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This is my favourite South Park opening.

Spoiler

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◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: tired | frustrated ▣ interaction:▣ ooc: ◢​

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sealand | atelier cartesian quadrant​

How useless.

Cherno held the letter in his hand, letting the lights of the elegant subway station turn the paper mildly translucent. The words continued to be heavily opaque, as if they were a weight on his soul. He sighed.

The Brookridge police were intent on the messages of the text. He couldn't get anything out of them. Suchet could have helped. Where did he go, anyway? It only took a few hours of back-and-forth questioning in circles until the police decided to drop him back off in Coy City. Uneventful and problematic. Cherno had no idea where Altair or Heidi went. When he woke up, it was only him and Theodore.

It was a suicide. It was a homicide.

How useless.

Cherno did not want to think right now. Why did he have to think so much? He tucked the letter in his pocket and laid down on the subway station bench, looking up at the elegant pioneer-life frescos of Sealand Station painted delicately on the ceilings. Chandeliers of a modernist, Art Deco taste hung gently but powerfully from them, their lights unable to be shaken regardless of the force of incoming trains.

He would ... he would just rest here. For a bit. At least he was back in Coy City.
But what good would that do? His ... his house was flooded, right? He didn't know where any hotels were, and he had no idea where the others' homes could be. Being in this station, they were probably in dire states of disrepair as well.

He coughed.
He suppose he would enjoy the drifting subway life, right? A new adventure for someone with a clean slate. Cherno rested his body to the side, away from the subway tracks, and closed his eyes. A nap would be nice. A nap to settle everything.

More like ghetto out Jayn.

Spoiler

I'M HALF-PLUMS

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◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ debate ▣ mood: unconscious ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: ◢​

Inspector Theodore looked through the crumpled up letter that Cherno had left it as, careful to not get his manicured fingers near the small drops of blood. What a shame. He couldn't handle the letter, could he?

He stuck it in his breast pocket and looked back at the boy, now unconscious from the amount of rage that he had unleashed upon the dented metal table. The knuckles of his left hand were bloodied. He would have to stay the night in the station. After all, they still had much to question him about. Inspector Suchet would be returning soon.

Inspector Theodore turned to Altair and instructed him out of the interrogation room, opening the door, before leaving himself.

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◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ debate ▣ mood: tired | frustrated ▣ interaction:▣ ooc: ashwin x spike chunsoft ◢​

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brookridge police | euler's interrogative rationalization​

Cherno glanced back at the young girl who looked at him with fearful eyes. Was this the girl named "Heidi"? He had absolutely no idea who she was, or who she could be. Did-- did he know her before? From before the twelve days? He could not pinpoint a single memory involving her delicate face. Who was she? Cherno couldn't think. Ugh. He was tired. So tired. He slumped to the cold metal table. He had barely been able to pay attention to all of the evidence that the cold-nosed detective had placed on the table and ruffled throughout their faces. A letter. How pleasant. He couldn't lift his eyes to read it right now. The weight of her simple lack of existence tarnished the lustre of his soul. Her phone was missing? Oh.

Was that why she was never able to reply to her texts?
Did she even see his response text?

Heidi surreptitiously slipped him something. Wait, what? Pieces of a phone.
Pieces of ... of Temperance's phone. Wait.

Something wasn't right at all.

Cherno raised his head and turned to the boy named Altair. He barely knew anything about him, but he at least knew that he was in the same boat as himself. Cherno sighed and looked towards the cold-nosed detective. His bony face contrasted with his silky, expensive black suit. He briefly adjusted his tie. Had to be presentable, after all. Working with potential criminals here, right? Detectives. He seemed the complete opposite of the jolly Suchet. This detective was a man who treaded the boundary between death and shadowy non-existence.

His calculating gaze from behind his rimless glasses shone coldly towards Cherno and Altair. What was he thinking? Cherno simply leered back at him.
He was going to settle this. There was no way this was a suicide.

Cherno lowered his head and held his arms against the table, closing his eyes.
"'Scuse me, mister detective."
The detective clapped his hands and smiled deviously. "Please. Call me Inspector Theodore. What is it?" His voice was eerily cold and robotic, and spoke with the soft, careful accent of upper class Brookridge that Cherno had previously heard in the young man named Harley.
"You all keep calling the little mojo show a suicide."
"It is an absolute certainty that it was a suicide."
"That is ridiculous." Cherno shook his head in dismay.

int logic ( ) {​

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Why do they believe it is a suicide?​

There is a note and a series of texts.​

But they say that they are missing Temperance's phone, having seen things through Madeline's.​

Would that really be a good enough basis?​

No, it wouldn't. It leaves out an entire half.​

Not to mention the very proof that Heidi had just handed to him ...​

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}​

Cherno lightly tapped the table with his hands, and stared back at the detective's piercing gaze. His glasses reflected the light, casting opaque white squares before his eyes.
"I've got a jive little objection to your conclusion!"
Theodore laughed.
"Let me lay out the entire situation for you."

This was his chance.
He had to debate his point across.

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[ vector time ]​

Cherno's Hand -- Which one to choose?

• The position of the body
• Madeline's presence
• The tears on the letter
• The broken phone
• Heidi's possession of the phone

Theodore's Thesis

• The Suicide of Temperance Spike and Madeline Moore

DRAW!

"We have collected an immense amount of proof showing that Miss Spike and Miss Moore have been involved in what can be called a collaborative suicide."

Sure thing. Just wait. Just wait.​

"Are you trying to tell me it wasn't? Pah, ridiculous!"

Why was he so full of himself? It was clear he was missing some valuable information.​

"Let me lay it out for you clearly."

Steady, now.​

"Point one, the letter. It is very clear, from the wording, that it seemed to imply suicide. Miss Spike was clearly in a state of depression while writing it."

That isn't true. She may have been depressed, sure, but the conditions fit the ditty factorizin' little problems of the e-mail well.​

Of course, I can't tell him that, can I?​

"Do you object to this?"

No objections. Keep waiting.​

"Good. It's clear enough. Second major point is the text message conversation."

Oh?​

"As traced from the conversation between Miss Spike and Miss Moore ..."

There ... there, that-- that may be the key.​

I can see it now. It was like Heidi said.​

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int logic ( ) {​

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They traced text messages between the two from Madeline's phone.​

But Temperance's phone was damaged and in Heidi's possession.​

Temperance would have been unable to send any text beyond the first few ones.​

Temperance was not involved with the further text messages, from the timing after the break. They came from another source!​

But where did they come from, and why did they appear?​

There could only be one explanation.​

The text messages were a product of an external force used to trick this issue into a suicide.​

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}​

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"The text messages clearly imply the intent of mutual suicide between Miss Spike and Miss Moore."

There we go!​

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int evidence >>> The broken phone.​

Cherno fired.​

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...​

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"Bang!"​

SMASHED!

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brookridge police | euler's interrogative rationalization​

"There's an enormous fallacy in your teensy little conclusion, I'm mighty afraid, Inspector Theodore!" Cherno called out across the table. He brought out the pieces of the phone that Heidi had handed to him and pointed. "These are the remnants of-- of Miss Temperance Spike's phone. They were broken and taken by Heidi before the time of the text messages!"

Cherno's eyes widened and his foxlike grin returned. "You relied on the basis of only Miss Madeline Moore's phone, and not Miss Temperance Spike's corner of the bayou! These text messages are false leads and set-ups! It is clear that there's been a moseyin' little murder-scene at our little old hot springs locale, you dig!"

Theodore stared at Cherno for a brief moment, and looked down at the pieces of the phone, and back at Cherno, then to the phone, then at Altair, before slowly resting his cold eyes on Cherno. He smiled deviously. What the hell was he thinking now?
"Certification." Theodore said, with a shrug.
Wait.
What?
"I'll need to verify with your little friend Heidi that she actually had the phone, and the times fit. You've got a point, Mr. Plume, but for all we know, you're pulling arbitrary conclusions out of thin air. If you'll excuse me--" Theodore adjusted the cuffs of his velvet black blazer, and began walking towards the door.

But before he exited to meet Heidi, he turned back and called back to Cherno and Altair.
"If we have enough convincing proof, we can ... open up the possibility it was a homicide. Good luck finding enough clues for that, though. And one more thing. The little girl better have a convincing story and a witness of her actions, or--" He shrugged mockingly, "I can't say for sure that your argument would hold up to facts."

With a devious grin, Theodore left Cherno and Altair alone in the room.

A loud thud echoed from the room across the hallway of the police hall as Cherno, having realized that he did need Heidi's testimony to confirm the conclusions he set up, smashed his head forcibly against the metal table.

But wait.
The letter. What exactly was in the letter?
Cherno slowly slipped it into his hand and began reading it.

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◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: tired | frustrated ▣ interaction:▣ ooc: ◢​

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The car moved on quickly and quietly. How long had it been, even? An hour? Was it an hour? Perhaps even more time. Ugh. Cherno was too dazed and tired to even consider the time at the moment. His head slumped towards the window, the cold glass stabbing numbly at his cheek. Enormous, brooding conifers raced by the empty road, and his dulled golden eyes followed the constant repetition and repetition. He didn't want to even think.

He turned his head slowly and took out his phone from his pocket. It had run out of battery during the entire ordeal in the hot springs. He was never even able to give the others his presents. Or ask questions. The phone, and the presents, held the key to everything. His memory was still spotty. He knew who these people were now -- at least, for the last twelve days. But he did not know much about them. Who were they really, but simple names with a few fleeting memories attached to them?

Like Madeline. The only memory he had of the strange girl was something after a concert. It was so patchy that it hurt his head thinking about it. What happened between them? He had no idea, and since it was only them, he would never have any idea.

Cherno sighed.

He looked towards the scar on his hand. What had caused this?
Would he ever be able to find out anything about what happened to his memory? He felt that he could only trust a few people right now.

"H--hey ..."

Prescott was not one of them.

Cherno groaned. Why did he feel the need to badger him constantly? Ugh. Goddamn cops sticking their nose in everything.
"S--sorry, but y--you, I mean-- okay, w--what was I-- I-- gonna s--say ..."
What was with this guy? That was it.

"Prescott!"

...

Oh.

Oh no.
Flippin' derivatives, why in god's name did he yell like that? Cherno relaxed himself, exhaling gently, and rested his head dimly on his arm as he looked out the window again.

"Oh. S--sorry, friend. Uh, officer, I mean. I don't ... don't got any qualms, you dig? I ... I just ..."

Spoiler

"I'm sorry Cherno. I really am. But I do love the gift. It's a shame it'll be wasted."

Fuck.

"I-- I know. It must be hard, Mr. Plume" Prescott continued looking forward while he drove the squad car, rather smoothly and effectively. "B--believe me, we-- we want to figure this ... this, out, as much as the n--n--next person ..."
"Officer. I have two queries to send straight up flightin' your way."
Prescott paused. "... Uh."

The clouds appeared to be turning darker and further grey, as if angered at the vindications of the meek earth beneath it. The trees lining the lone road swayed to the breeze. It all seemed so musical and lively, yet there was not a trace of happiness in the air. How ... melancholic. Cherno pressed his hand towards the window's chilly glass, but it was unable to overtake the shards of ice and arctic wind that blew through his heart and his head. Prescott switched on the radio.

"I uh... I hope y--you d--don't mind. I-- I mean, I-- thought it would be n--nice for some m--music."
Cherno did not reply. His eyes followed the trees and the signs that passed by quickly.

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brookridge police | cosine of the siren's ratio​

"Officer Prescott," Cherno began.
"W--wh-- I mean, yes?"
Cherno did not turn to face him. He traced his finger around on the window's meek coating of frost, drawing an elegant pattern. The tip of his finger was bitten by the vicious fangs of the cold. But Cherno? Cherno did not care.
"Do you not consider it ... torturous." His voice was flat. Cherno could not feel himself speak. It was as if the words simply dripped out of his mouth, and he was not one bit conscious of it.
"What?"
"... To carry a forsaken man to the ends of the mortal plane ..."
Prescott did not reply.
"... To bring forth Orpheus, and thus, test him and judge him ..."
Cherno continued to trace a pattern in the window's frost.
"... And in letting him flight with Eurydice, dare his wits, his humanity ..."
The car continued moving.
"... But be unable to see his truth every step of the way. Wearing only ..."
The trees swayed in a mocking, displeasing manner.
"... The mask, of a false illusion to believe in."
Cherno slowly dropped his finger away from the cold window, and finally turned his head towards the stout, rotund officer driving the car.

Prescott was silent for a few moments, and only the slight purr of the engine and the wheels upon the road brought the calm to the tense air. Finally, he spoke up, with a clearer voice than usual.
"I-- have heard that quote before."
"Have you?" Cherno said, calmly, and chuckled. "It just came to me. I have no idea where I last heard it. Mayhaps it's a key to my past, eh? Ahaha." His laugh sounded a bit hollow.
Prescott was silent again. Cherno was unable to see his facial expression. What was the cop thinking?
"T--the reason we are questioning you again ..." He began, "Is precisely that. T--to face, I-- I mean, to face a truth, w--we have to wade through a forest o--of lies."
Cherno sighed and said, with some melancholic kindness in his voice, "... You're no help, Officer."

Why had those words come to him?
It was as if he remembered them ... from ... somewhere. But, how? Did he know the origins back before the twelve days?
"'Scuse me, Officer." Cherno's voice held little intonation to it. How could he feel anything right after these events. "Where is Inspector Suchet? That was my second bangin' query."
"H--he had b--business to ... uh, to take care of. In-- investigation, some ... something to do with some man's ... attempted disposal of a young girl's body from a Coy-- Coy City school ..."

Wait.
What?

...

What the fuck?

No.

No. There was no way.

No. It. It just. No. It couldn't. ... i--it-- it couldn't--

"Officer!" Cherno called out, a bit loudly. His voice seemed to echo throughout the car. "Was the name of the girl--"
"No. I've-- I've said enough. Pre--pree--preeeetty lucky Mr. Suckit isn--isn't here, o--or else h--he would have gut m-me ... haha. Any--anyhow, we're at the station."
"Tell me! Tell me, goddammit!" Cherno wrenched himself towards the front seats of the car and looked Prescott in his sagging, nervous eyes.
"G--get out of the car, Mr. Plume, o--or I'll arrest you for a m--multitude of things."

Ugh.

This-- just ...
Cherno slumped. He had no energy left.

The two exited the car. Cherno glanced at the Brookridge Police Station. It was very ornamental for a mere building -- pillars, a colonnade, arched windows with a bit of nice colourful paint contrasting the white marble, and ... was that gold leaf? He could only describe it as "rococo". It wasn't exactly what he expected for a police station, of all things.

Prescott let out a chuckle that sounded hearty yet ingrained with nervousness. "L--like it? Brookridge's f--filled with all s--sorts of crazy archi--archi-- uh, archi--tect--tecture. Ha." He exhaled gently. "L--let's go, Mr. Plume. Altair and Heidi are waiting i--inside." He pointed to the enormous, carved arch wooden doors that served as the main entrance to the police station.

Cherno quickly scuttled off without a word, his lovely new coat blowing behind him in the wind.

Prescott let out a deep sigh, and turned to his car. Ack! He gasped loudly.
Cherno had drawn a heart on the window frost with his finger. Why in the world did he do that?

I am only going to write one or two of these each night until December 25th.
The thread will be locked accordingly whenever I am posting after this post!

One christmas night, there was a boy named Adam. Adam was a good little boy throughout the year. He would always let old ladies cross the street, and respect the evil staff elves whenever he did something bad. But he did not do anything bad, because he was a good little boy. Adam's one dream was to set up his first Christmas tree. But he had no idea where to find one! So he visited the nearby forest and came across the young maiden in the shack, Moshi.

Moshi was a Christmas Witch, an elf sent to normal mortals to help spread around Christmas spirit. Adam had to forge a deal with the Christmas Witch in order to get his tree. The Christmas Wish asked for only one thing, and it was a test. She asked him to help set up the Christmas Tree, even though she was a stranger, and Adam did not know about her true intentions.

Adam, being a shounen protagonist with hot blood through his veins, set up his Christmas Tree with the Christmas Witch Moshi. Because of his kindness and friendship, Adam's tree grew from a small little conifer to the World Tree, with the Castle of the North Pole at the very top. Christmas Witch Moshi, having revealed her true intentions - to ensure the existence of the North Pole, returned to her home after turning into Mother Christmas.

The World Tree was still new and in dire need of repairs, as it grew from but a simple mortal's conifer tree. Who were the new resident elves to call? Santa Claus, king of the Castle of the North Pole, looked through the universe for someone with the tenacity to help repair the World Tree and the Castle of the North Pole. He found a young man, known in his winter village for his rational attitude and tenacious strength. A perfect builder! This man was recruited, and lost his human shell for the immortal body of a Christmas Elf.

Reborn in the World Tree, this elf was nicknamed Below for his work beneath the World Tree in ensuring its support. Santa Claus, king of the Castle of the North Pole - entrusted him with one task - he was to find a way to make sure the World Tree would continue to rebuild itself regardless of the damage it may receive. Below was ready for the task. He commanded legions of worker elves, and after observing for three long Christmas years, he realized that the World Tree's health depended on the amount of Christmas spirit that the world had at the time.

He crafted a seed, the Christmas Seed, that, planted below the roots of the World Tree, would eventually grow and intertwine its Christmas Vines with the World Tree, depending on the amount of Christmas spirit that the world had.

But there was nobody to regulate the amount of Christmas spirit at the time. Santa Claus, king of the Castle of the North Pole, looked throughout the mortal world for anybody who would be able to ensure that Christmas spirit would be constant, especially in the month of December. But, it seemed that this time, the short lifespan and the fatigue that humans gained after a long time awake made them inadequate for the task!

So he glanced up to the night sky. The spirit of the night descended down to meet Santa Claus, king of the Castle of the North Pole. The spirit of the night struck a deal with Santa Claus: in exchange for the soul of a mortal being, he would ensure that Christmas spirit in humans would last an eternity.

Odamadillo was the human chosen to lose his soul to allow an eternal Christmas spirit. At first, the spirit of the night, using Mother Christmas' magic, attempted to taunt Odamadillo through the major Christmas desires of humanity: presents.

Odamadillo was a wise human. They rejected the material goods, saying that such was not what Christmas was truly about. Odamadillo challenged the spirit of the night to a Christmas game -- if either one of them could be the first to make a young child happy, then they would relinquish to a request of the other person. The spirit of the night, of course, claimed that if he won, Odamadillo would lose his soul. Odamadillo kept his request to the end.

Keyblade Knight was the young boy who was not happy. He had never been happy during Christmas, or at any other time. Why was he so sad? The spirit of the night struck first. The spirit of the night let the young boy wake up to a mountain of presents.

At first, the young boy was immensely happy, but he realized that he could not play with all of these toys on his own. What good were toys that were so fleeting and with which one played with themselves? This is where Odamadillo stepped in. Using the magic of Mother Christmas, he disguised himself as a young boy, and became Keyblade Knight's friend. For the first time, Keyblade Knight felt happiness on Christmas Eve.

Odamadillo informed the spirit of the night that the true point of Christmas was friendship and happiness. The spirit of the night, beaten, did not go back on his commitment however, and did not need a soul. Instead, he spread Christmas cheer through his own powers:

He would allow Santa Claus, king of the Castle of the North Pole, to be able to deliver all presents in a single night.

Before this time, there had been a giraffe that was rejected by his peers because his neck was too short. Standing on the edge of a bridge, he was close to ending it all right then and there. But this is where the spirit of the night and Santa Claus were able to unite their powers for the first time.

It only took a single night for all good little boys and girls, and giraffes, to get what they desired. So right on midnight, as the giraffe was about to step off the bridge, a bicycle appeared beneath the giraffe. Suddenly taller, he became happier, and all was good with the animal kingdom, having learned about Christmas.

But not everyone was happy with Christmas.

A little girl from the cold wastes of northern England, named Mish, looked to the stars and the great World Tree with disdain. She would never be able to understand the spirit of Christmas, because of her terrible experiences with Santa. She refused to be giving, to donate, to spend time with friends and family.

But in truth, her heart had simply been untouched by the grace of Christmas.

Santa Claus, the king of the Castle of the North Pole, saw little Mish from the great observatory. The Astronomer Elf of the North Pole, Laurence, known for her universal wisdom, decided to find a way to make Mish understand the beauty and spirit of Christmas. Santa Claus had become reluctant, because the Astronomer Elf had the important duty of coordinating the spirit of the night's actions, but the Astronomer Elf reassured Santa Claus by bringing the spirit of the night with her on the day before Christmas.

They reached the cold wastes of northern England, and decided to visit Mish's little home. On the way, they came across a young boy who had with him a present for his crush.

This young boy was heading to Mish's home, ready with a beautiful necklace. The Astronomer Elf took the necklace and looked at it, calling it hollow, and telling the young boy to come with them to the house of his crush. As they tried to enter, Mish slammed the door on them knowing that they were subordinates of Santa Claus, so they needed to try another method.

The Astronomer Elf had a plan. She gave the young boy's necklace to the spirit of the night, and informed him to jump into the sky with it. On her cue, the spirit of the night would uncover the necklace from his shadowy cloak, and would reveal a star. The young boy was to confess to Mish on Christmas Eve in accordance with the reveal of the star.

He knocked on the door, this time alone, and Mish slowly opened it. The young boy poured his heart out about his feelings and how he was too poor, and thus could only bring her one single present that meant the universe to him. He pointed to the sky, and on cue, the spirit of the night uncovered the necklace, its bright jewel shining like a star. To Mish, it had seemed as if the young boy had created a star just for her.

She was enchanted on this Christmas night, and let the young boy stay. Together, they learned that Christmas was about love. The Astronomer Elf, satisfied, returned to the World Tree with the spirit of the night.

The star was a bright one. Crafted of love and powered by Christmas Spirit, it shone brightly and served as a reminder that the spirit of giving was everywhere. Barney, realizing that giving was now everywhere, did not have to teach children positive values anymore. He died peacefully in his sleep.

Adam had now turned from a young Scottish boy to a strong, young adult Englishman. He looked upon the World Tree with happiness, seeing as how he helped its growth. But he felt sad. He felt sad because he did not have any more time to spend with Mother Christmas. In fact, Mother Christmas had all but forgotten him.

He needed to visit the World Tree one last time, to see if Mother Christmas could still remember him. He set off in the cold Christmas night, towards the great World Tree, which he would climb to the top to reach the Castle of the North Pole. He was guided by elves to the top, amazed at the determination of the mortal, and because of this, he slowly turned into an elf.

At the very top of the tree awaited Mother Christmas. She was now a changed person - a young girl, a Princess of Christmas, who was the daughter of the former Mother Christmas. She did not recognize the changed Adam either, but over dinner and egg nog, listened to his story about how he climbed to the top and had forsaken all mortal desires to reach the point of enlightenment that was the Castle of the North Pole. The new Mother Christmas was enchanted by the story, and she called in Santa Claus to pinpoint the old Mother Christmas.

He entered and sat down before the young man. With a soft heart, he told the young man that the old Mother Christmas was no longer with them. However, his efforts had changed him to become a positive influence upon the world. No longer would he simply need the desire to see Mother Christmas, for the very spirit of her soul lived in his heart.

The young man became the first free elf in the Castle of the North Pole, having proved himself, and served as the messenger between the young children and the Castle of the North Pole, ensuring that all young children received presents and their wishes were granted, and that all young children would have the spirit of Mother Christmas in their hearts. What is more -- he learned one final lesson.

Christmas was a time of loss, but also a time of rebirth.

Mami, how many times have I told you to get out of Madoka's clothes?!

He is quoting something like converse-anthropic principle. Since humans have defined a concept of the world by themselves (it brings up the question of the degree of consciousness animals have) then the end of humans would be the end of the world by their perception, since the very perception would cease to exist. Concretely, of course, the world may still continue to exist.

If I recall correctly, there have been talks between both the Democrats and Republicans about gun control laws to prevent things like this. I am not quite sure to what degree though. And I am also wondering if only gun control laws instead of things like socioeconomic conditions or mental illness are the issue to tackle at the moment. Perhaps all three and more. Gun crime can have complicated backgrounds, and though one aspect may help, it may take multiple other approaches to get a very, very large decrease.

Perhaps you should skip school on that day if you feel that much anxiety. Perhaps with many others as well. At least until there is some sort of certified protection that is present. The police must already be aware. Although it has a possibility of being a simple hollow threat for attention (which it seems to be), I am not sure if taking the risk would be the best -- it is up to you in the end. But please stay safe, sir. Please.

I was never aware that Francois Hollande's plan to tackle unemployment was to bombard institutions with flaming space rocks.

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◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: irritated | frustrated ▣ interaction:▣ ooc: ◢​

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"Okay ... so, uh--" The larger officer took out a small notepad as he sat down on one of the small boulders outside the resort.

An hour.

It had been an hour since Cherno Plume's heart shattered into pieces.

It had been an hour since Cherno Plume had been woken up by the two most incompetent officers on the planet, and he was only able to get a sleepy glimpse at the commotion of officers and the strange young girl in the room before realizing what had happened.

Though the resort was abuzz with activity, the entrances of the women's quarters were slowly beginning to be marked off as the investigation into the deaths began. Meanwhile, this officer and his little friend seemed to be making little progress. He was large but a bit jittery, his entire body wracked with nervousness and his hands often absent-mindedly moving towards his black Victorian moustache in contemplation. He squinted his eyes at the words written there for a long while before turning to his partner, who stood staring at the mountains in the distance, ruffling through his pale brown hair and speaking to himself in his distinctive Park Meadows accent.

"Hey, uh-- uh ..." He tapped his friend's shoulder, who turned around with a big goofy grin on his face. Did that guy think all of this was funny?
"'Sup dawg."
"Yeah, uh-- could you, could you-- y'know, explain this ..."
"What? Oh, you cray, bro, let me handle this shiznizzle."
"N--no! Dear lordy, I j--just need! I-- I mean, I just need--"

This was stupid.

"Look," Cherno said. His voice was filled with irritation and grumpiness, his brow furrowed. Long ago he had lost the feelings of joy and euphoria that first graced him at the hot spring. Long ago did he feel that the horrible ... terrifying ... moments, of realizing, Temperance was not in his arms anymore ... that everything was true, it was hard for his heart to bear. The stress was unbearable, and his nerves were a wreck, and the shine of the mountain sun mockingly reflected off his tear-stained cheeks and angry red eyes.

And the most hilarious thing about this prank? He still knew so little.
Who was Temperance Spike? He knew her from the past twelve days. He knew how she was flirtatious yet had a streak of sensitivity in her heart. But besides that? He didn't know a thing. Why did this pack of hyenas have to ask him these questions so incompetently?

Ugh.

Cherno surreptitiously slammed his fist against the stone behind him in frustration.

"Look. I've told you-- I've jived to you before, officer-men, my memory is not in the most ... healthful of ships, you dig?"
The nervous officer turned to Cherno with a suspicious look on his face. "A--A--All's well that ends well, b--but that-- I mean, to say-- that's not what we really-- really care about. O--okay, then-- I guess--" He turned back to Cherno with the notepad.
"Look, dawg." The other officer said. "You ain't gotta clue 'bout howta use that thing. You're just as bad as the damn kid we're tryin'a get a little info from." He hovered over the moustached officer and snatched the notepad from him, retrieving a pen from his breast pocket and clicking it to life.

"'Kay. State your name."
"I already jollied out my ditty little name twice!"
"Damn, son!" The officer narrowed his pale blue eyes. "State your name 'cause this crunk mutha' can't write for scounce." He pointed at the moustached officer who sat leering at Cherno.
"H--Hey!" He exclaimed. "J--Just because you're m--my senior, sir, d--doesn't, I mean-- doesn't mean you c--can call me your mother!"
The brown haired man sighed. "Yo, can we just keep this quick?"
"Cherno. Cherno Plume."
"Funky name, dawg. I dig." He scribbled something in the notepad, then sat down on the rock directly in front of Cherno.
"Too bad I have no idea who he is--"
"Besides the last twelve days, yeah? 'Aiight, it's coo'. You've been truckin' that construction of thought for the last fifteen minutes. I get it. I get it."
"What the hell are you even saying--"
"'Kay. I needs my friend Prescott here t' ask you some little koo-ess-tions." He took off his cap for a moment. "Damn, it's chill in here."
"C--Can you stay on task, Mr. Suckit?! And it's Officer Prescott--"
"Daaaaamn! Can't even get mah name right. Look at this right standin' buffoon. It's pronounced Suchet, dawg--"

God, how incompetent were these two? Were all Coy City officers like this?

"P--please, can we just get to the flipping point of this little dithyramb?"
"Y--yes, s--sorry to keep you waiting. Ahem." Prescott cleared his throat. Suchet flipped through the notepad and absentmindedly scribbled down a few more things.
"T--the, I mean, the reason ... we're-- right, we're querying you ... on this matter ..." Prescott continually twirled around the tip of his moustache in slight nervousness. "Is because y--you were the ... the last one who had s--seen ... uh--" Prescott turned to Suchet.
"What's the first girl's name?"
"Man, lemme look! Hold your gaddamn lamborghinis." Suchet flipped through the notepad. "Peppermint Sprite."
"Temperance Spike--"
"Temperance Spike!"

Cherno groaned and held his head in his hands.

Temperance.
Why did they think they would-- they would get anything out of him?

"Whoa! Hey hey, damn Pressy, you needa improve your writin' skills already! Haha! Sorry 'bout that."
"L--let's continue ..." Prescott lowered his brow in seething annoyance.

It's not like he remembered anything from before that goddamn e-mail. The goddamn e-mail that ruined everything. Cherno looked down at his feet and clenched his teeth together.

"W--we would ... like to know w--what it is sh--she said, and did, right before her ... untimely demise ..." Prescott clearly looked uncomfortable. Cherno didn't even get to see the death scene! His heart felt heavy.

"... what it is sh--she said, and did ..."

Crack.

... Wh--why?

Why did she ... did she have to leave him ... why did she have to do that.
And right after remembering at least a part of the woman named Temperance Spike, she disappears out of his life.
It was cruel, this game.

He wouldn't fucking have any of it.
"She kissed me." Cherno said with a flat face.
"Daaaaaamn, bro, you got--"
"Please be quiet, Mr. Suchet!"
Suchet smirked and scribbled down things in his notepad.
"She said she wouldn't ... wouldn't be able to-- to enjoy my gift." Cherno looked away. Did he-- did he just choke back a sob? Surely not.
"S--speak up, sir! What gift?"
"Damn!" Suchet threw the notepad on the ground in a fit of drama. "I can't be standin' here watchin' this here dude man bro break down like a flippin' bundle of twigs in a storm!" He lunched at Cherno with surprising athleticism for someone who looked so slovenly, and met his golden gaze with his own piercing blue stare. He gently held Cherno by his shoulders.

"...Get off me."
"Bro. Do y'know what's the current reason for this little pree-dicamen' we've gotta here?"
Cherno scoffed. "What sort of nincompoop shenanigabibble are they thinking of naming it?"
Suchet's face was serious.

"A suicide."

Cherno thought about the e-mail.

"There's no kick-stompin' way in hell that it was a suicide."
"Ha, dawg!" Suchet chuckled. "If it ain't, can y'explain the ol' manna' of this here murder?"
"Well, 'course not. I don't know the details!" You bozo.

Suchet looked away. "Confiddyenchal info, dawg." Cherno didn't see what Suchet's facial expression as he said that, but he noticed that his tone of voice had changed briefly. "We're still investigatin', but-- but I think some of the others here may have some details." He turned back to Cherno and winked.
Prescott looked at this entire scene with wide-eyed nervousness, his face a bit red. "Suchet! Mr. Suchet! G--get back on t--topic--"
"We know enough, Pressy." Suchet cleared his throat and bent down. He picked up the notepad and stuffed it back in his coat pocket. With a swift step, he turned back towards Cherno. "I'll be takin' mah leave, dawg. Same with ol' Pressy here."
"I'm your junior o--on the force!"Prescott stood up, his rotund figure offering a deep, impressive contrast with Suchet's malnourished lankiness.

"Pressy, get back to tha team, y'dig?" Suchet turned and pointed off towards the end of the resort, near the women's quarters. "I'll meetcha there in a jiff."
"R--right, thank you Mr. Suchet." Prescott bowed, a bit too formally, and jogged off towards the other end of the resort.

Inspector Suchet had his back turned towards Cherno, his coat fluttering slightly in the cold mountain winds of a crisp morning. What was Suchet thinking? He really was probably the most incompetent police inspector Cherno had met. Then again, he knew no other police inspectors. Cherno sat staring at the back of Suchet's head. His pale neck seemed to flow in the light of this cloudy, overcast hour. Why was he staying here? What the hell did he want? Cherno felt the rage bubbling inside him. Why did this have to happen? He could-- he could just--
Ugh.

It collapsed, deflated into a puddle of sorrow.
Suchet turned around.
"Thanks for your help, dawg." His face was flat, and his tone seemed much more clear.
"I didn't help anything."
"You did, bro. You confirmed one thin' for me." He tapped the tip of his cherry red nose, bitten by the fangs of the mountain wind. "This here ain't not maybe be a suicide after all.""But-- but you said ..."
"A man with amnesia's an honest man, dawg. And besides. The mind of Cherno Plume is somethin' to be reckoned with."

Wait.

What?

Suchet turned away again. "I ain't a fan of vigilante detectives. They be stealin' all mah jobs, y'know? But this-- this is a special case. Somethin' involvin' all the chiquitas and lads of the hot springs. Somethin' so crunk happenin' that your collective minds can help." He inhaled deeply and stretched out his arms. "There's somethin' off about this entire whole ol' thing. I'm glad t'see you can still tell somethin' like that."


No way.He-- he couldn't--


"What in god's hell are you babbling on about, M--Mr. Suchet?!" Cherno's face was wide in shock. Did he know something?! He knew something, didn't he! He knew something about Cherno Plume! Why did a police inspector know Cherno Plume?!Suchet began walking away towards the women's quarters.

"Find it out yourself. Just like all o' these mys'ries, Cherno Plume."
"Mr. Suchet! Mr. Suchet!"


But he refused to hear the words of Cherno Plume, like the truth that grasped at the doors of his heart.

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The woman named Temperance Spike had put on her necklace. He was worried and sad. Why was he so worried and sad? Ah. All of the times he had with the lass. All of those memories of the twelve days that had begun over a simple e-mail. Did he know her before that? He didn't know. All he knew was that right now she was very important to him. And he? He wanted to help her to the end. Even though it hurt his heart that he had to twist his own feelings, and his amnesia had twisted his feelings on his very own.
She rested her head on his chest and dozed off.
She kissed him.

Was she going to ... lose ... lose her ...

After remembering ... he--

...

Cherno did not want to think about that right now.
He held her close to him. She was warm. It was a pleasant sensation. But Cherno's heart was the sorest it had been. He was dreading this -- no, the inner part of him, the inner part that was still the Cherno that knew everything, seemed to have a feeling of what could come, and all it could do was scream silently into the inner depths of his heart.

"It's a shame it'll be wasted?"

...

"Temperance." Cherno said, softly, as he rested his head close to her's.
"If ... anything happens to you, I want you to know that in the end, you never were alone."

And as his eyes were lulled by calls of sleep, he dozed off, holding Temperance Spike close to him, so as to make sure he could hold onto her; protect her in any way he could; not only from the cold world that nipped at her soul viciously, but from the future, and from the holes in his own memory.

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hot springs night | trembling memory derivative​

Her lips.

Spoiler

Fucking Lacey's.

How warm they felt on a cold mountain night.

Spoiler

I don't need a car ride.

How electrifying.

Spoiler

You're the only one who listened to my theory about the xxxxx.

This was Temperance Spike.

Spoiler

Why was she fighting so much with M here at the Diner?

The girl who was ...

Spoiler

I promise to make you more social.

... known for being so decisive ...

Spoiler

I promise to make sure you're safe.

... for speaking her mind ...

Spoiler

Rushing water.
Grab my jacket.

... for being a bit of a bully ...

Spoiler

You dig?

... and wanting to not be alone anymore ...

... right? ...

How electrifying.

Spoiler

Bang.

Cherno's eyes flashed brightly.

He ...

Spoiler

He felt that he knew a few more things.
But his memory was still so patchy.

He glanced at the girl that had just pressed her lips to his. He gave her a necklace. The old Cherno must have truly thought of her as a friend. And here she was, apologizing.

Eighty-seven days.
Eighty-seven days.

Wait a second. There was ... there was something that ... something that would make them lose their lives in eighty ... eighty-seven days.
Oh no.
The rules? The rules about romance and love. Cherno had images flash before his eyes. His connection to reality had been briefly severed as he stared off into space.

He needed to ... just ...

Just ... lift his arms, a bit ...

And ... and wrap them around the woman named Temperance Spike. Because he wanted to make sure everything was real. That everything that had happened in the past twelve days was real. And here he was right before her. The girl he had spent these many days with. But the problem? The problem was that Cherno still had gaps in his memory of these twelve days. And what is more, he understood nothing of the events that transpired before them.

So all he could do, right now, was hold Temperance close to him. He closed his eyes and rested his head on her own. And for a brief moment of respite, though Cherno did not understand the world around him, he felt at peace. He felt that he had made what had once made him Cherno, very proud, wherever those memories may have gone.

"I'm sorry, Temperance.
I'm mighty sorry for having you freakout with my ... gift, from the Downtown Corridor.
I'm mighty sorry for having to give you a hug like this.
But I need you to, to just, ground me, right now ... please. I remember things. But I still have holes in my memory, and my soul."

Cherno sighed.
His words were quiet and whispered.
"I'm in the dark. A cave. The abyss. A lost puppy, you dig? I was able to comfort you ... back, in that flood, I think."
"I need the comfort of a friend."

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hot springs night | trembling memory derivative​

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"Cherno?"
It was a meek little voice. Cherno almost barely heard it. For all he knew, it would have been simply a part of the winds dancing around the resort, never to be acknowledged by a sleepy Cherno.

But this was different. In this meek little voice, Cherno heard the voice of the star call to him.
He did not turn to look back towards him. He didn't want to. He couldn't. His heart-- his heart hurt too much. Part of him was afraid it wasn't actually her, and he was imagining things. He couldn't bear for it to not be her. Funny, aha ... he barely even knew who this girl was. And yet, he felt that he had a connection to her, somehow.

And even then.
How would ... how would she react to his memory loss?

He continued to look at the torch in front of him, its flames setting alight his golden eyes in a cat-like glow. He gripped his present tightly and lowered his head.

"... Are you Temperance? I-- I have ... I have something for you."

His words were coming out as soft, choked mumbles to himself, carried by the wind and the running water.