saucy little smile Asciel wears.

        ...or maybe she's just excited!?

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuta Hibiki has posed.
<poem>
        Yuta was there. Of course Yuta was there. This week has been rough on them to say the least, but the job was not done until the show was over. Had they slept for the past five days? Barely. Would they need an entirely day sleeping to catch up? Absolutely. But for now, their senses were sharp like a madman pinning a corkboard as they try to unveil a countrywide conspiracy. They had an obligation to see this through.... to the end. No matter what.

        Their bags had a spare outfit - though it was the prototype of the final version on stage, flashbangs, tear gas, all the kinds of things one might need when considering the kind of personnel attending this event.

        Their gaze went over the attendees as the show began. Almost letting out a giggle as how Fate played its hand to bring characters together. Bullshit. And not important. Not right at this moment, though they took note. People they knew, people who knew ''him'', people who knew ''them''. Personally or by profile.

        On the other side of the venue, Yuta was there to oversee the house's sound engineer and backstage lightning, just in case. Leaning back against the wall, as long as nothing went wrong, they were here to just enjoy the show. "Alright, it's ''all'' up to you now, Leila Misakiyama. Show the universe what you're made of."

        The stage was Leila's however, no matter how it went.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Chise Asukagawa has posed.
<poem>
Is there such a thing as a friendly kaiju?

No, rather, if you met a friendly kaiju, what should you do? It's still a kaiju; is it possible to meet one that doesn't have to be stopped?

Chise Asukagawa is toward the back of the venue. How did a 13 year old get back here? Life finds a way. Next to her is a zipped up roller suitcase. She's leaning on it uncomfortably. Why is she here? She hated the one time she met Leila. But she...

The suitcase grumbles a little. She puts a hand on it as if trying to sooth it. And the show starts, and drowns out all else, and...

Chise finds herself tugging self-consciously at her arm cover, but still smiling at the incredible sight. "Pretty," she says, quietly, dazzled.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Leila Misakiyama has posed.
<poem>
"It's a sad story, isn't it? A beautiful girl found in a bamboo stalk, raised in three months and bringing their impoverished parents fortune for being so kind. Isn't it nice? And then, then! People seeking the beauty's hand in marriage!" An overexaggerated swoon, the spotlights fading in and out for effect, the reddish pink hues of love bathing the girl in the center. "The impossible tasks brought before those suitors, the ways that they all fail because they all tried to lie to her! Isn't it sad? The way people would lie rather than admit what they are and understand the implications?"

A frown. "Though, there was another suitor. The Emperor of Japan. Ah, this was before the establishment of the Universal Century, so doooon't worry about that aspect!" A shift of a sleeved arm upwards lightly bonking herself in the farcical routine. "Some things, some other things, they chat, they talk, he asks, she says no, he asks, she says no, back and forth and back and forth-" Swinging her head side to side in careful motions in time with her chatter. "-until it turns out she's from the moon! A few years later, of course."

A moon snaps into focus in the background, the same picture flickering onto the displays. The same moon that's hanging in the sky outside. "Aaaah, and she has to go back! Back to where she belongs, away from her family, her friends, her fake suitors, her love interest, everything and all of it!" Sweeping motions of the arm, the spotlights turning red, pink, magenta, colors of royalty and love and lust and the amorphous colors of romance and intimacy! "And you know what she does? The most obvious thing, right?" 

"Yes, she does go back! An apology letter to the people who raised her, a memento to the man that loves her, and her memories...left there to be forgotten, the weight of compassion forgotten. And for what? A crime. What crime?" A scornful scoff. "Who knows, who cares. The punishment was what mattered. And that's how it ends! A girl punished for something no one will ever know, parents left, everything ''forgotten''. And ''for what''."

She pauses there, hunched over, both hands on the microphone, a scowl of complex emotions on those twisted lips. 

"...But it's only a story. It's only theory. It's a 'monogatari'. It's a story that can be changed." A smile at that, pearly whites peeking through as the spotlights recenter, refocus, straightening herself out. "No one knows who made it, and that's why anyone can change it~! Even if it had an author, who cares, right?"

"And no one can stop any one of us if we decide that princess can take another path. Not the mother, not the father, not the Emperor, NUNE, OCU, anyone out there, can decide if that princess can do things differently." A relaxed, joyful sigh, hand on her cheek for a moment.

"I, <span style='color:#FEF8AA;'>Mimika</span>, disagree with the oldest 'monogatari' in the world." Another giggle slipped out, the spotlights fading to green. The display of the moon glitching, fading into the camera views of the idol on stage.

And it begins.

-&#42;-

Song - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSfMxAKAq3U String Theocracy - Mili]


Dim lights. <span style='color:#FEF8AA;'>Mimika</span> on stage, swaying in stage as the displays flickered. Mirrors upon mirrors, barely any movement other than the side-to-side step of a girl shifting in the clearly voluminous kimono-wear.

        Op-en the curtains, lights on: Don't miss a moment of this experiment
        Oh, the book is strange: Like clockwork orange
        Keep your eyes buttered till the end

A theatrical wink, starting to move across the stage. Raising that sleeved arm high, waving in such a royal fashion. Down to stage left, turning around to stage right. 

        Which "You" are you going to be? Inside the mirror do you see...Someone else in that body?
        Dance for me. One and. Two and. Three and.
        Turn around,
        Sit like a doggy,
        Till I finish my read

An exaggerated twirl in place, measured as displays flicker. The moon phasing in, switching from a full moon slowly fading to waning, a crescent, and completely dark. 

        Cut it off, cut down your loss
        All that stubborn loyalty is gonna get you killed: In a world built on convenient theories
        For all the puppets on TV; There is comfort in the strings
        If you're gonna control me; At least make it interesting theatrically

The cameras zoom in. Pausing, taking a moment to adjust herself as she hums, breathing into the microphone. A silvery thread sticking out of the first layer of the kimono glinting in the lights.

        How does it feel to be free? Why don't you try it yourself?
        The gate opened on me.

Those lights, twinkling, glinting, spinning as <span style='color:#FEF8AA;'>Mimika's</span> dancing animates, pushing against the kimono, pushing against the figurative roots.        

        <span style='color:#E10000;'>So I leaped.</span> </span>

Tug.

        Down, down, and down I go; I tell myself I'm a tough girl
        <span style='color:#E161D0;'>(Down, down, and down I go)</span>
        I could never, ever, ever touch the soil
        My heart goes right. My head goes left.
        And end up on your bed.
        Huh-ah...

The thumb and finger pinch at that silvery thread. It tugs. Tugging in time with her movements, her shifting dance, the idol strutting across the stage. Tugging, wrenching, pulling.

        Sure, I'll be your marionette.
        Here, tug on my thread; Spread me open for dolly pink, snow white artificial beauty
        Maybe we're all cold machines; Stuffed in the human skin, with human sins, sewed up by the gods of city

One final ''tug'' and the kimono becomes undone, scrap by scrap, silver thread loosening, piece after piece of the kimono layers molting off of her. Every step, every movement allowing more of the royal kimono to wilt.

        Cut it off, you've already lost; All that precious bravery is gonna get you hurt, in a world that feeds on the minority
        May that self-centered belief lead you to peace
        If you're gonna replace me at least have the audacity to kill me thoroughly.

Layer after layer of those kimonos, black heels starting to shine under the spotlight. A loose blouse under everything, ankle-length, flowing skirt showing itself piece by piece, strands of silver gliding in the air as <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> continues unabated.

        When does it end for me?
        Hm-mm-mm, I think I am done with everything.
        Now I'm ready to leave.
        Drag-ging out.
        One line. Two lines, three lines, connect our hands, 
        When I no longer can live on knowledge alone

And the lights dim, keeping the colors faded as the tempo slows. Enough for the crown to glint, for the mask to be visible, those lips, the microphone, and nothing more.

        Hopeful curiosity.
        What's the color of the electric sheep you see?
        And if you love me, can you love your everything too, for <span style='color:#8B8000;'>me</span>?

-&#42;-

One moment. Two moments. Leaving the stage low-lighted, diffused lighting barely making out the leaner silhouette underneath.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>
        Back, to <span style='color:#005F5F;'>where she belongs</span>...

        Mimika begins singing, and Yuliana sways back and forth as she contains her urge to dance to the music, bouncing on her heels and snapping her fingers in time to the beat. The voluminous fabric at her waist bounces, too, for some reason. It must just be reactive to her movement!

        Of course the music speaks to her. How could it not? She is the Key and the Gate.

        So wrapped up in it is she that she doesn't notice when her arms, swaying with the music, are joined by her ''other'' limbs, tentacles untangling themselves from the fabric folds at her waist and bouncing back and forth in just the same way. She's having a great time, evidently.

        ... since the lights are dimmed, maybe no one will notice?


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shinji Ikari has posed.
<poem>
        Shinji grew up Japanese (as opposed to an Eleven), so he recognizes the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter when he hears it, even if no names are named. He glances at Kaworu when the tale gets to the part of the girl being from the Moon, but... Kaworu just watches the performance seemingly in peace, so Shinji does the same.
        
        ...Mimika seems to be really mad about it. It's startling to Shinji. But there's something to what she says. Nobody knows who wrote it, so anyone can change it, huh...
        
        The song itself is catchy, though. He quickly starts bobbing his head and tapping his fingers to his thigh to the beat. The lyrics don't really seem to match the upbeat tune, but maybe that's the point. Shinji's well-acquainted wth the theme.
        
        Kaworu shifts too, to move to one side of Shinji, without pulling his hands from his pockets or pulling his eyes off of Mimika's performance. Surely by coincidence, his new position blocks easy view from Shinji of someone dancing with an excess of limbs.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Asciel Colette has posed.
<poem>
        The passions in Leila's voice are frustrating to Asciel - they are, after all, the same flames that consumed herself. That determination to defy a fate written in stone for her by everyone else in the world.

        ...They frustrate Asciel, because she knows that they are unfathomably painful, and that a human shouldn't bear the kind of agony a &lt;goddess&gt; ought to endure.

        ...They frustrate Asciel, because of how she is frustrated, when some part of her desperately wants to feel some other way.

        And that little spiral only grows worse when the song begins! It speaks to her too - as someone who has fought against mirrors, as someone who has fought against strings, as a puppet given life by her fixation on love for someone else.

        ...Leila won't see it until she's done, but Asciel quickly texts her a simple message with one hand, clutching her chest with the other.

                &gt;&gt;&gt;The only things in my 'dreams' these days are harsh and violent, so you know.

        A flash of red catches Asciel's attention near the PA section, and her unmistakeably towering figure parts the crowds to drift towards Yuta - calling towards him a "So your freelancing's led to helping that girl out, huh~?" as clear as she can amidst the din.

        ...Out of the corner of her eye, Asciel swears she could see an anomaly. A movement of human limbs mismatched to the shape of a human. A strange cold feeling blows at the butterfly's wings - and she frantically scans the crowd...but can't catch the source of it. "...I'm losing -that- too huh...used to be I could monitor that kind of discrepancy tenfold...now I wonder if I'm just seeing things."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Chise Asukagawa has posed.
<poem>
Chise watches. She's usually more of a grungy rock girl kind of girl, but, the spectacle of the story, and maybe her own receptive audience has her listening closely. Her suitcase sits quietly, patiently appeased. And the song, and the dance have her watching closely. Listening intently. The kimono falls away and Chise listens and watches. Good foot work, some part of her processes.

But something does catch her eye, and she blinks down, and sees something she did not expect.

The small girl with the red-black gradient hair does not make the slightest attempt to hide her attention as she stares. "Whoa..."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuta Hibiki has posed.
<poem>
        It began for real. Yuta took in the reaction of the audience from the backstage cabin, trying to commit people's faces one by one. Of course, they had watched the choreography, and they designed the costume changing gimmick themself. Still, Leila was in the zone, and as far as Yuta, the freelancer, was concerned, that was good enough.

        Back to the crowd however, Yuta had their characteristic blue eyes squint - and they felt the urge to scream what in hell was that doing - as they noticed the extra appendages waving around. Should they call security? No, they are clearly not trying to cause a scene - if those two wanted to, they'd have done it already.

        Lights are down to intermission too, so as long as she can get her.... excess of limbs under control before the show continues, it's all good. Yuta will delay making contact as much as possible.

        On the matter of the show, however, being acquainted with it does not make Leila's concert no less impressive. Or relatable, to an extent. Even though they had suggested this theme themself it's how Leila put it together with her songs that was impressive.

        The never changing and never ending duo, Shiji and Kaworu don't seem to have noticed the high-profile pair - or it's more likely that they did, but they're taking the same wait and see approach as Yuta.... and in any case, something more important made the red-haired youngster click their tongue.

        In this case, it was their gaze getting caught with a certain idol off-stage that happened to stare straight back at them, even though Yuta had stayed way back in venue engineering area to stay out of sight. Of course Asciel would be here, the AI had already said that Leila had caught ''her'' attention, back then.

        Question understood, though they hoped security would stop the woman from coming all the way. "That it did." They answered to the question voiced in their direction. If they could read Asciel's lips, Yuta assumed she could too read theirs. "We've been acquainted at some other time, and seems she remembered my business card."
</poem>

 <Pose Tracker> Leila Misakiyama has posed.
<poem>
The spotlights fade back in moments later, the tattered threads of kimonos held together by silver thread laying separated around the stage. Enough for the girl in the middle to move about with considerable freedom, thankfully. There's always the sense of the idol watching the crowd, obscured by the mask. 

"Well? Anyone can disagree with a story, right?" 

BGM - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBG3iprQZGs fantasy_mysterious_HumanLove_synth - Shiro Sagisu]

The kimono's shrugged off at that declaration, the long, flowing robes cascading onto the floor, kicked away by slightly-raised black heels. With a shake of her hair to adjust herself, the idol couldn't help but giggle while adjusting the outfit underneath accordingly. A shirt marked with a single forget-me-not flower over the heart, the light metallic sheen of that artificial plant flickering in the stark spotlights. An ankle-length skirt that cascaded to the floor marked in dull red, muted silver lining at every hem before spilling out onto the fabric proper, webbing along the entire garment.

"Hmmmm...aaaaaah, anyone can disagree. Then, it's the next step in the process! Poor, poor, poor, poooor Princess Kaguya should do something different to prevent such a sad ending, right? If she realized what was happening, if she could stay with the people she loved, is that so bad? What crime is so severe? You look around, and doesn't it strike as odd? Cruel?" Another sweep of the arm, walking up and down the stage. Her lean figure highlighted by the spotlight, that flowing skirt glinting. A shake of the arms, black, pink, and metallic red bangles along her left arm. 

Another step. And another. Black heels confidently moving, the once-confined idol moving in animated motions. "What to do about it? She should say yes, right? Maybe she should settle down. Maybe she should stop dragging the Emperor around. Maybe this, maybe the other thing, here, there, there's so maaaaaany choices to make!" 

Spotlights twisting in place, a bluish tint fading into visibility. 

"She could have left then and there. She could have wandered the Earth. She could have done anything that couldn't end in Mount Fuji taking its name. So, so, sooooo many choices! Which one would people choose if they ''dared'' to think about it for a second?"

Images flicker along the displays. The world. Idyllic views, the glinting, towering buildings always in the distance. The Orbital Elevator. Mt Fuji with the PPE center. Novelle Tokyo's destruction left by Bullton. Famous photos of various disasters: Bloody Valentine. Axis. Tsutsujidai. 

"To be there, ''as'' Princess Kaguya...Hmmmm. Ah! I know!" A clap of her hands together, spinning in place before staring out towards the crowd. "Guess. Just one guess."

"...I would've made Princess Kaguya say no to going home. No matter the crime. Isn't it cruel? To forget? Even if you learn what you are, you can deal with it, right?" Fingers intertwined, gripping the microphone tightly. Even as the mask remains inanimate, the lips twist. "No one deserves to be forgotten. Good or bad. Is it bad to say no? Maybe. Iiiiiii've had to say no a few times~!" A twist into a giggle, taking breathing time to traverse the stage again.

She's watching. Observing. Looking over the people who came in, keeping an eye. Bury the uncertainty. Keep pushing. The skin's been pierced, and movement was the only option. "But to rip away ''love'' is unforgivable. Is it not? That shouldn't even be a question. Haaaah. I'd be so sad to learn of my fate like that! What good is it to be ordained as royalty if, in the end, you're destined to forget it all!?"

"No, I say! It's stupid! It's idiotic! People shouldn't be their fates, no matter what their stories have! Who's to say a story can't have an extra person!? To do something different!? To say no at such moments!? Hindsight is 20''20, foresight is 0''20, and even if the author were to pull himself out of his grave and complain, who'd stop me!?" Stepping forward, that crown tilting the slightest bit. A sheen of silver underneath.

"Aaaaah, but that isn't enough, is it? Sure, the Princess can say no. Sure, the Princess can say this, or that, or something else, or say it with malice. 'The Princess is a harlot, execute her! The Princess is a thie, de-hand her! I don't like the Princess, break her ''spirit''!' Princess Kaguya should say no, because I say she can, and I can make a story out of that alone!"

Silence hangs in the air, audible panting for a moment before sighing out. 

"Princess Kaguya is an idiot. She's so ''lucky'', isn't she? Being remembered like this, able to talk like this about her. Suuuuure, she doesn't exist, but does anyone make things out of thin air? I've tried. I haven't. So someone out there ''is'' Princess Kaguya. Someone long ago that we've forgotten." A shrug of malaise, the ambient light beginning to dim again.

"I, <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span>, say that Princess Kaguya existed as a normal person who existed. I hope they're better off than we all are."

-&#42;-

Song - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu8i-OyjLYk Between Two Worlds - Mili] 


Spotlights dance along the stage in pure, stark white. Circles shifting along the discarded fabrics, silver threads glinting along the floor as <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> moves to the center. The microphone cradled in her hands, as if offering a prayer to whatever above. The displays showcase a full moon once more; Stark night, black, with nothing around it.

        It's this time of the year
        A very so merry night we hold dear
        So many, so many regrets bring me to tears
        Not many, not many notice nor care

Walking in a circle, the foot making a show of stepping on a few pieces of the discarded kimono and pulling it along the ground. Again and again. Chaos made orderly, occasionally slipping the heel under the fabric to flip it over.

        Oh, my Saviour
        Oh, why does a common fire hold so much power?
        If only we could be forever naive and pure
        If only we could lead painless futures
        If only there could be a forgiving world

With the final piece in place, there's an exhale. A moment of reflection as displays switch: 45-degree angle views from below. The spotlights shifting from white to blue with a touch of red.

        Maybe, maybe that was when, I chose to stay fallen.
        Lights. A star. A voice.
        A twis-ted thought.
        A touch. A kiss.
        A distorted dream.

Her strides in the fabric-circle made by herself are measured. Every step authoritaive, making sure that her face was visible to the crowd. Fingers counting out the beat in suits of four, digits twitching individually, increasingly in-tune with the crescendo.

        Ripples. A well. A stone.
        A mul-ti-ply-ing de-sire.
        A fruit. A sin.
        A holy mother.
        I'm in-fect-ed, I'm in-fect-ed
        You have invaded and re-created me

One final stride before turning towards the center, stopping in place. All spotlights returning to white, focusing on her, the shadows splitting into three identical copies. Fingers animatedly dancing, using the microphone to showcase the parts. A body. Head. Toe. Cocoon.

        Stepped over my body, found a sunny spot, curled into a ball
        Spinning out the silk from my head to toe
        Inside the warm cocoon, I dreamt to be like you
        Though I know there's no undo,
        What do I have left to lose?

A pause. 

        Split. 
        A sky. An earth. I fell into a crack.
        A birth. An egg.
        A freshly opened membrane.
        A cell. A rot.
        A face returned to ashes.
        A wound. An art.
        A sentient canvas!

Hips swinging in twos, a hand held in front, following the timing of every word. Every accentuation bringing a digit down, a smile bright on her face even as the mask stares listlessly.

        Breaking, breaking, breaking the shell
        Breaking out, oh, break it now
        Show me how, show me how
        Listen up, my broken child
        <span style='color:#E161D0;'>Let's lament. Let's lament.</span>
        The life, the death, the good, the bad
        The never-ending curse we cast.
        Control, control, control, release
        Control, betray, control, let go
        Conceal, reveal, unreal, surreal
        Invoke, evoke, decode, reload
        <span style='color:#E161D0;'>Let's lament. Let's lament.</span>
        The past that only got to live in the incomplete holy land

That same hand sweeping wide, a similar wide stance as <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> animates; Enough for the skirt to tense up, past the ankle. And with one downward sweep, a stray silver thread is pinched. Tugging, up to the shoulder. Another thread on the blouse. Tugging.

        Celestial; We're astral; I'm reborn; Total liberation
        My tender skin; A vagitus song 
        I breathed, and screamed 
        From my new lungs!


-&#42;-

The spotlights brighten out, flooding the stage in white before fading back as <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> tugs at the threads. Those same lights shifting into low-light, dimming to near darkness, enough for the silver threads to glint in the air as pieces of another layer of fabric cascade down.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>
        "... a woman not quite human, who came from a distant planet, and then..."

        And then... what?

        What happened, then?

        "Your Princess Kaguya," Yuliana says, quietly, under her breath, as she looks up at the stage, "definitely did exist."

        But did she have a home to go back to?

        Where did the REA get their Orchid Cells, anyway...?

        A story with a hundred facets can reflect on every one.

        Catching Kaworu's eye, in the crowd, Yuliana flashes a 'V' for Victory his way, grinning catlike. She notices his boy, behind him, though, so she doesn't bustle over to say 'hi' -- she just winks, tapping her finger to her lips in a shushing motion, as if to communicate that she ''knows.''

        She's not going to spook Shinji, Kaworu, it's okay.

        She ''does'' hear a 'whoa', behind her in the crowd, as she sways with the music. She doesn't have the kind of unnatural gifts which would let her ''feel'' someone watching her, but her ''ears'' work very well. And that voice sounds young enough that -- well, of ''course'' she wants to turn and look, because there's a ''child'' in a ''bar'' and oughtn't ''someone'' look out for her?

        When she sees Chise staring at ''her,'' though, she laughs lightly -- the sound largely consumed by the music -- and waves to her. It's only ''then'' that she sees the fact that her ''tentacles'' are waving, too -- and her cheeks colour as she realises she forgot herself and took them out of hiding, and she graps one of them in brief alarm before she lifts her froofy waist decorations to tuck them back away. (Phew! Safe from Asciel's vague sense that she's missing something!)

        But that girl ''definitely'' saw her, so, of course, Yuliana casually wanders further back in the venue to get within conversational distance of her. 'Conversational distance', in a loud club like this, might well be close enough for Chise to notice her silence if she's ''sensitive'' to it. "The music is wonderful, isn't it?" She asks her, like any other human would, and her voice, at least, is warm. "Ah, but did I surprise you...? I just got a litle too into the rhythm... that's all. I'm not here to do any harm."

        She sighs, looking up at the stage as Mimika's voice becomes pounding and demanding. "This song is a great comfort, don't you think?" To the beloved of God... a canvas where a monstrous future is painted over humanity.

        Is it comforting?


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shinji Ikari has posed.
<poem>
        In between songs, Shinji catches sight of someone on the edge of the stage. A technician? He's not sure. They look familiar, though. He blinks at them, but while that sense of familiarity remains, he just doesn't know anyone who looks like that. (Two years is a long time--longer than he realizes. That's even without the dimness shrouding their features.) Mimika resumes her performance, and Shinji drops the thought to focus back in on her and her performance. She shrugs off her outmost layer with a giggle, describing how she would rewrite the story of Princess Kaguya--by just saying ''no''. No to going home and giving up everything she loves.
        
        Shinji can't quite smile at that one. He swore to never go back to Tokyo-3, but he went back anyway--to see Asuka, to see Rei. It wasn't a ''good'' time. But it was a necessary time. It's not really the same, though. To say no for love, to say yes for love--and how much do choices really matter if they lead you back to the same place?
        
        ...He's getting in his own head about it. It's just a concert. Who knows if this girl even means anything she says, or if she's just trying to be edgy. ...But he does kind of like what she's saying. Shinji glances at Kaworu; Kaworu catches his look and smiles.
        
        Someone out there ''is'' Kaguya, huh... Shinji gives his companion a small smile back, then gives in to the music.
        
        Kaworu, meanwhile, turns his smile from Shinji over to a knowing grin and a V-for-Victory in the crowd. His smile widens into a grin as he shuts his eyes briefly, then gives a knowing look to Yuliana's companion, then to her shushing gesture. He nods once, subtly. He knows that she knows, and she knows that he knows. They can both appreciate that, and their companions for this concert.
        
        The song itself is a completely different style from the last one--softer, more ethereal, soft and entrancing. At least, until the beat picks up into something more frenetic, then slowing, then speeding up again, like the breath of God. Spotlights follow the moon, cloth trails along the stage floor, and a masked face bared to the crowd.
        
        ''Let's lament.''
        
        This one's a more powerful performance, Shinji has to admit. The song is a completely different genre, and so he can't get caught up in a jaunty beat rather than the theatrics and the lyrics. The last song was catchy; this one is stirring. ...He can see why Kaworu wanted to attend.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Chise Asukagawa has posed.
<poem>
It's such a simple defiance, isn't it? The story isn't anyone's. It's yours.

Can a kaiju...be your friend...?

If she's intimidated by talking to strangers, she doesn't look it (but if she were, she wouldn't be here UNSUPERVISED (WHERE IS KOYOMI (koyomi is at home watching CNC crash videos; chise didn't tell him about this one))). Still, a woman with tentacles is weird. The next song is much different, much slower pace and then speeding up midway, but the relative difference makes it stand out, too.

Thus it is abundantly apparent immediately that Chise does not notice anything particular in Yuliana's vicinity. She sets up to sit on her suitcase instead of lean on it, because she's still the kind of small that can do that. "It's OK. I just didn't understand," she says, quietly. "...but I'm glad." That Yuliana isn't here to hurt anyone.

She looks up, to the stage. "I like it," she says. "I usually listen to stuff that's more heavy guitar. Band kinda stuff. But this is good. And she can sure put on a show..."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Asciel Colette has posed.
<poem>
        "You could call her something of a rival of mine~" Asciel says simply to Yuta, twisting around as "Mimika" continues the false adventures of Kaguya. ...It's so easy to get so -caught up- in Leila's little spiels, so easy for Asciel to see herself as a 'Kaguya' of sorts, bound to something faraway from the world, that she almost forgets...

        She -almost forgets...

        "Tch, she's GOOD at this stuff, to be sure. ...I can also tell she's putting a LOT into it, huh. ...That's where we differ, huh. ...I let the stage feel too much like home, and not enough like an arena I have to ~conquer. ...Of course she knows her audience enough to convey a story all of them connect to..."

        Her head cranes back to Yuta, blonde ponytail catchin on her shoulder. "...How much did you help her with? And say - aren't you a bit exhausted-looking yourself?"

        Rebirth, liberation, and breathing - at that last tone, Asciel can't help but suck in one of those habitual inhales herself. A shiver runs through her frame, from toe to tip. Her arms cross over herself. For some reason, donning this disguise as Lana makes Asciel feel extra...ephemeral. After all, after going through all that trouble to remake herself in an image of what she was so sure could save her - the idol she melted into on all those difficult days - now she has to be careful even looking like her in public?

        That flame of cyan, once more, feels like something she has to reach for. A distant salvation not yet complete. Would it ever be?

        In turn, her arm reaches towards Leila on the stage - Mimika's radiant pink serenity with each sung lyric.

        "You're looking for it up there too, aren't you? ...Tch. I should stop being so indecisive, and figure out if I drag you with me, or if I spare you the pain...after all..."

        "...from the very onset, you already had what I was trying to..."

        ...How fortunate that it's a concert too hectic to hear even that incomplete idea.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuta Hibiki has posed.
<poem>

        Yuta unfortunately had not much headway over the eldritch pair aside from keeping an eye on every corner - they had their own problems to now take care of. Still, extra appendages were gone, so maybe.... the woman had just actually, legitimately, got into it and nothing else? The red haired youngster knew from personal experience that even the most despicable villains had their days off.

        "Sorry, I'm sworn to confidentiality. Mimika's an important client, after all, so you could say I went the extra mile to ensure everything would be perfect." Truly, when Leila had said 'everything' when offering them a job, she really had meant everything. Yuta was a vested party in this pie, in one sense or another.

        Watching Asciel relate, sway, and be swayed by the timbre, tone, and lyrics, though, the exasperatedly tired Yuta couldn't help but frown. Too tired to completely keep the polite facade. "Fight it, then, Asciel. Go for it. Leila's putting it all on that stage, I'm putting it all on mine, and so are many other people in their own dramalogue."

        Though Yuta didn't complete their thought aloud. Every single moment, action, and experience was fodder for their future. Yuta must grow in order to exist, and Yuta must exist in order to grow. Usually, they'd have just stayed silent. The physical exhaustion was charging its due, even if their mind was sharp.

        "Though I wouldn't recommend doing anything on ''her'' stage." They added. "Not with your current mood, at least." Why though, Yuta didn't say, half of their attention still on the venue.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Leila Misakiyama has posed.
<poem>
There's an exaggerated shrug, a laugh deeper than before. Enjoyment, glee, envy, want, pride, the mixture of someone basking in the spotlight and adoring the time within it. The silver threads reach their ends, keeping that low-light as more fabric cascades off of her. A silence in the air before a giggle slips forth, one yellow spotlight harshly snapping on.

Certain people in the crowd. Certain people in the back, the front, the crowd of people who came in mingling exposed to another new thing. Another facet of the underground idol stage, another person who dared to bare at least some form of themselves to the world. Was this new? Was this old? She had no way of knowing, no way of confirming, and no way of doing anything but tossing herself into the tumultuous mire of the same.

There's no way to know the effect she's having on individuals. Only to read the tenor of the crowd with her eyes, the sense of human instinct, and not much else. A regular human placing herself at the stage above to be judged. So far, she'll dare to be optimistic, the sole spire in the morass of pessimism. 

A shorter skirt, daring to show off the bare leg to just above the knee. A sleeveless top with cascading, red-colored armsleeves flowing downwards, the fabric itself embossed with flowers. Forget-me-nots. Lilies. Chrysanthemums. The crown lightly tilted, light flickering off of it to show off the silvery undertones of the metal, below the first-glance gold. 

BGM - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dak9B2xfGx4 Busy Devils - Luck Ganriki]

"Aaaah, really, really really really really! Princess Kaguya is ''lucky''. People remember her. People fawn over her. People keep making things about her. The people at the border around her can't even be talked about. What happened to the parents? The suitors? The world beyond?" The lips twist in a sneer, a posture of distaste as she walks around, kicking the fabric on the floor to the side.

"''Poor'' Princess Kaguya. And the suitor who fell to his death for her? And the others that wasted time for her? And the Emperor, who's only crime was falling in love? Grief-stricken at being forgotten, and what do we know about him afterwards?" Another shrug as famous interpretations of those characters flick across the displays. "Nothing. At. All."

A glance at the clock, a smile tweaking onto her face. A singular nod to herself as she surveyed the crowd once more. "Mmmmh, but where do we go from there? It's not just them, right? Suitors have to come from somewhere. The foster parents came from somewhere. Aaaaaaaall these people changed by a singular woman's actions, and what can they say in their defense? Do they matter? Ahaha, of course not!"

"The unrepentant girl who warps and destroys just by being herself! The innocence of being punished for some crime we don't know, and ''how'' noble it is to head back up to the Moon and leave the destruction of her tyranny behind!" A nod, the feeling bursting from the soul. "Yes, isn't Princess Kaguya, selfless and pure, benevolent and kind, so famous as to have festivals and reinterpretations dedicated to her..."

"Isn't she ''evil''?" 

Her finger taps at the held microphone once. Twice. "Aaaaahhhhaaaaa, but that's not what matters, does it? It's only an interpretation. And yet, the characters on the precipices and beyond are trapped by that. ''She's'' the famous one. Compare it to her. No matter what the goal is. I can't stand that, personally. The people on the borders, those who've helped the big-shots and the ones on the ground, what ''are'' their roles?" 

A tilt of her head. "Are we destined to be forgotten? If someone learns they aren't the center of a story, or the remnants of that story, or even ''thought'' of...Ah, but that'd make everyone cruel by inaction, wouldn't it? Ahaha, it'd be the ''worst''. Ignorance is bliss, and sometimes, I'd ''love'' to be ignorant again." A pomupous brush of the chin. "So if the story won't be written from the outside, there's only one solution!"

"I, <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span>, will create my own story from the ground up!"

-&#42;-

An artificial language piping through the speakers, the spotlights thrumming with energy as they twist and weave along the stage. Psychedelic, intentionally dazzling, <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> standing in the middle of it all with an arm thrust outward, finger pointing to nowhere (or somewhere). A smile filled with so, so much emotion, mask blocking off the eyes of emotional tenor. 

        Showering Ciconia feathers everywhere; We were born and tossed into this world
        If a crystal clear sea awaits us all; Let us fly there right away

Red blue pink. Blue red white. Colors flashing.

        What kind of place would that be?; "Are the skies of hell blue too?"
        Even as you cry so, for you, I pray; With all the vitality I can spare
        Because our bonds connect us all

The displays flicker, a rapid slideshow of repeating pictures. Kaiju. Sourced from the depths of the internet, the towering figures in states of distress, of solace, of attacking an Ultra, of fighting a mobile suit, on and on and on.

        Amidst shadows of crumbling skyscrapers, I shoulder countless apostles
        We don't need to be saved!
        Gravity means nothing, for I am the indomitable "Gauntlet Knight", kicking these overcast skies aside
        Take these scorched souls, with the right hand of atonement,
                And let go!

The right hand raises up at the line, an open-wide hand reaching up, up, up to the projected moon, one that fades away as soon as those digits close. White feathers cascading out via that same projection. Her heel bounces to the beat, a simple display of the music, the passion pouring from the idol.

        Depluming Ciconia feathers everywhere, we were born and tossed into this world.
        Stage devices stand with broken strings, what manner of tragedy awaits us there?

The spotlights flash, dancing in place, the skirt flaring upwards as she animatedly bounds along the stage, pointing in various directions.

        Here in this "temporary paradise"; No gospels will ever arrive.
        "We all aren't just means for someone else's ends...!",
        Or so you cried...

Blue lights. Palm reaching towards the sky again. Hips sashaying to the beat, a stage, a room of her own creation.

        What kind of place would that be?
        Beyond the very depths of hell, no reason to survive for remains
        That's how it's supposed to be and yet, I see you smiling
        As these bonds connect to a trap

Projector: Off. Hints of yellow, of green, an intentional psychedelic display that glints off of the silver, the crown, the mask, and the idol. Another round, another explosion of emotion that comes from the lungs as she dares to face the crowd headon.

        Amidst the wild burst of colors
        No matter how much blood you may shed, you will never be tainted!
        Gravity means nothing, for I am the indomitable "Gauntlet Knight"
        Kicking these vast skies aside, take these frozen souls
With the left hand of redemption
        And let go!!

<span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika's</span> left hand raises high, a yellow spotlight following the clenched fist. Releasing on the downbeat, feathers popping out before they glitch, along with the displays. Pictures of kaiju. Pictures of war, distorted, color-angled, pixelated, spliced, an intentionally confusing morass of lights as she forges on.

        <span style='color:#1FFE17;'>15 7|-|15 4 |&#42;(_)|V15|-||\''|3|V7|=02 11\''1|V9?
        02 7|-|3 7\''\''1119|-|7(1051|V9 1|V 0|V (_)5?

        7|-|15 15|V'7 |-|(_)|\/|4|V,

        17 [)035|V'7 3\''3|V |-|4\''3 53|V713|V(3,
        7|-|323 15 |V0 \''\''47 70 235157 17.
        72(_)17 4 |\/|0|V5732.

        15 7|-|15 4 \/\/111 02 4 |\/|3553|V932?</span>

And she stops in place. Placing her everything on the line, even if incomprehensible.

        <span style='color:#1FFE17;'>411 15 \''\''17|-|1|V 9245|&#42;,

        3\''3|V X|V0\''\''13[)93, 3\''3|V |&#42;0\''\''32,
        1|V 07|-|32 \''\''02[)5, 3732|V41 |\''|3|\''|027...</span>

Both hands clasp together, belting into the mic. 

        Let us bring an end
        To this ever-repeating eternity...

Spotlights: Muted red. The projector switching to an overhead view of the stage, the final chorus belted out with passion, with vigour, hand outstretched and gesticulating.

        Amidst the erupting sea of ages, I am a set-up heretic
        I don't need any wings...

        Cowering in shame is ridiculous, for we are the indomitable "Gauntlet Knights"

        Kicking this cheap eternity aside,
        Take our scorched souls
        In both hands
        And let them 

A deep breath.

        <span style='color:#E161D0;'>Resonate...!</span>

-&#42;-

Releasing the entirety of her lungs into the word, holding herself still. The panting audible through the speakers, a stifled gulp as the hands shift down. Shaking her head, pointing out.

"And this is what I have to offer." Another deep breath, visibly clenching the microphone with strength, all that she could muster.

<span style='color:#E161D0;'>&quot;INSTANCE-&quot;</span>

<span style='color:#E10000;'>&quot;-REALIZATION!&quot;</span> A booming male voice, full of bass and no hint of tenor coming from the speakers.

The silver threads shimmer as the displays change: A singular cheap camera located in a warehouse, a single scrap of paper with words scribbled on, barely tinged into readable resolution for a few seconds. The words glow. The displays glow red, before the camera shuts off.

Outside, above, a rumble is heard. Soon, the news will begin to break: There's a kaiju there in the run-down industrial district of Nouvelle Tokyo. Immobile, unmoving, but where there was nothing before...There was something there now. 

It's a familiar, towering sight. A Kaiju like any other. Black King was there, immobile, locked in place with nothing else significant at first sight. 

And all the while, <span style='color:#E161D0;'>Mimika</span> is smiling.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>
        "Mm," Yuliana hums, nodding to Chise, even as she watches the stage. "I'm fond of punk-rock from the '80s and '90s -- you know, SNAFU ZAKU, MESSAIR, One Year Worn, CEREAL KILLER, Iron-Blooded Frenzy... well, they're more ska punk, I suppose." She ''does'' look old enough to be into old people music like that, but at least, as far as old music goes, it's ''kind'' of cool. "But this is quite nice, too. And it is a nice atmosphere, isn't it?"

        She's quiet, for a few moments -- finding a good place to talk, between the movements of the concert. "I... too, was a canvas," she says, still looking towards the stage. "God shaped me into a more pleasing form... to survive the ravages of this world. Normal people don't understand, so I keep it hidden away... but you have a little more insight, don't you?"

        She doesn't realise for a ''second'' how close she was to doom with Yuta thinking of calling security over her strangeness. She's just a little gal! Who would ever call security on her?!

        Looking up to the stage, as Mimika makes her declarations, Yuliana wonders: "So... do you have the strength to enforce your narrative on the world...?" Mimika's music grows incomprehensible, and...

        "Llia: ysh owll llph'ou-niysh'iat llo-t," Yuliana lilts, quietly, as if in response to those lyrics which make no sense at all. The words strain, slightly, at her human throat, no longer made for mortal tongues; even so, she sings them. "Llia:, u'iallia owll kolltia-sh llpou:ni, owll kh'ylltllia lloa llfh'ow'llysh'y-k... llia: Y oni, kh'ani:a th'ou ni:a. Y u-yll: sh'iath jow llfh'ia:..."

        (Here is our promised land. Here, where our gardens bloom, our children are flourishing... here I am, come to me. I will set you free...)

        "That voice is familiar... so I'm not the only one wearing another name, I suppose," she says, as Instance Realisation booms out over the crowd. She glances back down to Chise, with an amicable smile, and those eyes without pupils to speak of. "But her feelings... are more complicated than a conflict, don't you think?"

        She sighs, looking back to the stage.

        "I wonder if they'll listen... or just discount it all in favour of their preconceptions."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shinji Ikari has posed.
<poem>
        Another layer of clothing comes off of Mimika, and Shinji abruptly wonders if he's unwittingly come to attend a burlesque show. That can't be it, right?! There's no way Kaworu would be interested in something like that! ...But it ''would'' be just like him to come just to purely admire the aesthetic of someone's body, and he ''did'' say he wasn't sure if Shinji would like it...... What's he gotten himself into this time?! Ahhh, but he told Kaworu he wanted to be part of his life! Should he have thought this through more?!
        
        An intense blush rising up his face, Shinji ducks his head to start watching solely out of the corner of his eyes. I-it's fine as long as he's not ogling, right?! Right?!?
        
        Kaworu doesn't look away. As Shinji has thought, he can purely appreciate the aesthetic of a human body, but that isn't what's happening here. "Mimika" is baring not her body but her soul, and he listens to what she has to say. To leave behind the destruction one has wrought by going home, to be one who warps and destroys by their own nature, to exist as part of a story... to exist on the edges of that story and decide to seize the leading role to oneself... She has quite the ambition. And maybe a little too much dangerous knowledge. She's only human, after all--even if she might have aims beyond that.
        
        Just what has <span style='color:#CD0000;'>he</span> told her?
        
        At the other end of her song, bright hues flashing over the projection of the Moon as Mimika lets another's voice color her dance, seemingly nonsense words from both speakers and the audience, Kaworu and Shinji both learn. She projected it, really--quite literally. All those kaiju images were but a prelude for the real thing, brought into reality by an Instance Realization. Mimika's dance comes to a climax amidst computer language and distorted images of war, and she calls for it, and the camera shows it off. The rumble in the underground bar only makes it clear that it's not just an image this time. Shinji grew up in Japan. He knows when earthquakes are real.
        
        He gawks at the screen. He grabs hold of Kaworu's wrist as if it might save him--save both of them.
        
        "Kaworu-kun. We should leave," he whispers, really a rasp, as his knees shake. Once again, Shinji is forcibly reminded of just how small he is without Unit-01.
        
        Kaworu looks back at him. He turns his hand to clasp Shinji's. "All right," he murmurs back, his smile as reassuring and affable as ever despite the circumstances. "Let's leave."
        
        But there's still a few moments before that can actually happen.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

Elisa has been watching Yuliana interact with Chise, and watching the concert for herself.  She enjoys music, though some might not imagine that she does.  And she watches, as the next song comes.  As, finally, Mimika gives her truth to the world...

She glances at Kaworu and Shinji, and then looks back at Mimika.

"Perhaps," Elisa agrees with Yuliana from a distance, for of course she can hear her wife and pick her voice out from the crowd.

"What an excellent concert," she muses.

She will wait for Yuliana to finish her conversation.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Chise Asukagawa has posed.
<poem>
Huhhhh. "Oh," Chise says, slowly, because she knows those names Yuliana spoke. "They're not bad, yeah...Right now I'm mostly listening to uhm, Goldburn." A current band, not particularly bigtime. A little more grunge than anything, perhaps. Industrial? Chise tugs on the conspicuously unpaired arm cover on her left arm, self-conscious of revealing even this tiny truth.

But before that goes much further, her eyes dart up, the machine-like broken...howling? What is this? Her suitcase...jumps, under her. "Hey, no!" she suddenly belts down, and then plants a hand over her mouth for a second. That's all the time it takes for Yuliana to speak that foreign tongue in counter to Leila, and for the game to be revealed. Instance...

"Dom--" Chise breathes, expecting the next phrase. But that's not what comes next.

Chise watches the screens, worried, anxiety driving through her. The suitcase under her rocks, like a frustrated animal on the edge of rampage.

But Yuliana says something, and Chise blinks up at her, blue eyes clear and attentive. She looks back to the screens, to the silent kaiju looming above. Her lips purse.

She thinks of Gauma's ferocious glares.

"I don't know," she murmurs.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Leila Misakiyama has posed.
<poem>
It's expected. To be in Japan is to be home to earthquakes. To be familiar with the natural language not of the spoken word, but of how the earth 'speaks' on its own accord. An earthquake? No, and yes. One from an origin that was not the Earth exercising its own constant movement along the cosmos, inside and out. 

"Haaaaa...Aha. Ahahaha...!" A laugh full of joy, the catharic release of emotions, known or not to the crowd. "Ahahaaaaahhh...Mmmh, that's what I want to do." Two taps on the chin, kicking at the fabric strewn around the stage. Breaking that 'sacred' arena, spreading it out onto the rest of the stage, against the walls. Conscientious enough to not kick towards the crowd, if anything. "I don't want to be forgotten. That's the long, short, up, down, and every single side of it."

"Does anyone want to be left behind? I don't think so." She's brushing off the entire thing, the news starting to pop up in the corner, the rumbles of a metropolis facing the sudden blockage of a Thing That Should Not Be There. "Does anyone, in the end, ''want'' to not be remembered? No no no no, not even that. Even before being forgotten!" The inquisitive tone is obvious, strutting along the stage as her eyes flick to the clock. One more. One more...

"We shouldn't forget each other in the here and now. Not for the crime of existence, no matter how tiny our own role seems to be. ...Not even if there's nothing fated for a person at all." 

A heavy pause, <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span> gazing down at the floor for a moment. Too long for it to be an act, too short to stop the momentum building up inside her. "Mmmmh...Just because ''I'' did something doesn't mean anyone else can't do anything, right? That's the next step of it all."

"...Ahaha. It's not just me who has to grasp their own nonexistence. It's everyone~!"

"And I, <span style='color:#8B8000;'>Mimika</span>, will do my best to galvanize people towards that end, for good, for bad, or anything at all! Just don't take it laying down, okay!?"

-&#42;-

Song - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_o6i5DA_x4 UNION (TV Size) - Poppin' Party (Org: OxT)]


It starts without warning. The sole indicator of the spotlights all focusing on her best features, the perfect tuning of lights, color, and strength to bring out the girl with something inside her.

        Open your eyes!
        Our world is being invaded by something!

The absolute, bright optimism in that voice echoes out, her steps taking itself along the fabric, completely confident in her moments. The embossment of those fabrics ensuring a proper grip on the ground when stepped on, ensuring that Leila could traverse the whole stage without incident.

        On these fabricated-like days,
        Our S.O.S. signals are being sent rapidly,
        Knowing that there is something different,
        About the familiar sky...the usual scenery...the passing day.

Coming to the center of the stage, fingers interlocking in prayer, gazing upwards once more. The displays showcasing her from all sides, her body language radiating pure, unfiltered optimism. 

        What was the promise that day?
        What did you talk about in the classroom?
        As it is, that promise will end up disappearing!

A burst of energy. Every note belted out in full force, a girl dancing along the stage without fear of anything in the moment.

        Open your eyes, our world is being invaded by something!
        This is neither a training nor a rehearsal!
        The covered daily life, if you peel it off vigorously, the bell that signals the fight rings!
        Well then, for now, let's form an alliance for the time being!

        I came to save you from "boredom"!

-&#42;-

The fake princess that twisted a story into a farce, smiling with radiance. Ending that final word with a pose, arm held up in the air. Offering her assistance, demanding her own place in the world, asking and selfishly snatching in equal matters.

Moments pass, holding herself there.

The spotlights shut off, shrouding the stage in darkness. 

The softest shuffles of someone stepping off the stage.

The spotlights snap back on, an empty stage left as the remnants of her actions, fabric adorned in silver threads left on the ground as proof of her story in this moment.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuta Hibiki has posed.
<poem>
        Yuta felt a frown form on their face. Their displease was more than apparent at the unexpected expected situation. ".....I wish she had informed that she was going to call Black King, it doesn't match the moon motif I picked up at all, damn it."

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Shinji Ikari has posed.
<poem>
        Does anyone want to be forgotten or left behind? It's a philosophical question that Shinji has wholly and utterly rejected in the moment. Mimika is dangerous--maybe outright crazy. They've got to get out of here. He doesn't even stay for the last number of the night. Who would do that?? He will NOT listen to her song, thank you very much.
        
        Kaworu would have stayed. "Mimika" has more to say, and he's interested in hearing. Still, he came here knowing Shinji probably wouldn't like it. He accepts leaving early.
        
        As they hurry out, Kaworu turns a sidelong glance towards Chise--and the suitcase she has with her. It lingers for a heartbeat, and then he and Shinji move on.
        
        He doesn't look back towards Yuta. Yuta has the right to make their own choices.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Asciel Colette has posed.
<poem>
        So this was the denoument Leila sought. That was the difference between the ways Asciel and her would sing to etch their marks on fate.

        Where Asciel would carve her name into others' hearts - the arena she always fought - Leila sought something more direct. Her handprint pushed into the soil - her screams blazing across the landscape.

        After all, it's exactly what Leila said at the apex of her fervor. She didn't want to be forgotten. Yes - that natural human instinct.

        Pursuit of some part of her to be 'immortal'.

        "...We really couldn't be further opposites, could we, 'Mimika'? Why do we have to drink from the same chalice? What's so great about being remembered forever that humans agonize about it so much? ...I'd think it would feel like work left incomplete."

        ...After all, for Asciel, there was only one outcome she could accept. Only one outcome that let her take a single breath easily. They all had to forget. Their pasts - the idea of a future - the nature of artificial things - the circumstances of her creation. They all had to be forgotten.

        "Yeah. A world that remembers you forever sounds like hell to me. ...I still can't sever myself from some of those threads of the past, after all. But to the pastless you...~"

        Giving a courteous curtsy to Yuta, Asciel flashes them her warmest, brightest, saintliest smile. "If I were to go on stage, I'd need cards to play of my own. Why, at the moment, I don't have a single 'you' to call my own. I have absolutely no S.S.S.S. to speak of. Whether I have to be the one to clean up that mess or not, though, her spirit is something I can learn a lot from."

        "I guess that's the ridiculous definition of a 'friend' I have. An enemy that lets me stay in their circle, so that I can seize their cords for myself. Aaaaaa...if only it got a little bit easier, dear me~ Maybe you have a more sane definition, Yuta...how fortunate!"

        As the final fabric flutters to the floor, Asciel takes it as her cue to depart as well. She got what she came here for, after all.

</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>
        "Goldburn, huh? I think I've heard a few things from them... that band's just getting started, aren't they?" Yuliana smiles. "So they have a lot of potential."

        It's a manner of approval, anyway.

        She ''does'' notice how animated Chise's suitcase is, in the wake of those strange tongues. "It's all right," she assures -- Chise? "It's just a good greeting." Is that what it was...?

        And Yuliana smiles, when she hears her wife's voice. "Isn't she lovely?" She sighs, lovesick, to her unlikely companion. "... my wife." Is that who was talking to her from over there...?

        Her smile grows a touch more amused, hearing Leila's laughter -- and it grows more thoughtful, as she talks about ''nonexistence.'' "That empty kind of Void... have you seen it, too...?" Yuliana wonders, looking up at the stage. "Are you unable to feel Her...? Ah... it must be lonely. With no one to hold on to, you'd surely go mad..."

        Just as she did, before Elisa reminded her what was real.

        "Of course, we're not invaders," she muses, as she listens to the song. "... we came from Earth. This was our home..."

        She sighs, shaking her head, and smiles to Chise. "We're not welcome here any longer, but that doesn't mean I don't want to make things better. Well, it's complicated, don't you think? Even if people hate you, you can't forget that you were like them, once upon a time. You can't just forget where you came from... well, maybe some people end up lashing out, after that. It would be easy to put everything in a simple little box..."

        Yuliana looks back down at Chise's suitcase.

        "... but things have a habit of breaking out of little boxes," she -- warns? -- advises her. "When they don't fit in the lines." She doesn't ''know'' what's in the box, of course -- it may well just be a stray cat -- but to a thirteen year old girl, what's the difference between a monster and a stray, when sneaking it into her room?

        She sighs, and looks out, towards the exit.

        "Looks like that will be a problem soon... I'll come help, if I can. But it might be difficult... well, I'm sure you'll do your best. It was nice to meet someone kind to monsters... since I'm impressed, I'll let you in on a secret. I signed in with a fake name... actually, I'm Yuliana Kafim."

        She takes a step away, back towards the bar, and her wife, and lifts her hand in a loose wave as she goes.

        "Until later, yeah? See ya."

        They'd better get out of here before they get blamed for it.
</poem>

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 2]]
[[Category:Phase 2, Turn 1]]