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48°: An𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 Field of View
Shiki called it 'going out and seeing'. On those days when the wellspring of ideas has all but dried up, and the next design stage has stuck itself in the mud and refused to move forward, and Eri found herself gazing at the blank sketchbook—or worse, the half-filled one, uncertain doodles shadowed across the page—Shiki would clear her throat, bring one hand up to her mouth, and ask if they could adjourn for the day and go out and see. For Eri's own benefit, although Shiki would claim that she needed the inspiration, too: to go out into Shibuya, to look at the fashions that people sported, to reflect on the kinds of people who might browse their wares and why, to reflect on the kinds of people who wouldn't browse their wares and why, and to try to consider how they might make clothing comfortable for any many people as possible.
Whenever Shiki spoke of that—that she wanted people to feel comfortable in what they wore, to feel confident in how they carried themselves, to feel like they belonged in Shibuya, the city that had room for all types, from the ultra-fashionable like Eri to the one who made stuffed kitties like her—she said it with such fervour that Eri couldn't help but grab her pencil with fire in her eyes and—
—stare at the empty sketchbook.
Unable to even get down that first line.
That oh so important first line.
But Shiki had always had loftier goals than Eri. No, maybe not always. She had always had passion, motivation, drive, a kind of blaze that never went out so much as it let others get caught up in that flare. And, four years back, that blaze within Shiki had conflagrated into a fire so hot that everything had started moving at once.
In less than three years, somehow, Shiki had pushed the two of them farther forward than Eri could ever have expected. No longer a pair of schoolgirls ogling over notebooks of Eri's undeserving sketches and the gorgeous sewing Shiki seemingly pulled from thin air, the care into the details that Shiki filled in herself even if she humbly attributed all her success to Eri's half-baked design, the delicacy of the needlework she brought out with her sensitivity to the subtleties, the refusal to ever back down. No, Shiki had pulled them forward. On top of their high school classes, she'd grabbed the threads of her fate with both hands and struck her needle through them. Eri's head had whirled with the breakneck pace at which an entire blooming field of sample clothes sprouted from Shiki's hands overnight. And then the phone calls, and the interviews, and the signing of papers.
How Eri had stood there in board rooms, so thoroughly out of her element that she felt like a fish trying to pass off that it could totally breathe air without a problem, don't mind the gills, while Shiki had taken the world to task.
The fact that Shiki had managed to get into a corporate drone's face and tell him, her fingers folded into hands, why don't you back off?—
They'd opened up the 104 Gatto Nero store—at the 104 building of all places, that behemoth that had loomed like a divine goddess's tower in Eri's vision since the first time she ever stood in the darkness of its shadow—on Eri's eighteenth birthday. Every time she walked into its doorway, she still had to touch their designs on the shelves, fingering the fabric herself, before she could believe that she hadn't somehow fallen into a coma four years back and dreamed up all this paradise.
Something had happened, even if Shiki had reluctantly told her that she couldn't talk about it. Something that had made Shiki stand in front of the statue of Hachiko almost every day for three years straight. Something that had brought her wonderful fiancée to her out of nowhere a year ago after Eri had started to wonder whether this 'Sakuraba' boy had ever existed.
Something...but Eri wouldn't need to know what to trust her best friend.
If Eri could do anything to bring Shiki's dreams into reality, to breathe life into her hopes the way that Shiki breathed life into the basic ideas and simple designs that Eri brought her, she would.
Especially since every single article about them in every single journal still praised Eri as the genius designer, with Shiki a footnote of a seamstress and co-owner at best, designer of the Gatto Nero mascot but not the clothes. No matter how many times Eri had tried to explain it, that her designs would mean nothing without Shiki anyway.
This world that valued the idea of ideas and the concept of creativity more than it actually valued the skilled hands, the sharp eye, the motivation and diligence needed to see it through. Because most people could imagine making a design for the kinds of clothing they might wear. But imagining how it felt to actually sew it, to bring it together, to put in all those hours of effort, now that took more. So they relegated the seamstress to a footnote, most notable for having designed the idea of Gatto Nero's mascot. Shiki just laughed it off whenever she saw it; she didn't need the praise, she'd say, because she did all of those to see people happy in their own bodies. Yet Eri still read every article with her heart pounding so fast and hard in her chest and at her temples that she could vomit.
And so, now, Eri listened to Shiki's advice. If Shiki suggested for her to go and see, she would. To the corners of Shibuya she might not have gone herself.
To seek out inspirations for the autumnal designs. Shiki had assured her that they had plenty of time and, ultimately, nothing would happen if they just didn't have an autumnal collection.
But Eri couldn't disappoint her. Not those skilled hands that sought to work, or the sharp eye that sought to observe.
She couldn't let them lie idle for long, the fire unfed, the field fallow.
With a slight sigh, Eri walked onwards to the next outlet Shiki had mentioned. A little secondhand shop tucked away into the corner of Dogenzaka. She'd never even heard of this place—Dogenzaka hadn't struck her as the centre of fashion, not like 104 or the STREAM—until Shiki had brought it up. How had Shiki even heard of this place? It looked—and smelled—more like a Showa preservation museum than a secondhand store. Clothes from now-defunct brands like Mus/rattus, lapin angélique, and H¡P Snake crowded the shelves. Other mismatched outfits had no associated brands that she could tell at all. And the shop sold much, much more than clothes. Weird lozenges that had surely passed their expiration date, novelty snowglobes, bizarre bits and bobs of electronics that seemed to have walked right out of a science-fiction movie from the 1960s.
At least this solved the mystery of where Shiki had gotten that four-coloured recycled denim skirt. Maybe her fiancée—a kind man, if somewhat distant—had taken her here once.
Few people browsed the wares here, mostly older folks. The clerk seemed half-asleep, more interested in insulting the handful of young people who entered than actually selling anything here.
What inspiration would she find staring at a bygone era? None of this appeared fashionable in the now.
Well, vintage styles were chic and retro was in. Maybe she could find something in that. But: denim? Trench coats? Bandannas? She went quiet. Still, she owed it to herself and Shiki to at least finish walking around. As she turned into the next aisle, she found herself gazing at a familiar-looking customer, one of the few other patrons she'd seen in the quiet shop. A young bespectacled girl with bright green ribbons in her hair, a teeny-tiny garagara bag at her hip, and a backpack plastered with pins displaying some fictional man's smirking face, likely no more than fifteen years of age if that, who inspected one of the hand-me-down lapin angélique dresses. Where had Eri seen her before? Not too much about her stood out save for that backpack. Not that she hadn't spotted merchandise-drowned bags around Shibuya, having passed by more than ever just in this morning's walk, but this particular fictional character...
She gasped in recognition. "You're Shoka's friend, aren't you?"
The girl stiffened. When she turned her face towards Eri, her brow looked so pale that Eri could make out the blue veins running underneath. "L-lady—"
"Please, just call me Eri."
"—Eri," the girl stammered, clutching onto the strap of her backpack as though holding on for dear life. "Well met. What brings you to such a humble establishment at this hour?"
Eri smiled. "I could say the same for you. It's not even noon yet, is it? Shouldn't you be in class? Don't worry." She winked. "I'm not telling." Right, she had seen this girl at the holiday celebration Shiki and her fiancée had thrown for the New Year. Shoka's friend, who had spent most of the evening playing that children's pin game. What was it called? Beybadge? Eri had come away with the impression of an awkward if considerate otaku who had made an entire litany of unfortunate sounds in the presence of Sakuraba's unexpected friend. The post-modern artist with the loud voice. No matter how curious his behaviour had been, Eri could admire his efforts and passions at making something, even if she herself didn't understand it. The motivation and the tenacity that she lacked: she would never put down someone who actually created.
"Pardon?" The girl had an uncomfortable expression on her face that Eri couldn't quite place. "On Wednesday, my only lecture concludes at ten in the morning."
"Lecture?"
"Your puzzlement is understandable. Allow me to elucidate: I speak of my college lectures." Eri's eyes widened, and the girl's lip curled into a condescending visage. "Perchance you have mistaken me for a youth. I mark the twenty-first anniversary of my arrival to this world this year."
Eri sensed the slight warmth to her cheeks from embarrassment. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Be not afraid. My mental defences are quite fortitudinous." The girl pushed her glasses up on her nose. The flare over the lenses momentarily blocked Eri's view of her eyes. "Lady Eri, I mean no alarm myself, but what has brought you into this most cosmic of corners?"
"You really don't have to call me that. Just Eri is fine. We're all friends here." And this girl—this woman, rather, was Eri's senior by two years, of all things. "And...I'm so sorry for saying this, but could you remind me of your name? I think we've only met once before. There were an awful lot of new faces at that party."
"Of course." The woman bowed her head. "Usui Nagi, first of her name, known more popularly online as the elusive Lady Tomonami...though less so as of late. Please, feel free to refer to me as Nagi. One such as I requests no formalities, especially not from a storied creator such as yourself."
The smile she wore grew increasingly tight at the corners. "You don't need to flatter me like that. Shiki and I do all the work together."
Nagi gripped her spectacles between her thumb and forefinger. Did this place just have terrible lighting? Eri couldn't make out her eyes at all past the constant flashing. "I speak candidly although, truthfully, I can only offer effusive rather than precise praise, as my skill points in armour appraisal are rather lacking."
"Um..."
"However, I had yet to mention the illustrious Lady Misaki or her own brilliance in production—" Wincing suddenly, Nagi made the most bizarre noise under her breath that sounded more like a car engine misfiring than anything Eri would have expected a human tongue to produce. She glanced at her hand with a grimace that scrunched up all her features. "My apologies. I had injured myself previously and, foolishly, pressed once more precisely on the injuries. Would that my OHKOs had such dead-eye accuracy."
"Are you okay?" Eri reached into the green purse over her shoulder. "I don't have too much on me, but I think I've got some bandages..."
Nagi lifted her hand. A bright green bandage adorned with a tiny chibi character wielding a sword peeked out from under her...fingerless glove. Eri mentally counted to ten. She would not judge anyone's fashion; she would not judge anyone's fashion. "No need. 'Tis merely a flesh wound. You needn't concern yourself with my suffering." She paused. "Ah, I mean that most sincerely and not in some manner of backwards passive-aggression."
"What...happened?" Eri hesitated. "I don't want to poke my nose into your business."
"With the injury, you inquire? Gnunununu...as a cursed member of His Radiance Lord Tomonami's wretched flock, I undertake the gauntlet twice yearly to prepare all manner of equipment for my more vivacious comrades." Nagi motioned to the bandaged wound along her forefinger. Eri struggled not to raise her eyebrows unnecessarily at whatever Nagi was trying to tell her. "Owing to my likewise low dexterity stat, I oftentimes hurt myself in my confusion, as it were, and thus must bear the burdens of my ambitions. Alas, woe, for such flesh wounds do not heal so easily, no matter the application of even Omniheal."
Omniheal? Did that refer to the bandage? Some kind of antibacterial ointment, maybe? "That sounds...difficult to deal with. I'm sorry to hear that. So you got this wound while trying to...sorry, what was it?"
"Undertake the gauntlet? Allow me to simplify. In layman's terms, I cut, sculpt, paint, and otherwise process various materials—I primarily work in ethylene-vinyl acetate foam but have also worked in other media as requested by my patron—to produce a wide variety of self-made merchandise and cosplay accessories. For instance, in addition to my current collection inclusive of every canonical or otherwise official Tomonami pin in the history of EleStra—"
"EleStra? Oh, that's right, that mobile game? Rhyme told me that it plays something like chess."
Nagi suddenly began flapping her hands with such enthusiasm that Eri flinched back at the abruptness of the movement. "Indeed! Although I would never besmirch the complexities and depth of its rigorous gameplay mechanics to something as paltry and turn-dependent as—" Her nose wrinkled. "—mere chess. But, oh? Lady Rhyme has expressed interest? Heh heh heh." Her expression segued into something close to predatory, and Eri found herself blinking at the narrowed eyes, knowing smirk, and downwards-arched brows. "Another sacrifice at His Lordship's altar awaits."
Eri cleared her throat. Best not to antagonise Shiki's extended friends, not with her having tried so much over the past year to serve as the Wicked Twisters' collective older sister, or something like it. Especially for Shoka and Rindo, who had become somewhat regulars at Gatto Nero to occasionally help model clothing or provide insight. "I hadn't meant to interrupt your story. So you, um, make things? Cosplay?"
"Precisely. You may see my work not only in these pins—" Spinning around on her heel, Nagi assumed some kind of position that, presumably, meant to give Eri a better look at the pins on her backpack, but which really just put Nagi into a more compromising position than Eri felt comfortable with. "—but likewise in the accessories that I fashion, from blades to helms."
As Eri stepped forward to shield Nagi from others' view just in case, she did take a moment to examine the pins. She couldn't say that she found herself much inclined to stare at this fictional man's smirk for too long; the pins' smug aura seemed to almost mock her, quite unpleasant to look at, especially in such repetitiveness. But where the multiple copies of rows upon rows of the same pin ended, Eri could see where Nagi's own self-made pins began, each of the images different, in a diverse variety of art styles with various filters. Unless Eri stood before some kind of artistic genius who could emulate dozens of art styles including the same artstyle as on the official pins, she presumed that Nagi had not actually drawn any of these. But the pins themselves seemed of good quality, barely distinguishable from the manufactured ones.
Nagi had quite clearly spent significant time and effort on these. Shiki mostly handled the pins for Gatto Nero, but she had shared much of the process with Eri. Even if Eri couldn't quite make out the level of detail that Shiki had taught her about, she could see the smoothness of the varnish, the cleanliness of the polish.
"Oh...I can see why Shiki thinks well of you."
Her head perked up. "Lady Misaki does?"
Eri laughed into her hand. She couldn't remember if she'd picked up that habit from Shiki, or if Shiki had picked up that habit from her, or both. "You're very motivated and creative. You do both the design stage and the making stage yourself. And looking at the sheer number of these pins, you seem very hardworking."
"You mustn't praise me so ebulliently," Nagi responded, though she sounded rather self-satisfied. "'Tis hardly much design if I base most accessories off of existing models or official artworks. Although..." All of her features contorted at once, as if Eri had squirted a whole lemon directly into her eyes, and Eri fought the urge to apologise for something that she hadn't even done. "...the models all too frequently suffer a paucity of high-quality texture, or the official artworks obscure vital aspects of the armour and-slash-or weaponry beneath various particle effects or illustrative paraphernalia! And there, one must extrapolate to the best of one's abilities in the requisite style and data, always fearful of what minute details one may add which the designers had never intended or where the official EleStra style would repudiate the alterations made necessary by omission and equivocation from the official materials!"
Her hands flapped even more flailingly in front of her as her voice grew hitched and shrill. Eri glanced left and right. She made the most awkward eye contact of her life with the clerk at the counter, who rolled his eyes and shrugged, showing her some kind of hand gesture she couldn't understand. A moment? Wait a moment?
"How could I taint the holy text with my degenerate assumptions!" Her words poured more and more quickly out of her mouth, to a degree that Eri could barely differentiate one from the next, though hardly for lack of trying. "Such flawless design that I cannot outright copy but must translate into the third dimension rather than the beauty of the fictional two dimensions upon which the sprites and artworks reside? How can I even hope to presume what lies on the dark side of the moon, much less what lies on the side of the weapons never shown in the sprites? At minimum, the more popular characters are exalted in three-dimensional figures of dubious canonicity which provide some details in of themselves, but for the vast sea of EleStra's constellations which exist ever-caught in the heavens above without such ability to examine, the fickle hand of fate forces a frenzied and perhaps false forecast! Mwwhwhwhwwee...!"
"Nagi," Eri tried in a gentle voice, the tone she might use to calm a dog, "are you okay?"
Nagi's chest heaved as she gripped onto the backpack straps with such force that Eri could hear the straps audibly straining. For a few moments she just panted, while Eri watched her uncertainly. The entire situation—Nagi's behaviour included—had baffled her so thoroughly that Eri elected to just wait and see what would happen, to offer comfort and empathy if Nagi needed it. "Milady, I would wish to ask something of you, if you would pardon the inquisition. I know that no one expects the Nagi inquisition."
"The Nagi inquisition?" Eri's brow furrowed.
"'Tis a turn of phrase. Would you mind answering some inquiries from myself, in the attempted name of comprehending the designer's mindset?" Nagi adjusted her glasses.
It astounded her, really, how Nagi had managed to go from nearly having some kind of mental breakdown to calmly asking to interview her in the space of a few minutes. "I don't mind answering your questions. Do you want to talk about it..." She looked about at the musty clothes on the shelves. "...here or somewhere else?"
"We may reconvene at your convenience elsewhere if you prefer; however, I have no reservations against proceeding within these walls." Nagi leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The gainsmerchant whom you see before you is a being of considerable taste, with an affection for alligators." Eri glanced at the clerk, who appeared about to fall asleep on the register, a plastic stylus of some kind in the crook of his fingers, maybe in lieu of a cigarette. "I implicitly trust his judgment on many aspects, including the relative security of his outpost."
"That's not exactly what I..." Her voice trailed off.
Nagi frowned. "Lady Eri, please correct my perceptions if I have assumed incorrectly, but I understand that you have some discomfort understanding how to behave around me, perchance?" Before Eri could even process that and begin to apologise, Nagi went on: "I do not say this because you have made your discomfort evident. You needn't concern yourself on that. You would find it quite challenging to offend or harm me. At ease, milady. You perform a favour of which I am hardly worthy by responding to my questions. Thus, if you wish to go elsewhere, or else to not respond to my inquiries at all, I shall neither pry nor dive into your thoughts."
"Oh, um." Eri smiled nervously. "Shoka has told me that you're very good at talking to people."
Her glasses once again obscured her vision, her expression sharp and cocky in a way that Eri couldn't find relevant. "I see..."
"What did you want to ask?"
"From the perspective of a designer," Nagi remarked, "how do you feel of the production that brings your imaginative two-dimensional dreams into the three-dimensional realm?"
"Um..."
"That is to say, how do you consider the producer, they who utilise you as their muse, as the wellspring of their ideas?"
The wellspring. If Eri hadn't known any better, she might well have wondered whether Nagi had read her thoughts. "I think that Shiki and I are different from you making pins. I can give Shiki feedback on her designs when she makes them. I've never had the sharp eye to notice the detail. But Shiki never slacks. My feedback as a designer has more to do with adjusting my original ideas. 'Oh, I thought that that would work. But it doesn't look as good in real life. Let's try this.' Does that make sense?"
Nagi bobbed her head. "Fascinating." She touched her lens frames again only to wince. "Please, continue."
"But I understand what you're asking. I find seamstresses—I should say, people who bring designs to life in general—" What had she called them? Producers? "—amazing. I've mostly worked with Shiki, so I don't know if this is something that Shiki does. Or something that all people who bring designs to life do. But...really, designers, we're ideas people. Our input is only as good as our ideas. Someone who can make designs come to life...can do everything by themself if they need to. But someone who just has ideas?" Eri ran her hand musingly over the lapin angélique dress Nagi had inspected earlier, the silk soft against the creases of her palm. "People like to talk about ideas. But the real amazing thing...are the people who bring them to life."
"I see..."
She could sense the high quality of the thread count, of the fine weave. "It's amazing to have skill with your hands. Shiki's so deft with her fingers! Watching her sew something is like magic before your eyes. It just...comes together! It's really helped me to be a better designer too! Getting to see how those details in my head actually look."
Nagi appeared to regard her bandaged hand. "Fascinating."
"And...her eye for details. Always picking up my slack. Thinking about the things that I didn't. I mean, any creation-kind-of-person's eye for details. You know, I find it funny. You were just saying, I think, that it's a bad thing that you have to fill in the details, or that the designer wouldn't like that. I don't know who does the EleStra designs. Every designer has their own thoughts on this. But for me, it makes me smile to see what you would figure out! How you fill in the details and make the designs yours. The designs are my babies, but when I turn them over, they've left the nest."
"Mmhm..."
"But, again, other designers probably think differently. Some might not want any changes to their designs. Seeing Shiki put her own spin on my designs is part of the fun, for me. If I saw you making my clothing designs...it'd be weird, since I've only really had Shiki do it! But if I saw you making my clothing designs, I look at how you filled in the details. How you made it...Nagi-like. Although, I would ask you not to put your, um, fictional crush's face on those."
With an abrupt snort that segued into a surprisingly pig-like laugh, Nagi shook her head. "Nevermore would I do so." She gestured towards her shirt, which had sᴜᴘᴇʀɪᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɪsᴇ written down the front. "I shan't stain His Radiance by wearing his visage upon any mere clothing...and I do have a being and personality outside of my adoration for His Lordship. Thereby I maintain an adequate separation between myself and my admiration of him from afar."
Eri blinked. Had Nagi just implied that she wouldn't put her fictional crush's face onto Eri's clothes...because Eri's clothes would 'stain' her fictional crush? An insult? A statement of delusion?
"'Tis not to devalue your designwork." Nagi bowed at the waist. "I acknowledge that you would not find the addition of detail and extrapolation of minutiae obtrusive to or besmirching upon your work. What other thoughts have you on the topic of producers?"
"What other thoughts? The skill that you all have...the eye for details...the ability to take something just in my head and turn it into something beautiful for the entire world to see..."
Nagi said nothing, eyeing her how Eri imagined a vulture might eye a deer on the cusp of passing out from blood loss. But despite the questionable circumstances of her conversational partner's facial features, Eri tried to gaze past that. Tried to, because that flashing of her lenses again blocked the windows to the soul. Yet Nagi, in her own strange way, seemed poised to listen, so Eri continued.
Lacing her fingers together in front of her, Eri rested her hands on the lapin angélique dress. "You called me a muse, right? I have to look for muses elsewhere. Figuring out where to get inspiration sounds like what the ideas person should do, isn't it? Something so simple. But I struggle with it. You can say that you're only taking someone else's design and adding to it. But really, you're doing your own design, too! Those details? Design. Thinking of how it would work in three dimensions? Design! All the little parts you add that make it yours? Design, design, design. And you work so hard at it, too. Even when things gets rough, or I feel like I want to give in, Shiki is there to push us forward. The few times that I see her struggling with something..."
Nagi tilted her head. For a few moments Eri strained to tread water in the awkward silence. Then Nagi's lips moved: "What feelings course through you, when you see her struggling?"
"...guilt." Eri gasped into her palm. "Oh, gosh, I didn't mean to suddenly dump that on you!"
"Please, proceed."
Eri shook her head. "I'm sorry, but...it's not my story to tell."
"Understandable." Nagi lapsed back into silence. The silken dress bore a far too gossamer touch beneath Eri's hands.
"...once, when I tried to cheer her up, I really hurt her feelings instead. That's the simple version of it. After that, I've been careful about cheering her up. Sometimes she struggles alone. And I don't know what to do for her in those times. But, it really amazes me how hard she works. How motivated she is.
"What other qualities?" Nagi gazed incredibly intensely at Eri's face, as though attempting to draw Eri's spirit out along with her words. It occurred to Eri that Nagi didn't exactly gaze into her eyes, but seemingly at a point on her brow. Did she have something there?
"What other qualities of people who breathe life into designs? I don't know. Um, wait, that sounds worse than I meant it."
Nagi raised her hand. "Nary a word. Nothing 'sounds bad' save for readings in bad faith. Thank you for fielding my questions. It heartens my will and strengthens my spirit to hear that, whilst you cannot speak for all designers, the very work that I accomplish in the process of translating their work into our mortal realm does not necessarily symbolise a desecration 'pon its true nature. Therefore, from the very wretched depths of my heart, I thank you for all that you are and do, as well as for satiating my wanton curiosity."
"Sure! Any time, Nagi. Well, I haven't seen you much. But we'll probably be seeing other at Shiki and Neku's right?" Eri checked the time on her phone. "I'll need
"A moment's breath, if you would. If I may, I would like to share my thoughts on designers: on composers of the work that we producers produce." Nagi ran one hand down the script of her shirt dress. Eri still had no clue what sᴜᴘᴇʀɪᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɪsᴇ could possibly mean. "If you wish to abscond, I shan't intercept."
"Well, you've listened to me ramble for a while. If you want to talk to me, you can! I'm all ears."
"Very well."
Nagi suddenly hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhed in one of the longest breaths Eri had ever heard. Eri flinched back, preparing to either have her eardrums blown skyhigh or for her to have to text Shiki that she would be occupied being serenaded to until their usual convening time the following morning.
"You spoke of many positive traits, namely the dextrous skill, the attention to details, and the hardworking motivation. Yet not all producers have such skills. I myself lack any manner of skill: as you can see—" She wiggled her fingers. "—my absolute lack of coordination yields many injuries to my person in pursuit of offerings to His Radiance and reinforcements to equip my comrades. Injuries that I undertake myself. Please, say naught implying that I somehow inspire you through the gathering of such wounds. Would that I could more safely conduct my passions. I beg of thee, hark: take no inspiration from the fact that I push through injuries to complete my tasks. 'Tis nothing worthy of admiration."
Eri stared at her. "I...I get you. It's not good to end up hurt."
"Nor do I have anything resembling a discerning eye, for I iterate upon my works over and over again, trial-and-erroring and constantly requesting feedback in efforts to make props and pins of verifiable quality. Oftentimes my initial thoughts, attempting to pattern the three-dimensional representation as symmetrically as possible, yields nothing of aesthetic value once my fellow EleStraniacs have examined my work, and their invaluable advice as composers improves the artistic value of that which I craft. For my own eyes lie quite dully in my head, far from sharp."
Probably she would end up sending that text. But, too, she would hear Nagi out.
"I would call myself tenacious to some degree, but only in the sense that I shall continue to bash my skull 'pon the wall in due diligence until I have produced the thread I seek, no matter if it takes me but one trial or one million. Yet I likewise crumple akin to a first-tier wind divinity beneath the might of a fully upgraded Tomonami/Aspect of Ifrit wielding the very Chaotic Conflagration Claws—" What words were coming out of Nagi's mouth? "—when faced with a quest for which I have not prepared. Perchance, out of the three virtues you listed, I could mayhaps espouse that of diligence, because indeed I can solely wield diligence to strive despite my lack of talent with my shaking hands or my nearsighted eyes."
"I didn't mean to imply..."
"Nay, not at all. I harbour no concerns about the possible implications of your words. Rather, quite the opposite, for I wish for you to understand in turn that, whilst I shall now espouse some general virtues,I do not mean to suggest anything negative of you should you fail to embody some of these virtues yourself. One of the greatest wonders of humanity is the duality of virtues and vices, for our bodies surely are built for sin, and we revel and delight in our selfishness and selflessness at once."
Eri found her hand touching the puzzle-piece necklace she wore. "I don't think I followed that."
"'Tis more so relevant to myself as reminder, that I may enjoy my selfishness as well. Now, I have aggro'd enough mobs and may now turn my attentions to the very boss of this raid!"
Nagi pointed towards the ceiling. Eri glanced up but saw nothing except for the overhanging growths of various fuzzy dice and rugs haphazardly arranged. Wait, did a carpet run over the entire ceiling?
"For me, designers—composers—and their ilk perform something truly and deeply awe-inspiring, as awesome as gazing at the whipping winds within the eye of the maelstrom itself. For you compose something that inspires us in the first place. Yes, of course, you, too, bear inspiration, sometimes even from ourselves, in an ouroboros of one muse begetting another. Yet you have so much more than merely ideas. You say that producers breathe life into the work, and understandably so. But from whence does this breath of life emerge?
"'Tis from the inspiration. That very word: to inspire. As two halves of a whole, our muses—the composers—inspire in the very breath of life. We producers may expire it out into the work, but never would be do so without the initial inspiration that filled our lungs with that life-giving air.
"For the right idea—the right prompt, perchance, or the right set of circumstances—can inspire art many times more wonderful than the composer might expect from having thought of the idea alone.
"In the same way that a crystal forms around an initial seed, or pearl around a bit of grit, the most beautiful of works would not exist without that idea. Likewise, though to you it appears like magic that we sculpt these facets in three dimensions, to us it appears like magic that you have the suggestions which prompt such sculpting in the first place.
"Furthermore, once we have the initial prompt, of course we might appear tenacious, for we have grasped the inspiration that you have given us and run forward as if having activated Lord Jonosuida -Drumbeat-'s Fleet-feet of the Monkey! With the full speed of the wind at our backs, we fly with such swiftness that it strikes you silent in awe, yet you do not even see that you breathe out the very wind upon which soar in the first place!
"And, beyond the immeasurable value of the inspiration your designs provide, you offer feedback.
"In your case, perchance directly to Lady Misaki. In mine, less so of the sacred text's holy prophets—" Eri blinked slowly. Was she still talking about that mobile game? "—but more so my comrades who commission such pins and props from myself. When I return to them the initial impressions that their muses hath wrought in me, they speak earnestly of where I have erred and where I have forgiven, that I might rend something truly divine. When they tear my work limb from limb and chew it within their unhinged maws, I thank them profusely for allowing me to hone that which I create. I adore that process of feedback. And I cannot speak for Lady Misaki, I beseech you to inquire for her to opine as well. The results may, like Tomonami/Aspect of Ramuh, shock you."
"That does sound like a good idea..." Eri said. To her surprise the words emerged sincerely.
Nagi pointed her forefinger towards Eri's collarbone, towards the puzzle-piece necklace. "And where your points of view converge, you may find yourself forming even a multiplicative function! For at least some—such as myself—derive much joy and pleasure precisely from the creation of such wonders from the designs and inspirations of others. 'Tis not simply a relationship of necessity, but a relationship of mutual benefit and mutual gain. Mayhaps we could simply create our own works if we so chose. But we could also do something marvellous: to collaborate with another, to make something mutually adored, to bring to life and reality the fantasies of another. And I find the reward in that, to breathe in the inspiration from my muse, and to breathe out their dreams into the living world, nearly more rewarding than even longed-for drops of rubell ore!"
"I..."
"Thus, I can do nothing but thank you for your role as a composer. Perchance not to myself, but to the producers inspired by your work. Lady Misaki most readily, but also all those others inspired by your work and by hers. Such as the friend whom I am meeting shortly here, in search of fabrics to attempt a craft."
Eri folded her fingers around the necklace. "Nagi, do you really think all of that?"
Her forehead creased. "Whatever do you mean? What would I gain from equivocations or falsehoods?"
"No, I..."
For all of Nagi's eccentric expressions, and all of her bizarre behaviours, and all of her peculiar personality traits that gave Eri a sense of unease about her, the words that she had said.
"...just never really thought about it. I've thought about how amazing Shiki was all this time. I don't think I was jealous or anything...I don't think I am jealous. But..." Eri frowned.
"Feeling inappropriately like a burden, perchance?" Nagi's forefinger coiled around her chin in such snake-like fashion that Eri couldn't really look straight on at her. "When, in fact, you are the very opposite: a chosen and wanted part of the creative process. Not needed, per se, which makes the choice to create alongside you all the more meaningful and significant, for it stems from free will and not from requisite actions."
When Eri opened her tongue, she could hardly move her tongue. "I think...something like that."
"Naturally, should you fail to believe me—a very reasonable gesture, mind you, given that you scarcely know me—you need but speak to your very own producer. Lady Misaki shan't lie to you. Of this I speak with such sureness that I would bet even my most precious autographed ~Lamplight~ EleStra Fanbook vol. 15!" Her face paled. "Gwwarwiee...mayhaps not a treasure that precious."
Eri found herself laughing into the back of her hand again. An odd one, yes, but an odd one who clearly cared for those around her. As considerate and conscientious as Shiki, in her own eccentric way. "But you're right. I should talk to Shiki about this, too. I've been afraid of hurting her feelings again, but..."
"Whilst we may strive for a lack of hurting, I believe that an abundance of healing—that which requires clear communication rather than avoidance, even betwixt creatures of entirely differing worlds—permits a better golden route overall."
Eyes widening, Eri could only nod. Despite Nagi's strangely disdainful look, her lip curled up into something approaching a sneer, the content of what Nagi had said made a shocking amount of sense, at least other than the creatures of entirely differing worlds part. "Nagi, I'm so sorry that I didn't take you seriously at first. I'd be honoured if I could talk to you more in the future. About creative things. And anything else."
"No need for prostration. I am quite accustomed to weathering such storms. 'Twould honour me to be graced with your presence at your leisure, Lady Eri." With that, Nagi's features did some sort of unsettling acrobatics before settling into a...a genuine kind of grin. "Now then, if you naught to add, I believe you had haste to make."
"Oh! Yes. I should be going. But I'm glad to have met you. Really met you this time."
"Likewise." Nagi turned back to the lapin angélique dress, then glanced at the vintage PAVO REAL jewellery on the shelf over.
"And, please, just call me Eri."
The strange woman with the stranger backpack and the strangest advice bobbed her head without looking back. "Gods be with ye."
"Um, I hope you have a good day, too."
"May His Radiance light your path."
With a wave, Eri started to retrace her steps. She hadn't gone through all of the shops that Shiki had suggested, but...they wouldn't talk much of design when she returned either way. No, she would ask—if Shiki were willing—to talk. To truly talk.
The skilled hands, the sharp eye, the motivation. All those things Eri couldn't find in herself.
But neither could Nagi, it seemed, and Nagi still found her own way to create.
What Eri had really admired...what Eri had really admired: yes, the skilled hands, and the sharp eye, and the motivation. She did admire all of those things, just as Shiki had openly told Eri in the past how much Shiki admired Eri's ideas, Eri's brilliance in talking to people and understanding what kinds of threads they would want, Eri's capacity to make friends with just about anyone and then transform that friendship into inspiration. But more than that: the choice to create. The choice to take it further. The choice to confidently make it her own.
If they spoke...if Eri could feel the shape of the feelings Shiki keptin the heart she bore as she felt the shape of the textiles Shiki sewed into the clothes she wore...if Eri could share her feelings in turn...it would not change everything. But it would be the first thread. The first stitch. The first line in the blank sketchbook.
That oh so important first line.
She couldn't say exactly what kind of thread might suit Nagi. Yet, as they met again in the future, perhaps she would learn.
In the meantime, she's widened her field of view, just a little. Maybe tomorrow she'd widen it a little more.