Archive of Our Own ^beta

If Andrew had to choose a favorite map of his.. he’d likely choose Eversleeping Town.

He didn’t really like any of them, in all honesty. Such implied games, and games implied death and injury and arguments and people. 

There were a fair amount of people within the manor that he didn't mind. He wouldn’t say he had any friends, per se, more so acquaintances. People who he knew and knew him, and treated him with a familiarity and friendliness that he was only so able to take. The idea of friends unnerved him, as much as he longed for company at vulnerable times where his heart would be louder than his mind.

One of these people just so happened to be in the town with him. Yes, he’s in Eversleeping Town right now— he’s unsure as to whether or not that’s the actual name of the place, hence his hesitation to call it anything but “the town” for fear of being scolded for not knowing the name, for calling it something so silly sounding, for sounding so.. odd.

There are times where he is able to acknowledge his extreme paranoia and realize that no, nobody will really care that much what he calls the damn place. But, regardless..

At the table, before the match started, he’d spotted three others with him, as per usual. The Entomologist, the Cowboy, and.. the “Little Girl”.

He remembers the day she’d shown up, there had been whispers and arguments around the manor. None that he’d been directly involved in, of course, but he had never been too good at minding his business. It’s not like anyone was really trying to hide their thoughts on the matter, anyway— an ominous little girl. A small child with a ragged doll in her arms and an almost pristine little white dress. 

Andrew is unsure how to feel about that.

Yes, it’s pitiful, that a child should be subjected to the happenings here, whatever exactly here is. But she is just so weird.

Andrew wouldn’t exactly call himself good with children. Most children had avoided him, anyway, whispers from their parents driving them away from his presence (something he was actually quite grateful for— he wouldn’t know what to do with a kid). 

He wouldn’t say he’s an expert on how children should act. But this certainly isn’t it.

She looks to be around seven or eight. She talks clearly, walks quietly, large eyes darting in a look that could be described as bewilderment to most, but Andrew solely identifies it as attentiveness. Her stare is wildly unnerving. 

Such hadn’t changed at the table. Her little doll was propped up to be sat on the table in front of her chair. 

He could tell it was going to be her in the match before she ever even showed up, because one of the chairs was prepared with a large book to help her reach the table when she sat, as she is too short for the chair’s normal height.

She’d been sitting on her book and fiddling with the creepy doll’s stubby little arms. Andrew had glanced at her, perhaps a little longer than he should have, only because her presence at any given moment was simply absurd. 

She’d turned to meet his gaze and it was with a slight startle that he turned away. Even when she was no longer in his sights, he could feel her beady eyes boring into him shamelessly. 

There’d been bitterness, because staring is something Andrew is, dreadfully, very used to. He was bitter because of that stupid letter he’d received before he came here (how long ago was that? He can’t even remember), how it had promised him something of equality— of understanding, and though the manor certainly wasn’t any better, it was certainly different.

Mostly because everybody here was, simply put, a maniac. 

But there’d been a moment of shame where he’d reminded himself that this little girl— Memory, as some had begun to call her— was just that. A little girl. Children do these things— they stare and observe and learn. It’s how they grow up. 

His aforementioned acquaintance happened to be the Entomologist. An intelligent woman of little words, he’s learned. There was a mutual sort of understanding between her and Andrew, something he was grateful for, because it didn’t take talking or friendship or any of those silly things people would say have to go into an affiliation like that. She is just very attentive, very smart, and very quiet. Andrew tolerates her, and she tolerates him. She’d noticed Andrew’s aversion at the table after making eye contact with the little girl. His eyes had drifted over to the woman for a moment, and she’d simply offered him a small head tilt and a shrug, a small reassurance. She couldn’t offer much in terms of facial expression, as the mesh mask kept all that hidden away.

Andrew’s not seen her quite yet. The match just started and nothing has happened, thankfully. He, The Entomologist, and the Cowboy were all decoding (there’s shame when they announce their decoding progress and they’re both much farther along than he is, though he keeps to himself), but there’s been no sign of the little girl— no decoding progress, no announcement of the hunter being nearby, nothing. Radio silence.

There’s some concern, but the Cowboy and the Entomologist had just continued decoding, so Andrew did too. Surely, she’s alright?

“Hello?”

Andrew nearly jumps out of his skin and shrieks when he hears the little greeting, along with a small tug on his coat. Instead, he just freezes. The cipher buzzes and he flinches back, feeling the familiar shock of electricity on his fingers when messing up. 

He holds his arm at the wrist, taking a look at his shaky, gloved fingers, before harshly turning to fix whoever the hell just did that with a glare that is somehow equal parts both venomous and pitiful.

His glower is met with.. nobody. His carefully crafted look of irritation quickly turns to one of confusion, apprehension, but he feels another tug on the bottom of his coat and when he looks down, he sees the little girl, her doll nestled into the crook of her elbow while her little hand grasps onto the fabric of his coat.

His first instinct is to look around fearfully. Surely, she’d been containing the hunter, whoever it had been, and ended up bringing them straight to Andrew in an attempt to survive, right?

But.. there’s nobody. His heart beat is normal, if not a little fast, but he sees no towering figure— no cameras, or mirrors, or music notes, or.. anything.

Just this little kid who’s decided to frighten him.

It falls into a strange silence where he looks down at her and she looks back up at him. She’s not saying anything, frustratingly enough, because she’s the one who’s decided to show up in the first place. Doesn’t she know that it’s rude to do that? To show up, nearly have Andrew faint from surprise, and then just stare at him with her beady little eyes? She’s probably making fun of him— she’s probably here to laugh, especially after scaring him so badly. 

But, she says nothing. Her expression betrays little. She holds onto the bottom of his coat, and Andrew carefully reminds himself that this is a child before muttering out a response.

“..What do you want?”

Not the nicest, he realizes after saying it. But it’s already done. 

The only indication that she heard him is a blink, which isn’t really that good of a sign, anyway. Andrew feels himself growing frustrated, but says nothing else as he waits for the kid to respond.

Thankfully, she does, after a moment of careful hesitation. Another tug on his coat.

“..I need help,” she says, her voice small yet not sheepish. The way she speaks is strange, too— strangely toneless, but not flat or blank, either. Some unidentifiable tilt to her words that makes Andrew almost nervous , because he can’t quite tell what it is she’s placing between the lines. He says almost, because he’s not about to let a child unsettle him (lie).

“..With what?” Asks Andrew, before he quickly adds, “I-I’m sure Mister.. A-Alonso or Miss Plinius would be.. much better at helping you..”

He says this for two reasons— one, because what can he do? He can dig graves. That’s about it, he can’t do much else, and unless this kid needs him to dig a grave, then there isn’t much he can do to effectively help her with whatever she needs right now. The second reason would be because he just doesn’t want to, but he thinks the first reason sounds a little better.

Her response to his little comment is to furrow her brows. He seems to have confused her, and he’s about to tell her to run along before she steps away, still tugging on his coat.

“Come on,” she says, not exactly sounding chipper but not exactly sounding upset either. Her voice is light yet unidentifiable as she tries pulling him along. Of course, Andrew is a large man, and this little girl is very much not , so he doesn’t budge in the slightest when she tries her best to get him to walk with her. 

When she realizes that this isn’t working, her brows furrow further, conveying a look of frustration. There’s a pitiful little standoff, where she’s frowning up at him and he’s looking down at her with a mix of irritation and perhaps a bit of frustration himself. He’s confused as well, because just what the hell could she need him for that the others can’t do?

Before he knows it, she’s at his shovel, pulling it away from where it’s propped up next to the cipher. That gets a reaction out of Andrew.

“H- hey—!“

Before she can do anything else with it, he snatches it, holding it defensively in both hands and slightly turning his body away from her as though she’s some kind of beast he has to defend himself from and not a little child trying to mess with his things. 

“D-don’t.. touch that..”

“Why not?”

“It’s..” He pauses, eyes darting around almost nervously. She notices his paranoia with the tilt of her head and he fixes her with a small scowl. A kid sized scowl, he justifies, because she’s too little for anything else.

“It’s rude to touch people’s t-things..”

The little girl stares up at him. He certainly looks odd right now, he realizes with a grimace, but he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this. 

Without a warning, she suddenly holds up her little doll to him. Andrew nearly jumps, but stops himself, squinting down at the way she’s presenting this.. thing to him. She notices him squinting and stands up on her tip-toes, shaking the doll up at him.

“You can have this if I can have the shovel,” she offers, and Andrew blinks at the absurdity of that offer. Just what would he do with this creepy little doll? The thing is falling apart anyway, stuffing and stitches hanging loose. He wouldn’t want that thing even if he himself were a little kid. He’d be too frightened to have it near him.

“..I don’t want that,” he tells her, and she frowns, shaking it in the air again in a way which she likely thought was enticing. 

“It’s Orphy,” she says, like that’ll change anything, and he shakes his head, taking a step back.

“I don’t care.”

“Please?”

“What? No, I..” Andrew sighs. He relaxes his stature, turning to face the little girl fully instead of being slightly turned away from her in the defensive. He holds onto the shovel with one hand, wrapping his fingers around the handle and resting the end of it onto the ground, his other arm falling to his side.

“This is too heavy for you.”

She lowers the doll with another frown, though instead of being frustrated, she instead seems a little defeated this time, as though she had yet to come to the conclusion that the shovel which is a little more than twice her height would, indeed, be too difficult for her to carry.

“..Then you have to help me,” she reasons, turning the heel of her foot away but still facing him, an indication that she means for them to leave soon . She takes the hem of his coat in her little hand once again and tugs twice, trying to keep his attention with a frown that is beginning to turn into a pout, something that Andrew is both horrified and annoyed to see. He tells himself that he’s unaffected by this, but undoubtedly, he’s beginning to feel a little more inclined to at the very least hear her out.

“What is it?..” He asks, and it comes off as more of a snap. He grimaces at himself but strangely, the little girl doesn't seem affected by this. 

Andrew has trouble controlling his tones, and discerning others’ tones. The first one, he at least has some kind of explanation for, because he’s used to being on the defensive at all times— he essentially lives like a cornered animal, assuming the worst because that’s often how everything turns out; for the worst. He doesn’t enjoy it per se, but it’s a sense of security, at the very least, to have something about himself that others can reasonably dislike, instead of rumors built on senseless superstition that used to make Andrew cry when he was little. Nowadays, he scoffs, or rolls his eyes, but the familiarity stings nonetheless. 

Admittedly, this kid didn’t deserve to be snapped at. Yes, she’s being weird, and annoying, but she’s a little kid. He’s a tad surprised to see that she has little to no instant reaction to the harsher tone he’d taken to.

She ponders his question, and her expression suddenly turns a little sheepish. She frowns and looks at the ground, her grasp on his coat loosening but not going slack entirely.

“..If I tell you, then you won’t help me.”

Andrew blinks slowly down at her. 

A cipher pops, and they both jump, her fingers gripping at the fabric of his coat a little tighter.

He notices that nobody is injured. The Cowboy’s cipher is almost done as well. Just where is this hunter? And who is it?

Andrew looks back down at the girl. 

“..Th-then why would I come help you, after hearing you say that..?” He asks, frown deepening. Another tug on his coat and he’s inclined to snatch the fabric away from her and tell her to cut it out, but believe it or not, he does know better. 

“Because..”

She trails off, seemingly having begun speaking before even deciding on what she was going to say. He raises a brow, unamused, and her frown deepens, her gaze turning further downcast.

The look just makes her squeeze her doll tighter in her arms.

“..Because..”

Andrew looks down at her a little longer, before heaving a tired sigh, turning on his heel to face the cipher again. She lets go of his coat easily. 

“I.. I’m sure that.. Miss Plinius or Mister Alonso would be..”

He trails off. He knows that the Cowboy certainly wouldn’t mind helping, as he’s just a chivalrous man with a good heart. The Entomologist wouldn’t want to help, but she’d do it anyway, in a far gentler manner than Andrew could ever dream of having. He momentarily considers taking the girl to the Cowboy himself, but shakes off the idea as he sets his shovel back down near the cipher, propped up against the graveyard’s wall.

“..I’m sure they wouldn’t mind assisting you, um..”

He trails off again. He feels just a little guilty for turning her away like this, but he doesn’t really know what else to do. Especially considering that she refused to elaborate exactly on whatever it is she needs help with. 

He doesn’t know why she chose him, anyway. It’s not like they’ve ever really interacted much— there’s the usual passings in the manor, the necessary exchanges during matches, but even then, she doesn’t talk much, nor does Andrew. There was one time where he’d been struggling to decode and in an effort to help, she’d done the.. the thing. 

He doesn’t know what it’s called, really, but the moment he’d seen the creepy doll modeled to her likeness hovering and dancing over his shoulder, he’d shrieked in fear, consequently frightening her as well, causing her to yelp, detach herself from him, and scurry off somewhere. 

As he begins absentmindedly tapping at the cipher again, he momentarily considers apologizing to the little girl, but ultimately decides against it. 

His train of thought causes him to press the wrong button again, and the cipher blares angrily at him, Andrew’s inability to calibrate causing the circuits to spark and consequently shock his hand. 

He hisses in pain again and startles back from the cipher. He almost forgets about the little girl behind him, shaking off his gloved hand and muttering under his breath in irritation, but what draws him out of his frustration is the sound of a barely there, almost inaudible sniffle. 

He stiffens up. 

He stays standing impossibly still like that for a moment. He’s not sure why— it’s not like she’s going to forget about him if he doesn’t move. But he hears another small sniffle just a moment afterwards and when he slowly turns to look back at the child, his fears are, dreadfully, confirmed. 

The doll is nestled in the crook of her elbow, though it’s being treated considerably more carelessly than it was earlier. Her hands are brought up to wipe messily at her eyes, and Andrew’s stomach drops.

If it were anybody else, in any other situation, he’d have likely rolled his eyes and moved on. But this is a child— children can’t be reasoned with! They’ve no logic. Andrew was the same way when he was a child, he remembers. Part of him just wants to run off to find another cipher, but he knows he shouldn’t.. For one, the other two survivors would likely find out, and then neither of them would be very happy with him. For another.. he would just feel bad. It’s a strange sort of guilt, because he doesn’t really know how to deal with this, nor does he want to, but now he feels some kind of reluctant obligation to fix this.. however he’s supposed to do that. 

He looks around, paranoid, as the girl quietly cries and sniffles before him. When he determines that nobody is around, he sighs, and then takes a step towards the little girl.

Haphazardly, he settles a hand on her head, which is intended to be some sort of comforting gesture, but it comes off as an awkward pat as the little girl sniffles. What’s even more awkward is the way he has to stiffly hunch over to reach her, as she hardly even reaches his waist in height. 

“L-look, I, um..”

Another pause. He chews on the inside of his cheek, and very slightly ruffles her hair. 

“I.. I’ll help you, okay? Just.. just stop.. that..”

The last word unveils his feeling of reluctance, a hint of disgust in the way he says it, but the little girl just shakes her head into her hands, shoulders shaking as she sniffles again and tries to compose herself.

“You don’t have to..”

Andrew sighs, annoyance growing. He hates when people do this, despite the fact that he’s been guilty of doing it once or twice. Regardless, he just shakes his head.

“N-no, no, I’ll.. Fine. Fine , just.. I’m going to help you, okay? Stop crying, you don’t need to do all of this.”

It’s certainly not a very graceful or nice way of comforting someone, but he just wants to get this over with now. His sterner tone catches her attention, as she takes her face out of her hands to look up at him. She didn’t cry very much, but she did still cry, evident by the tear tracks. Though, she seems to have calmed down, likely no thanks to his excellent reassurance. She sniffles one last time, before rubbing at her eyes and blinking rapidly.

“Are you sure..?”

“ Yes— I mean..” He stands up straight and picks up his shovel, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “..Yes, I’m sure. J-just.. Make it quick, okay? We..” He looks around, still rather paranoid, before looking back down at her. “..We have to finish this match, okay? D-don’t.. take.. too long..”

She nods eagerly, any and all traces of earlier sadness suddenly gone. Andrew frowns at this, but figures this is just how some kids are. Especially one as odd as her.

She pauses, before reaching a hand up towards him. He looks between her and her hand skeptically, and when he doesn’t take it, she looks at her palm with a frown. She wipes it off on her dress, before she jumps up to grasp his own gloved hand.

He has to physically restrain himself from yanking it away. He dislikes this— he dislikes this very much, but he just repeats the words she’s a kid like a mantra in his head over and over as she begins tugging him along. It’s an uncomfortable walk— he has to hunch over more than he normally does to make the hand-holding comfortable for her, and her hand is small enough to where she’d resorted to just grabbing onto his middle three fingers, since he wasn’t exactly reciprocating or making it any easier on her in that regard.

He only prays to God that neither the Cowboy nor the Entomologist would see this. Another cipher pops and the count goes down to three. 

His cipher was about a fourth of the way done when the little girl decided to frighten him half to death. Maybe one of the other two will stumble across it and finish it up.

She pulls him along towards the pier.

There’s usually some kind of.. illusion, maybe? He’s not quite sure what it is. But on the end of the pier, the Geisha can usually be spotted. It’s not actually her, Andrew’s since learned, and he’s always wondered what the image of her really is.

She wears white robes and a white veil and she dances. Her singing can be heard from the fence blocking it off. He can hear it now, actually, but before he can get a better look, the little girl pulls him behind one of the walls near the pier with a sudden force which nearly makes him yelp out in surprise. 

He stumbles and nearly falls. His shovel nearly clatters to the ground and he narrows his eyes down at the little girl. She is unfazed, though, and she puts a finger over her lips, indicating silence, before leaning and peering around the side of the wall. 

It’s then that Andrew notices his growing heartbeat.

It’s not terribly fast, like he’s being chased, but it’s enough to the point where he feels an uncomfortable shiver run down his spine, where he can definitely tell that the hunter is nearby. He stands there uncomfortably, listening to the sound, and realizing that the heartbeat was staying the same— not speeding up or slowing down, but rather, it was almost like the hunter was standing still. 

The little girl notices he isn’t looking and motions him closer. With some apprehension, he props his shovel up against the wall as quietly as he can before stepping over and taking a look.

Before the fence gate stands the Geisha. She’s watching herself, that little aforementioned illusion— she herself wears her usual red robes, so she’s relatively easy to spot, even with Andrew’s questionable eyesight. She stands with her hands folded before her, and if Andrew had to guess, she likely had her fan pressed into her hand, like she always does. He can’t see for sure, though— her back is to them.

And.. she’s just standing there. Unmoving and watching herself dance on the pier. The sound of the illusions voice carries like the wind, faint and airy and even a little eerie. But it’s a beautiful sound nonetheless, despite the way it makes Andrew’s hair stand up on end.

The little girl whispers to him as they watch her.

“She’s just been standing here this whole time.”

Andrew squints at the Geisha. 

“..Okay..?”

And what exactly did she want him to do about that? If she wants to stand, then she can stand! He certainly won’t lose any sleep over an easy win.

Unless.. This is some trick. A trick to draw them close and strike when least expected. Maybe the little girl brought him here as an offering— do hunters do that? He’s sure a few of them do. Like that Dream Witch— oh, he’s never liked her. He’s never been able to see her but her little minions are scary enough. Short, yes, not that much taller than the little girl, but they’re all just so creepy . Yima, she’s called, maybe? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. Matches with her for Andrew involve a lot of praying.

“I think she’s sad,” says the little girl, and Andrew can hear a frown in her voice. He glances down at her, an incredulous look on his face as he whispers back, though it turns into more of a hiss at this point.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s sad,” he says, almost a scold, in a hushed tone, his right hand flying up to instinctively grasp the wooden cross around his neck. “We should leave her alone.”

“But..”

She trails off, looking up at Andrew, her frown deepening. 

“But you said you’d help me.”

Andrew blinks.

“Y-you.. You want me to do what about this, exactly..?” 

His tone is a number of things— confusion, irritation, maybe even a bit of anger. She’d cried and then dragged him out here for, what, some meaningful conversation? She wants him to talk to the Geisha? That’s absurd!

Andrew keeps his distance from everyone, that’s true, save for the few he’s barely acquainted with. But even then, they’re all survivors, people like him. But a hunter? That’s entirely out of the question. He barely even thinks about them outside of games, and even then, his thoughts are short and choppy, barely anything meaningful aside from holy shit and what the hell and ow .

He barely knows a damn thing about the Geisha. He knows she’s tall— Andrew himself is rather towering in height, but the Geisha, as with most of the hunters, is monstrously tall. He would have to guess almost eight feet, as terrifying as that sounds. He also knows she can sing and dance— she hums to herself while hunting, though it’s a much nicer sound, much more soft and solemn than that of the Ripper’s cheerful songs. Then again, the Ripper is just crazy— everybody knows that, at least. 

She has a tendency to get hit with pallets. In her, ah.. demon form? Whatever it’s called, she floats, and her body is leaning forward, so it’s easier to get a hit on her in that form than anything else, and she falls victim to this more often than not.

One constant thing Andrew has most noticed about the woman is her eyes— they’re large, and dark, and to Andrew, they’re creepy. Like a bug’s eyes. 

But she’s quiet. She rarely speaks a word. She does her job in the game without any unnecessary cruelty or bad sportsmanship and then she moves on without a word once it’s all over.

Her abilities, as granted to her by the “grace” of the manor, are straightforward. Thus, containing her is also rather straightforward. She depends more on the psychological aspects of the chase rather than the physical ones. One last thing— an odd thing— is that she hates, hates being looked at.

It’s a sentiment Andrew can share, but.. he doesn’t understand it. Not with her, at least. Andrew isn’t blind, and though he may be pretty damn close to it, he can tell this much at least— she’s gorgeous. He’s always wondered what her aversion to the gazes of others may be, for someone so beautiful and fortunate as she to be stunning to the eyes and not something of an abomination like Andrew is. It’s confusing, to say the least, but it’s not like he’s ever planned on asking her. And he still doesn’t. 

He looks down at the little girl with a look he hopes is stern and not a full-on venomous glower.

“I’m not talking to her.”

She frowns. 

“Why not?”

“W-why don’t you go do it?” Andrew argues in a hushed whisper, and the little girl’s brows furrow.

“I was scared,” she admits quietly, hugging her doll close in one arm. “I wanted someone to come with me.”

Andrew drags his hand down his face. He understands why she didn’t tell him what her plan was, now. How stupid of him to fall victim to this child’s tears. 

“Why me ?? You have your little friend there, ah..” He points accusingly at the doll in her arms, racking her brain for its name.

“..Arnold.”

The little girl’s brows furrow further, and she holds the doll up towards Andrew, waving it as close to his face as she can get, which isn’t very close.

“ Orphy.”

“What— whatever, Orphy, Arnold, it’s..” He sighs, cutting himself off and pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he gathers his thoughts the best he can, for all his frustration and confusion and slight fear, as the Geisha is still right there and he’s not quite sure if he wants to stick around much longer. He picks up his shovel as he talks.

“..If she’s sad about something, then we should leave her be. S-she doesn’t want to talk to us, I’m sure..”

He turns on his heel and takes a few brisk steps away from the scene, before noticing a distinct lack of tinier footsteps following him. He turns to see that the little girl has not moved, still standing and holding her doll in both hands with a frown on her face, watching him.

Andrew sighs. He’s unsure as to why he’s worrying over this. Maybe because she’s a child that doesn’t know any better, but nonetheless, he looks around again, before stepping back over to her, grumbling vaguely under his breath. Her expression grows more cautionary as he nears, and he tells himself that it’s because of his shitty attitude rather than his ghastly appearance as he brings himself to her side, hovering a hand over her back, as he really doesn’t want to touch her at all.

“C-come on, we need to..”

He pauses. 

“..You need to go find Mister Alonso, okay..? He— Go talk to him about this, I’m sure he..”

Andrew trails off as the little girl begins walking in tandem with his not-so-gentle coaxing. She’s watching him with a frown, but she’s cooperating, and Andrew supposes he appreciates that. He tries to find words, because this is a difficult situation. For him, anyway, but then again, what isn’t difficult for him?

He doesn’t want the other two to think that perhaps Andrew was bullying this little child. Because he isn’t, that’s for sure, he’s just trying to coax her out of mingling with the hunter, possibly costing them an easy win. It doesn’t much matter if he’s not being so nice about it, he doesn’t really do well with kids anyway, and that's not his fault. Really, someone closer to her in the manor ought to talk some sense into her once the match is done— maybe tell her not to try and comfort a saddened hunter. And maybe not get Andrew involved! 

He delegates to trying to finish his sentence. 

“..I’m sure he’d listen to you,” he decides, because that’s likely the truth. As mentioned earlier, the Geisha is a gorgeous woman, despite her.. other attributes, and that Cowboy is a soft fool for beautiful women.

“J-just.. try not to—“

“ What are you two doing? ”

The voice is soft, melodic, anything but terrifying. Despite this, Andrew lets out a less than dignified shriek of fear and surprise, and he hears the little girl scream in shock too, consequently feeling a smaller body latch onto his leg not too long after.

He has not much time to pry her off, because the familiar, towering form of a woman in red robes is before them. As predicted, her fan is pressed into her hand, her clawed hands curled around the handle in a lax grip, and she’s staring down at them with her large, eerie looking black eyes. Andrew feels his heart racing, and he feels the little girl squeeze his leg even tighter, completely frozen on the spot, just as he is.

The sound of his own heart roars in his ears, but aside from that, all he can hear is the faint rustling of fabric in the slight breeze, and the distant music coming from the pier.

The Geisha blinks, tilting her head. It’s hard to tell where she’s looking, because her eyes are fully black, sclera included, and in Andrew’s opinion, that's just all the more frightening. 

When did she get there? How did she get there so quietly?

A little more time passes like this— roughly twenty seconds or so, before the Geisha raises a hand. Both Andrew and the little girl flinch, but all the woman does is bring the fan to her face, unfurling it so that not much can be seen aside from her eyes. She lightly fans herself in a display of habit, before she quietly says, “My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” her gaze supposedly averted.

“W-we—“ Andrew swallows, feeling how dry his mouth is. He sees the Geisha tilt her head at his fractured word, and he clears his throat, inching backwards ever so slightly. Though, all that awaits the pair is a wall, so he doesn’t move much, for fear of cornering himself.

“We were just— leaving..” He says, his voice a pathetic, shaky whisper. He realizes that one of his hands had come to rest at the little girl’s back in a show of protection, and that she’s not let go of his leg in the slightest, making walking or running a little difficult.

“Were you?” Asks Michiko, her voice a soft, low trill. 

Andrew nods vigorously. 

“Y-yes, yes, we— we don’t mean to bother you, we—“

Before he can react, the Geisha’s arm is outstretched, reaching for him. She’s quick, that’s her whole thing— she can move very fast, 

The tip of her clawed finger is pressed to Andrew’s nose and he freezes again. Her expression is blank, if not a little curious, and she stands like that for a moment, Andrew pathetically frozen and stiff under her terrifying touch. But, after a moment, he notices something grow from her finger. A pair of green and black wings flutter, and he suddenly feels something light and ticklish on his nose. 

The three stand like that for a moment. Andrew completely rigid with a butterfly on his nose, Michiko with her arm still outstretched, and the little girl, still clinging to Andrew’s leg and essentially anchoring him more to the spot than he already is.

But.. he hears a small giggle.

He looks down at the little girl. Or, he tries to, as when the large butterfly perched on his face spreads its wings, he can’t see a damn thing. If his eyes were visible, he would hope she’d see a stern look of seriousness, though he doubts that would actually be the case, as he likely looks more like a cornered animal than anything else right now. 

“Stop— stop that, don’t—“

He swats the butterfly and it instead takes to fluttering around his head. He sees the Geisha watching him with some kind of amusement in her eyes, and he feels his face burn from embarrassment.

“Treat them delicately,” the Geisha warns, though her tone is a little warmer than it was earlier, if not still quiet. “Butterflies are fragile.”

“Y-yes, well— What are you, um..”

Andrew’s stance is still defensive, despite the fact that the Geisha isn’t acting too threatening right now. Her fan remains concealing a portion of her face, and he flinches when the butterfly lands on the shoulder of his capelet, intermittently opening and closing its wings as it sits there. He just decides to allow this for now, because at least he can see, and he doesn’t want to tempt fate into angering the Geisha for his flippancy with her butterflies, despite the fact that he doesn’t really care.

What he does care about is getting away, but he’s much too frozen on the spot still.

In response, the Geisha turns her gaze down to the little girl. She still holds onto his leg, but not as tightly as before. She momentarily lowers her fan and raises one of her flattened hands to her lips, blowing on her palm as though she is blowing dust off of it.

Instead, more green little particles fly off the surface of her hand, and another butterfly appears, caught on the breeze. It glides down towards the little girl, and at this point, she does let go of Andrew’s leg fully, a small smile appearing on her face with a little gasp as she holds out her forefinger. The butterfly delicately lands on it, and Andrew swears he hears a small gasp of glee as she watches the thing, almost glowing in the dim light of the town as it rests. 

Andrew looks down at her with a still cautious frown, and after a pause, the Geisha lightly clears her throat, a delicate sound intended only to draw his attention, not a trace of rudeness in the gesture. Despite this, Andrew jumps at the sound, but the Geisha doesn’t seem offended. Rather, she carries on with a flippancy which leads Andrew to believe that she’s used to this.

“I didn’t expect to see you with the child,” she says softly, yet not unkindly, and Andrew feels his stomach twist in an instinctual reaction of hostility. 

But she’s being nice— so far, anyway. Andrew thinks she is. He shouldn’t act so crude, lest he risk angering her. He swallows back a scoff and just nods stiffly, deciding to tell the truth.

Normally, he’d have no response, but he wants to be compliant. He doesn’t know what the Geisha’s intentions are, and though his mind tells him to stay wary, his gut wills him to set his skeptical eyes back onto the little girl, who has seemingly lost interest in the conversation in lieu of playing with the butterfly. Andrew notices that the butterfly the Geisha offered him is docile, resting on his shoulder quietly, but that the one that currently has the little girl so enamored is fluttering around, landing on different parts of her body only to flap its wings and glide around again, effectively keeping her attention. It’s like the butterflies were suited to their demeanors.

Andrew clears his throat quietly. 

“She..” He gestures vaguely to the child, though he’s sure the Geisha knows who he means, anyway.

“..She brought me over here.”

“And you followed?”

Andrew’s initial reception is that she’s being condescending, but her head is tilted in a display of curiosity, and her wide eyes just look down at him with neutrality, fan still lightly waving over her features. He steadies himself.

“S-she’s.. insistant..”

The Geisha laughs softly, eyes crinkling a bit. She raises her unoccupied hand gently and the butterfly on Andrew’s shoulder responds, fluttering over and landing on one of her pale knuckles. 

“What made her come here?” She asks, supposedly watching the butterfly as it crawls between her knuckles, raising each respective finger to accommodate it. Andrew glances to see that the girl is still occupied with the butterfly, barely even listening. It’s with dread he finds he’ll have to answer for her, despite the fact that the answer is undoubtedly weird. It’s so odd to see the kid like this, though, since her expression is usually so wide-eyed and neutral, almost blank. Andrew vaguely wonders if she’s done this before in the past, or perhaps thought about it, before pushing that thought to the back of his mind to respond to the awaiting hunter.

“She was.. worried..?” The uncertainty in his tone is wildly apparent. The Geisha’s brows furrow slightly, and Andrew struggles to elaborate. 

“I-I.. I’d been decoding when she snuck up on me, and..” He fails to mention how she’d managed to scare the living daylights out of him. “..S-she urged me to come with her, a-and she brought me here and told me you— you were acting, ah.. strange..”

“Strange..” The Geisha parrots, gaze turning aside as the fan moves to accommodate the angle change. If Andrew had to guess, he’d say that she’s glancing back over to the pier. 

“..Yes, I suppose I was.”

She admits this with a small sigh, waving the butterfly back over to Andrew. He doesn’t really want it, but says nothing as it lands on the iris tucked into his breast pocket.

The Geisha notices this and frowns, leaning and lightly nudging it away from the flower in a show of attentiveness that has Andrew frowning. The iris isn’t alive anymore, it had been pressed and preserved with care in the past. Whether or not she’d shooed the butterfly onto his capelet shoulder once again for the sake of the butterfly or out of concern for the delicate flower, he’s unsure. 

The Geisha looks down to the little girl. She waves a finger and the butterfly which she played with begins to glide back towards the woman, eventually landing on the blade of the fan that Andrew has been eying with unease this whole time. The little girl follows it with her gaze until the Geisha makes her way into the child’s line of sight. In a display of sheepishness rather than fear, she scurries back over to Andrew’s side, holding onto his pant leg.

“You were watching the lady,” the child says uselessly, pointing back in the general vicinity of the pier. 

The Geisha nods. “That’s right.”

“Why?”

Another small sigh escapes her as she adjusts the position of her fan again, causing the butterfly on the blade to move, fluttering around until it eventually lands on the hairpiece holding up the woman’s hair in that strange style.

“That woman is me.”

A look of bewilderment crosses the little girl’s face, and some bitterness crosses over Andrew’s features. He’d think it quite obvious that the woman is the Geisha, judging from the fan and the dancing and the singing. But then, he reminds himself for the nth time that match that she’s a dumb little kid, and says nothing on the matter. He notices the Geisha sending him a look of amusement, expressing her enjoyment with this small show of naivety, but looks back down at the child too soon for Andrew to wordlessly respond (which, he didn’t want to respond, anyway).

“What are you wearing?” Asks the little girl, and Andrew begins to wonder if he’s allowed to leave yet before the Geisha begins to walk.

It’s.. supposedly walking, anyway, but it’s soundless and the movements of the action are so smooth that it just looks like she’s gliding across the ground. She moves around the small partition separating the small group from the view of the pier, and when the little girl goes to follow, she moves her hand from his pant leg to the hem of his coat once more, tugging on it as she begins to walk after the hunter.

Andrew stifles a small groan as he follows, as he’d been hoping that the two of them would be well off without him, shovel in hand. The butterfly on his capelet is irritated by his sudden movement and takes to hovering, following him.

The Geisha looks both ways for the tram (oh, how Andrew hates that thing) before crossing it to get to the small fence blocking off the pier’s access.

“I’ve actually never worn it before,” the Geisha says softly, once again angling her fan to block her face as Andrew and the child stand next to her. Andrew identifies wistfulness in her voice as she speaks.

“But I’ve always wanted to.”

“What is it?” Asks the little girl, standing between Andrew and the Geisha. He’s unsure as to whether or not he’s relieved or unnerved by this development.

“It’s called a ‘Shiromuku’, and where I come from, it’s luxurious wedding attire.”

Andrew tilts his head as he watches the illusion of the Geisha dance before them. He can’t see too clearly, due to both the distance from the end of the pier and his unreliable eyesight, but it looks to be a series of white robes, lined with red, as well as a veil. He squints upon seeing the bump on the woman’s back.

“What’s—..” He begins asking before he can stop himself. He instantly shuts himself up, but the Geisha is already looking at him expectantly.

“Yes..?”

Andrew casts his gaze aside. He really didn’t mean to say anything, but.. Well. It’s already done, unfortunately. He takes a breath.

“What’s that.. bump.. on your back..?” He asks timidly, afraid of offending her. Though, she simply nods in understanding at the question.

“That’s called an obi bump,” she explains slowly, though somehow, she doesn’t sound condescending. She actually sounds rather content with sharing this. She brings a hand behind her to motion to the bow on her back of her robes, and Andrew looks briefly, curiously. 

“The bump is the bow tied in the back. It’s covered by an additional piece of clothing, hence why it forms a sort of ‘bump’ upon being worn properly.”

Andrew nods slowly. The little girl pipes up with a question not long after.

“Were you married??” She asks, and this inquiry makes Andrew wince slightly. He prays to God that she’s not pouring salt in the Geisha’s wounds, because he can assume that whoever it is she married, she’s not seen in a very long time, and will likely never see again. But, the Geisha doesn’t seem saddened by this topic. Contrastly, she smiles gently. Andrew notices the way her eyes squint slightly, her smile visible even with the fan concealing it.

“I was,” she responds. 

Andrew subtly looks down to her fingers, but spots no ring.

Unprompted, the woman continues speaking. Her tone is soft, and it still carries that air of wistfulness from earlier.

“His name was Miles. He was in the military and passing through the town when we’d met.”

“ This town?” Asks the little girl, and the Geisha nods, still not looking away from the dancing image of herself on the pier.

“Yes, this is where I‘d lived and worked before marrying him.”

Andrew remembers vaguely the work of a Geisha. Becoming one is hard work, as their role entailed essentially being the ‘ideal woman’, per se, like entertainers. Aside from that, he.. doesn’t know much. He’d not done much studying in his younger years, something he’s not quite sure how he feels about.

“Is that what you wore when you married him?” The child then asks, some bewilderment in her tone, a childlike wonder to something as small as a stranger’s wedding. The Geisha sighs and shakes her head, seeming just a little sad. Regretful, maybe.

“No, I’d.. worn a different dress. A western dress.”

She fans herself a bit faster now.

“I’d love to have worn this, though. I’d always dreamed of having one.. despite how expensive they were.”

A period of silence passes the three. The image on the pier sings and dances, a small portion of a song on repeat as they watch. After a moment, the Geishas turns, looking down at the little girl with a kind smile. Andrew hears the familiar ring of the tram behind them.

“Why don’t you ride in a circle around town?” She suggests, lowering her fan, though the stiffness in the motion suggests that she was just doing it to be nice— something out of courtesy. She quickly adds on, “Go check on the others; see how they’re doing, yes?”

Andrew notices how she’s only addressing the child. He stiffens up slightly as the little girl nods eagerly and, without a second thought, excitedly jumps onto the tram. More silence passes over the pair, now— just Andrew and the Geisha.

Is this where she’ll kill him, then? She’d waited for the little girl to leave before ripping him apart, at least, The gentle sound of the Geisha’s voice fills the air again.

“Thank you for chaperoning her,” she says quietly, a hint of amusement in her tone as she speaks. “I could hear her watching me for quite a while, it was.. unnerving.”

Andrew lets out a sound that could be labeled as a laugh, though it comes out as more of a scoff as he shakily responds. “S-she’s hardly intimidating..” And the Geisha laughs softly at that, fanning herself in a slightly calmer manner now as the tram departs for its next stop at the graveyard. 

“That may be true, yes. She’s quite sweet, but I didn’t quite like having her watching me.” Another small pause, before she says, “Are you two close?”

Another scoffing-laughing sound. “No, not— we’ve never spoken before today..”

The Geisha hums quietly, turning to glance at him shortly. “How curious.”

“W-what do you mean??”

“Nothing, I assure you.. I am just quite glad that it was you who she fetched. For today, at least.. Since she thought I was ‘sad’.” 

Andrew looks back at her slightly, but she’s already turned her attention back to the pier. He chews on the inside of his cheek, before asking, “You.. You could hear us..?” And the woman nods in response, closing her eyes gently for a moment as she takes a breath.

“Yes, I could. An entertaining pair, you two are..”

Andrew’s face burns with embarrassment as the Geisha’s tone lowers, though the amusement in her words is evident as she glances at him once again and says, “It doesn’t matter if I’m sad, does it..?”

“N-no..! No, I—..“

He scrambles to defend himself, taking a step back and stammering over his words, but the woman’s laughter fills the air. It's not particularly loud, but it’s certainly the loudest he’s heard her laugh so far this match, if not ever. It holds no malice or condescension, just enjoyment as she keeps the fan carefully over the bottom half of her face, fixing Andrew with a mirthful gaze as she says with a smile, “Forgive me, I’m simply messing with you. I apologize that she brought you all the way out here.. I didn’t mean to cause any concern.”

Though concern is the last thing Andrew would use to label his feelings towards the situation right now, he just huffs, leaning his shovel up against the fence. 

“I..” He begins, searching for the words. The Geisha watches the pier but indicates her attention with a small hum in his pause.

He swallows, suddenly feeling the need to be courteous. 

“..I apologize for a-anything, ah.. insensitive, she might have said..”

The Geisha is silent for a moment, before asking, “Like what..?”

Andrew sighs slightly, unwilling to bring it up explicitly, but after another pause, says, “Your marriage..”

“Ah..” Andrew finds himself unnerved with how quick the Geisha had responded to that. She glances aside, away from him, before letting out a little sigh of her own and waving her fan dismissively.

“It’s alright. That was a long time ago..”

“M-may I ask how long ago?” He asks, in another moment of curiosity, and the Geisha hums, tapping her fan to her face a few times in thought, before answering, “I’m not quite sure. It’s of the same nature of memories when you were a child— You have vague recollections combined with vivid moments.”

Andrew.. sort of understands that explanation. 

There’s another bout of silence. Andrew recalls something he’d thought about earlier— some confusion that’s gone unaddressed, and he chews on the inside of his cheek again, unsure if he wants to bring it up.

Well, he certainly wants to, but the main concern is how the Geisha will react. He’s unwilling to offend her, for all his fear and paranoia towards her, because she is actually.. A nice, pleasant woman. So far, anyway, but he’s unwilling to upset her, in both a show of self preservation, and simply because he’d feel bad, he finds, and that is certainly.. New. New, because he’s never truly interacted with a hunter like this before. In all honesty, he didn’t really think about hunters outside of the games, considering them obstacles at best. He’d obviously figured that they were people behind the roles they played in this game, because he isn’t stupid, but witnessing it firsthand is a little strange, regardless.

He sees another green glow from the Geisha’s hand, and in contrast to his earlier behavior, he lightly raises a hand to the new butterfly, the insect landing delicately on the knuckle of his forefinger as he gazes at it solemnly.

“Is there something you wish to ask me?” The Geisha inquires as he watches the butterfly’s wings open and close slowly and repeatedly. 

He doesn’t really think about how she knew, but nonetheless, he’s grateful that she’s asking, in any case. He still doesn’t feel safe, per se, but.. stable, perhaps. Temporarily secure, so long as he does not misplease this woman. 

“I wanted..” Andrew clears his throat— he feels that his mouth is dry. The natural order of things would be this: if he were to say something to upset the Geisha after she’d asked what he was thinking about, the blame would naturally fall onto her for beckoning his honesty in the first place. And yet.. he doesn’t know if hunters carry the same reasoning that he does. Hypocritical as it may seem, he does believe that this is, inherently, how it should be. 

“..I wanted to ask, why..”

The Geisha’s gaze is anything but comforting, despite the warmth in her expression.

Maybe it isn’t warmth, so much as it’s a lack of coldness towards him. The lines blur for Andrew. 

“..Why are you so intent on, ah.. your face, why do you.. cover it?”

The Geisha’s expression changes slightly. Her eyes widen a touch and her brows raise into a face that conveys surprise. That’s initially the verdict, before she looks down. 

The question seems to provoke thought. Or memories, more likely— her absent mindedness causes the fan to unconsciously lower from its usual spot concealing her face as her deep, endless eyes swim with scenarios and memories and thoughts of the past that Andrew is unable to convince himself are at all pleasant. 

She doesn’t seem offended, though, no. Taken aback, sure. Somber, absolutely. But any kind of negative emotion in her demeanor is not being directed towards Andrew. 

He panics slightly nonetheless. Of course he does. His eyes turn to his boots, caked with old dirt and mud. He can feel a rock stuck between the grooves of the bottom, as it makes an unpleasant sound each time he grinds the ball of his foot into the ground in an attempt to soothe himself. 

“..Y-you.. You aren’t required to answer..”

The Geisha sighs. She snaps her fan with a flourish, making Andrew jump, and she sighs, fanning herself once again. The somberness never leaves, but she seems more thoughtful now. 

“I wasn’t expecting that question,” is what she says at first. She sends Andrew a glance over her fan (he avoids it like the plague), before looking back at herself on the pier. The constant loop of dancing and singing has yet to cease— Andrew doesn’t know if it ever does stop, even when the town is barren. 

“..It’s a bit of a long answer.”

She pauses. 

“Well. Not that long, I..”

She trails off and sighs. She shakes her head at herself.

“It’s a complicated answer.”

“I-it.. it truly must be bothering you, then, if..”

The Geisha looks back at him when he begins quietly speaking again, his voice thin, and he pauses, still not entirely used to this flippancy with someone as scary as her. Yet, he clears his throat. 

“..If you don’t want to answer, then.. I won’t.. be upset.”

He hesitates when saying this, because it sounds silly. Very much so. If he were upset, what could he do? She’s taller than him, stronger, more.. supernatural. Even if he had the capacity to be upset with something as silly as this, there wouldn’t be much he could do to reprimand her. 

To his surprise, a small, soft laugh is elicited from behind the fan. 

His stomach twists— is she laughing at him?— before she shakes her head slightly. He can identify a smile from where he can’t see, albeit small. 

“It’s quite alright. I don’t mind answering. I just.. hm.”

Another butterfly dances in her hand— a smaller one. Andrew watches it out of the corner of his eye as it flutters between her fingers. 

She has these habits, Andrew has noticed. He’s at least familiar enough with the behavior to identify these things as nervous habits. Andrew himself has plenty of them. Though, the Geisha’s are far more graceful than his. By a long shot, too. The fan raised to her face could easily be interpreted as discomfort with the temperature, or even coyness (he momentarily remembers the contents of a Geisha’s work— perhaps some people like coyness?), and the butterflies are self explanatory. The soft green glow and familiarity of the insect usually brings with it nerves, a much-too-fast heartbeat, and more often than not, the feeling of a small yet sharp blade ripping through his skin. 

At the moment, though, they bring a sense of ease. They’re innocent— they always were, he thinks, as the Geisha waves off the butterfly to dance towards Andrew. Perhaps it’s just what they mean that scares him. Or what he thinks they mean. 

“..Could I instead ask you something?” Asks the woman, and Andrew suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, because she could always just say no to answering it instead of turning it around on him. 

Despite his best efforts, she notices this, and the butterfly shies away from him. 

“It’s relevant to your question, I assure you..”

Andrew blinks slowly, looking down. Then he nods stiffly, the motion barely there. 

“Alright..”

In a moment of uncharacteristic compassion, he lifts his hand vaguely for the butterfly. He sees the Geisha’s shoulders relax a bit, and the butterfly lands on his center knuckle. It’s tongue comes out to feel around his glove for whatever it is butterflies drink; he can’t remember. He watches it with blank eyes as the Geisha continues on. 

“..I had a husband. His name was Miles— Miles Donelley, and he was in the army.”

She fans herself a little quicker now, Andrew notices.  A sore subject, perhaps, but he doesn’t backtrack. 

“I loved him. I.. I think I still do. I don’t know what to think of him anymore. It’s..”

She pauses. A small, sad laugh escapes her, though it’s clear she’s trying her best to remain lighthearted. 

“..It’s been a while.”

Loss is something Andrew is familiar with. Treating it is something he’s.. not too familiar with. Properly, anyway. When his mother died, nobody offered condolences. Nobody left flowers at her isolated gravesite except him. He’s positive he was the only one praying up to her at the time, and he’s positive he still is. 

“..My.. apologies..” Andrew says quietly, awkwardly, but the Geisha shakes her head with a sigh. 

She doesn’t sound too terribly sad, like she’s going to start crying, but the somberness is certainly still there. It’s just.. solemn. Practiced. 

“None of that. I still have a question for you,” she says, and through Andrew huffs shortly through his nostrils, he remains silent, allowing for the Geisha to continue her story. 

He identifies a vague smile at his sigh before she speaks again. 

“He brought me to America. That’s.. that’s where he lived. Where his family lived. I..”

She pauses. 

“..I did not like America.”

The last phrase is said with a certain sort of disdain. It’s practiced and controlled, nothing overbearing. In fact, she sounds regretful. 

She keeps speaking. 

“I was hesitant to go. But I loved him, so.. I went.”

Andrew, growing anxious over his prolonged silence, uselessly adds, “I’ve heard.. mixed things, about the, um.. The states..”

This is true, at least. Things were good, over there, if you were a certain kind of person. And Andrew can say for a fact that he is, indeed, not that kind of person. 

And neither, it seems, is the Geisha. For all his confusion, of course— the woman is gorgeous. He has an idea of why, but of course, Andrew hasn’t much faith in his own mind. He doesn’t think himself stupid but he isn’t as well educated as he would have liked to be. 

Michiko hums in agreement, nodding her head as she fans herself still. “As have I. I don’t believe Miles considered the, ah.. Consequences. Of having me there.”

Andrew, despite himself, sends the woman a cautionary glance. 

She doesn’t notice— or maybe she does, and is just thinking. Or maybe she’s just looking at him with only her eyes. He can’t tell. 

Those damned eyes. 

“..I was very unhappy, there. Even being with Miles wasn’t enough to keep me afloat. I was.. ridiculed. Horribly so.”

Andrew nods slowly. “Because of..”

The Geisha dips her head once, a solemn confirmation. “Yes. I was not.. exactly the kind of wife that Miles’ father wanted him to have. Nor did I have the kind of appearance that was beloved over there. And I’m afraid I didn’t have very much of a backbone. I stayed with Miles whenever I could— Which wasn’t often. He was.. usually busy.”

She sighs. The butterfly on Andrew’s finger fades away into glowing green particles. He frowns slightly. 

“..You lived with him..?” Asks Andrew, and she nods, a small him accompanying the motion. 

“Yes. Him, and.. his father.”

The way she says ‘father’ is implicative, and not of anything remotely good. 

There’s a certain sort of disdain that comes with the mention of the man. But there’s mostly sadness. Again, regret— she seems to carry a lot of this. The way she’s been watching herself dance in this ‘shiromuku’ is evidence enough that she desperately wishes something could have been different. 

“He disliked me the most. I tried desperately to please him, to make him approve of me so that he could stop harassing me, bothering me, nitpicking every little thing I did, but.. nothing worked.”

She sighs sadly. Andrew’s jaw sets. 

“And, ah.. Your husband.. Did he..”

The Geisha looks at him expectantly. He swallows: 

“..Was he.. helpful..?” 

It’s hard to find the right word to convey what he’s asking, but the Geisha understands anyway. His answer, though, is practically already there, what with the way her brows furrow. She gazes back at herself on the pier, her fan having stopped moving, but still concealing everything below her eyes.

“I asked him to be. I’d go to him and tell him of his father’s behavior. I’d stay by his side whenever he was home because he was my only solace from that terrible man. But..”

She sighs. 

“..I believe he loved his father too much to see the danger. He’d always tell me that he’d come around, that I just needed to be patient, that I just needed to keep acting as.. myself. But ‘myself’ wasn’t very good either, no matter how he loved it.”

Andrew’s delegated to watching her as she speaks, his nerves still very much there, but put aside in lieu of his curiosity. He’s still wondering what this ‘question’ of hers will be, but he listens quietly, anyway, unwilling to interrupt. 

She closes her fan. She holds it over her lips, the blade dangerously close, but she’s skilled— it doesn’t cut her, or nick her. Just presses into her skin daringly. 

“Outside of all of that, I never left the house much. I didn’t speak English too well, you see— I could understand it, but others could not.. understand me. My accent was thick.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “And people often come to loathe that which is different. Even if it’s inherently harmless.”

Andrew’s expression softens a considerable amount. His brows are still furrowed, face drawn into a look of perpetual worry. But.. he understands. He does. There’s a feeling in his chest— elation, perhaps, that maybe he could have something in common with her. In common with a beautiful woman— it doesn’t set him that far apart from humanity. If an abomination such as himself could go through similar experiences as the Geisha, then perhaps..

“I understand,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself. It’s likely the loudest he’s said anything this whole time (aside from his scream when she’d initially shown up), and the Geisha even jumps a bit when he does this. Her eyes are wide and curious, perhaps surprised, as she looks down at him. 

He stutters to correct himself. 

“I-I mean.. I.. went through a similar experience, I mean— I don’t mean to distract, I’m simply just—“

A soft laugh cuts him off. His frown deepens when the Geisha smiles warmly down at him, a certain fondness to her look that wasn’t there before. 

“Maybe we are not so different, then?” She suggests, the same small smile playing on her lips, a hint of amusement in her tone. “It’s a good thing you’re the one listening to me, then. I appreciate your kindness.”

Andrew looks aside. 

She seems to take the hint. 

“I’m afraid my habits of dealing with this life weren’t too healthy either..”

She reaches into her sleeve. Andrew notices this with some confusion, and it’s with a small flinch that he realizes her delicately clawed fingers are holding something, extending it out to him. Carefully, he takes it— a small slip of paper, a piece of film. 

“I began drinking a lot. I missed my friends, my family, my job— I was no longer self-sufficient, so I couldn’t leave the country without asking Miles. And that would have broken his heart.”

The thing she’d handed him had been a small photograph. 

A young girl, in similar robes to the ones the Geisha wears, is standing with a man, who has a tall nose and deep eyes. He looks happy.

The girl, who carries a striking likeness to the Geisha for a reason Andrew can assume, wears a small smile. But even he can tell that it’s extremely forced. Almost like a grimace. Her eyes are averted from the camera. 

In front of them sits a gloomy looking old man. He wears official looking clothing— perhaps suggesting that this man is, or was, in the army. He looks very unhappy. Andrew turns the photo over to reveal the written words, “Unpleasant woman.”

He frowns and the Geisha taps one of her claws onto the gloomy man in the center once the photo is turned back over. 

“That’s his father,” she adds uselessly. “He added the writing on the back.”

“..So it would seem,” Andrew mutters in response, not really sure what to say.

She stands up straight. Her gaze shifts to the water, to the lanterns floating and bobbing atop it. 

“I was desperate to please Miles and his father. This was the last photo I got of him— He’d gone on a long trip after this.”

Andrew, brows furrowed, sends a look to the Geisha. Confusion, perhaps some disbelief— and the woman just nods solemnly, like she’s thinking the same thing that he is. 

“Yes, I.. I’d begged him not to go. Or to take me with him— I was terribly codependent on Miles. He was my only safe haven, my love, the only one in that entire country who understood me, but.. he left.”

The fan opens back up. The fanning begins again. 

“He’d assured me that I’d be fine, that his father would take care of me. But I don’t quite think he understood the reasoning behind his father disliking me so much.”

She looks down. 

“..I couldn’t control the way I looked. Couldn’t get rid of my accent, couldn’t.. I couldn’t do anything. His father disliked me for something unreasonable, and there’s no reasoning with that— no changing that, because it’s irrational. It’s..”

She trails off. Then sighs. She looks at Andrew, a small, pained smile on her face. 

“..You understand. I know you do.”

And Andrew does. All he can offer is a nod. 

Her smile turns a bit more genuine at that. 

“You’re lovely to talk to,” she says, voice soft. “Even though I’m simply just.. rambling to you, you’re a lovely listener.”

Andrew frowns. 

He is.. unfamiliar with praise. 

Much to his relief, the Geisha turns away again with a sigh. 

“..I suppose my question is, ah..”

She laughs softly, the sound melancholy. Bittersweet. 

“..Should I still love Miles as much as I do..?”

And, good Lord, that is a heavy question. Much too complex for Andrew’s feeble mind. And yet, for whatever reason, he has an answer. 

“..I think..”

He clears his throat for the nth time that match. 

“..You can.. Love him, of course, b-but.. He did not treat you kindly.”

Silence hangs in the air. Andrew, despite his apprehension, asks a question. 

“W-what.. happened to you, when your husband..”

He trails off, but the Geisha understands anyway. 

“He killed me.”

She says it with such flippancy that Andrew almost feels the need to scold her. But he looks up at her with wide, not-so-surprised eyes, and she even laughs.

A sigh and she summons another butterfly, dancing on the wind created by her fan. 

“Yes, he killed me. I don’t know what he did with my body. But I can’t imagine it was anything very polite.”

Another small laugh. Andrew is shocked with her attitude towards being murdered out of pure prejudice.

He recovers quickly, though— he clears his throat and looks back down at his shoes. 

There’s silence, before the Geisha says, “Please, say what’s on your mind.”

He frowns. He grinds his shoe into the ground. 

“..He led you to your death.”

Andrew says this quietly, nervously. But the Geisha says nothing. He continues. 

“..He.. Was not a bad person, I do believe he loved you, b-but.. He.. Left you, in an.. unsafe situation. With no escape. That’s not..”

He catches a glimpse of the Geisha’s somber expression as he trails off for a moment. He swallows. 

“..That’s not.. Love.”

And the silence that crosses over them after this is sickening. Andrew’s stomach churns with nerves the longer it drags on, hangs in the air, stretching until it will eventually snap, and then that scary, scary mask will appear on her face, and she’ll grab Andrew by the neck and throttle him, yelling about how dare he have such audacity. 

But none of that happens. A moment longer and she sighs. She takes the photo out of Andrew’s hands and she looks at it a little longer. She squints at it, before sighing and letting go. The film catches onto the wind and is blown into the water. 

It floats alongside the beautiful lanterns. Andrew watches as it becomes more and more damp, eventually sinking below the surface with weight. 

“..That’s the only photo I was left with, of Miles,” she says, a sigh in her wistful voice. “I have no others. I think..”

She closes up her fan. 

“..I think there’s a reason for that.”

She looks back at Andrew. Forces a tight smile, though she doesn’t look angry. Or irritated, or anything like that. Rather, she looks.. relieved. The smile is a courtesy.

“I needed to hear that very much.”

Andrew blinks. 

“You’re.. you’re not mad..?”

She shakes her head, and her smile turns more genuine, though it’s still small. 

“Of course not. This is.. something I’ve been thinking about. I felt guilty about criticizing Miles, since he certainly had no bad intentions, but..”

Another butterfly appears. It flutters and lands on the handle of Andrew’s shovel. 

“..You’re very wise, Mister Kreiss.”

Andrew scoffs a little bit. He eyes the butterfly.

“I-I’m simply just.. Answering your question..”

“But it was a lovely answer,” she adds on quickly, her tone lightly chastising. “It’s a conclusion that I took years to come to.”

Andrew scoffs, the sound a little harsher than he’d initially intended. The Geisha seems to understand his thought process, anyway.

She laughs softly again. “Yes, well.. I appreciate it, nonetheless. I’d have liked for my son to be as wise as you.”

Andrew looks up at her, expression turning more upset than defensive now. 

“..W-were you..”

The Geisha nods. 

“Yes, I was.. Not too far along, though. Miles never found out— I was gone before I could ever tell him.”

She looks aside. 

“Perhaps that’s for the best, though. That child would not have had the best life. Nor would it have had the best mother.”

Andrew frowns. He looks down again. 

The Geisha keeps speaking, despite his aversion.

“You seemed very certain of your answer,” she says. “Who, might I ask, did you leave behind when you came here..?”

Andrew’s frown deepens. He’s unwilling to answer that in full. He’s unwilling to answer that at all, really, but then again, he feels an obligation. She did answer his initial question, even if it was a rather indirect answer. The Geisha’s distaste for other’s gazes is a product of her later years in the states. What she once took pride in was turned to shame when she made the decision to go with her husband. 

Then again, based on the woman’s respectfulness thus far, he’s sure that should he refuse to answer, she would surely understand. 

There would still be guilt, though. 

He sighs. His mind initially goes elsewhere— his hand wanders to the wooden cross hanging around his neck, but he pauses in his thinking. 

He’s devout— truly, he is, but he finds it hard to feel guilty when he gives the Geisha his final answer as to who exactly he left behind. 

“My.. mother..” 

Andrew says the words quietly. There’s shame when he thinks of her— the kindest woman on Earth, he’s certain of it. 

She.. would not be proud of him today. 

Not in the slightest. 

Despite the remorse surrounding her imagery, though, he can’t bring himself to think that she would hate him, though. Whether or not he actually believes this to be true, or if it’s just a last ditch attempt at making himself feel better, he’s unsure. But he tries not to dwell on it.

And though she died when he was young, he’d considered his switch to this kind of lifestyle a sort of “leaving” her, anyway. Reluctantly, of course, but nonetheless, he can’t bring himself to picture himself next to her in his current state. Or ever, really, but the feeling grows with time.

The Geisha nods slowly. 

“Your mother..”

She repeats the words slowly, thoughtfully, as though tasting them in her mouth. 

“Did you love her?”

The answer is obvious, of course. Andrew feels reluctant to speak of the woman, believing the sanctity of death to be something that should be left alone. However, he can’t help the lighter feeling in his chest at the question. It brings back pleasant memories, despite the universal taboo surrounding the discussion of the dead. 

“Dearly.”

Andrew’s tone is solemn. Solemn, but certain. Andrew is precarious about most things, as it would turn out— hesitation covers every bit of his day, of his life, his mind, all of it. But this is one thing it has yet to touch.

He sees the Geisha smile a little bit. 

“Good,” she says, giving Andrew a kind yet very knowing look. It unnerves him all the same. 

“She raised you very well.”

And she'd certainly tried— she'd tried her hardest, despite everything. And though Andrew knows that, in the end, he turned out to be something nigh unrecognizable from his days as a stupid, curious child, reminiscent of that little girl, the words almost make him smile.

Almost.