[It happens so suddenly. Leon, unable to see Rise's own spirit animal, had been too distracted by the situation and conversation to put much thought into the fact that it surely must exist. That this could happen. Of course it could. When it does, it takes him completely off guard. It's like the world around him just turns off, and this other world turns on; it's dizzying.
His mind needs a few beats to catch up, but it's a long memory, and before too long he's with it, watching it the way he would a movie. (Not quite that way. This is much, much more deeply personal than that.)
He's free this time of the physical effects of having his own animal touched, but seeing this . . . his gut wrenches anyway. It's not like he has any context for this, though he can piece together bits. Shadows. The other world. Things Rise's mentioned in the past, that he didn't fully understand and wasn't sure how to ask about when they could be having a good time instead. But CERES, or rather, whomever is behind this, seems sworn to make sure no one has a good time today—and here this is, this sick reality staring him in the face.
He doesn't know who the guy is, and he can pick up enough to be grateful it's no one he's ever met, or even met anyone like—that he remembers, anyway. His memories of that person have been taken. Was she anything like this? "I was bored shitless and wondering what to do next." All that talk of Despair. Things Leon only knows about secondhand, from those who survived her, but he knows enough to feel his stomach go heavy as lead at the attitude.
(Rise's so cool, in this memory. That sweet, caring, fragile-looking little thing he likes had stood right up to this monster. And they'd won. He knows they must have. She and her friends hadn't let the world change after all—)
And then the memory loosens its grip on him, and he comes out of it with a tiny gasp he can't hold back. The first thing he's aware of is how tense his face and shoulders feel. Had he been clenching his jaw, watching that? It's like being shoved forcibly back into his own body and having to take stock of what it had done while he'd been gone . . .
He works his jaw for a second, and then snaps fully back to reality, turning to look at Rise with wide eyes.]
no subject
His mind needs a few beats to catch up, but it's a long memory, and before too long he's with it, watching it the way he would a movie. (Not quite that way. This is much, much more deeply personal than that.)
He's free this time of the physical effects of having his own animal touched, but seeing this . . . his gut wrenches anyway. It's not like he has any context for this, though he can piece together bits. Shadows. The other world. Things Rise's mentioned in the past, that he didn't fully understand and wasn't sure how to ask about when they could be having a good time instead. But CERES, or rather, whomever is behind this, seems sworn to make sure no one has a good time today—and here this is, this sick reality staring him in the face.
He doesn't know who the guy is, and he can pick up enough to be grateful it's no one he's ever met, or even met anyone like—that he remembers, anyway. His memories of that person have been taken. Was she anything like this? "I was bored shitless and wondering what to do next." All that talk of Despair. Things Leon only knows about secondhand, from those who survived her, but he knows enough to feel his stomach go heavy as lead at the attitude.
(Rise's so cool, in this memory. That sweet, caring, fragile-looking little thing he likes had stood right up to this monster. And they'd won. He knows they must have. She and her friends hadn't let the world change after all—)
And then the memory loosens its grip on him, and he comes out of it with a tiny gasp he can't hold back. The first thing he's aware of is how tense his face and shoulders feel. Had he been clenching his jaw, watching that? It's like being shoved forcibly back into his own body and having to take stock of what it had done while he'd been gone . . .
He works his jaw for a second, and then snaps fully back to reality, turning to look at Rise with wide eyes.]
Kujikawa—