Post by Drake Kindo on Oct 30, 2016 23:15:15 GMT -5
When the camera comes back on, I’m greeted by the sight of…lights. Actual electricity.
And a litany of shitty pottery that attempts to pass of as “artifacts.”
I narrow my eyes and begin to walk through the so called “museum.”
This isn’t a museum. Clearly this is all fake Egyptian materials, no doubt hastened together by a team of archeologists who were down on their luck.
Before too long, I am approached by a man in a rather peculiar green suit.
The main reason it’s peculiar is because it’s some form of color in an otherwise gray place.
If I was poetic I’d reference it some more, but I’m not very good at writing.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting you until later,” the man says.
Apologizing already? He learns fast.
I merely raise my right eyebrow in response, but nonetheless offer him my hand.
“You must be Mr. Kindo,” I state.
He accepts it immediately, the grip tightening around my own appendage.
“Yes, please, call me Drake. You must be Nathan Miles then,” the man—Drake—says.
“That would be correct,” I say.
Our hands release themselves as Drake begins to talk. He leads me through the museum, no doubt having a specific location in mind.
“When I received word from the council that they were interested in me participating in, what was it, your ‘rehabilitation’ or whatever, I was surprised, to say the least. Some sort of activity in Domino? Shocking, quite frankly. But, alas, it’s not like I had anything better to do,” Drake says.
As we walk through the museum, we get deeper and deeper into the artifacts, and I’ll admit, they’re looking more genuine as we go.
“Which reminds me, “ I speak up. “I was informed by my…counselor…that this place was lively. The pictures I was shown made it look more pristine, or at the very least, more populated. The streets were dead. The fact that you’re the only person I’ve seen can’t be good.”
“Unfortunately, Domino wasn’t the only city to strike out in my dimension. After the attack—I’ll tell you about that later—but basically, after a huge war broke out between us and…whatever the hell else…everybody who was anybody packed up shop and moved out. Most moved out of Japan entirely, but for those that stayed on the island opted someplace a bit less…game oriented?” Drake states.
The hell…?
By my raised eyebrow, Drake realizes the confusion.
He shakes his head, opting to ignore it.
“Nevertheless, after things calmed down, I was really the only one that remained. I get passerbys every now and again, but usually they’re just old students dicking around, or occasionally the lost soul trying to find an old memory. One time I even had a couple students lurking around the old cove down by the pier, but…once they found what was down there they never came back,” he says.
“You have a knack for the ominous that I don’t find entertaining nor warranted. Where are you taking me?” I ask.
Drake shakes his head, stopping once we reach a door. He opens it for me, so I take the lead, entering the room.
What I find is a pristine desk, on top of which sits a bottle of scotch and two empty glasses. It’s an office, if the generic feel of poor decoration was any clue.
Drake enters behind me, closing the door as if somebody might intrude.
He walks towards his desk and pours himself a drink. When he offers me one, I decline, opting instead to light another S*** stick.
Once it’s done, the two of us stare at our vices. With a small smirk, Drake takes a drink of his scotch.
“I once knew a friend who…well…quite bluntly declined my usage of cigarettes,” he says.
“It’s a new habit of mine. It does its job without the after effects of alcohol. Once I get used to it, I’ll feel the effects much less so than I would something like that. Scotch, though…pretty rare to find somebody drinking it leisurely,” I say.
“That same man suggested it after he found me shooting Jack later on. He, uh…he was a…honestly a godsend. When Shinjuku was active, the two of us often found ourselves talking about…God knows what. Usually about his son and how he compared to me. I never knew where the bastard went, so I obviously failed him in the end, but hell…that’s the story of my life.”
Drake raises his glass in front of him. With a frown, he drowns whatever is left. Once it’s empty, he sets the glass on the desk, deciding to refill it just as quickly.
“Well, clearly we’re not so unalike. I’ve failed those I once cared about as well. Maybe not to the extent of immediately alcohol abuse, but certainly to the point of changing my life,” I say.
“It’s not even really what changed my life. The goddamn lesbian beating corn—I…I ran into some issues with a group of females, and really, my own insistence on being included in…something is what changed me. I tried joining Duel Academy again, but…by that time it wasn’t worth it. So…I managed to snag a job at the museum. Once everybody ducked out of Domino, I appointed myself the head curator. Pardon me if I’m a bit lacking at my job. You are the first person I’ve seen since…hell, a year and a half.”
“You’ve been alone that long? The council has just…left you here?” I ask.
Drake shakes his head, clearly not one to denounce anybody. After another slow drink, he responds.
“No, it’s not that. They certainly tried to find something for me to do. It’s just…there’s something about Domino that I always held onto. I could have left at any time, abandoned it like everybody else. I probably should have. But alas…there was always one thing that kept me here.”
I exhale, letting both the smoke from the S*** stick and my breath come out in a sigh.
“You’re being ominous again,” I say.
“Right, sorry,” Drake says.
He empties another glass of scotch before setting it on the desk.
“Let’s go, I wanna show you something,” he says.
I clicked the camera off, deciding to make the trip shorter.
And a litany of shitty pottery that attempts to pass of as “artifacts.”
I narrow my eyes and begin to walk through the so called “museum.”
This isn’t a museum. Clearly this is all fake Egyptian materials, no doubt hastened together by a team of archeologists who were down on their luck.
Before too long, I am approached by a man in a rather peculiar green suit.
The main reason it’s peculiar is because it’s some form of color in an otherwise gray place.
If I was poetic I’d reference it some more, but I’m not very good at writing.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting you until later,” the man says.
Apologizing already? He learns fast.
I merely raise my right eyebrow in response, but nonetheless offer him my hand.
“You must be Mr. Kindo,” I state.
He accepts it immediately, the grip tightening around my own appendage.
“Yes, please, call me Drake. You must be Nathan Miles then,” the man—Drake—says.
“That would be correct,” I say.
Our hands release themselves as Drake begins to talk. He leads me through the museum, no doubt having a specific location in mind.
“When I received word from the council that they were interested in me participating in, what was it, your ‘rehabilitation’ or whatever, I was surprised, to say the least. Some sort of activity in Domino? Shocking, quite frankly. But, alas, it’s not like I had anything better to do,” Drake says.
As we walk through the museum, we get deeper and deeper into the artifacts, and I’ll admit, they’re looking more genuine as we go.
“Which reminds me, “ I speak up. “I was informed by my…counselor…that this place was lively. The pictures I was shown made it look more pristine, or at the very least, more populated. The streets were dead. The fact that you’re the only person I’ve seen can’t be good.”
“Unfortunately, Domino wasn’t the only city to strike out in my dimension. After the attack—I’ll tell you about that later—but basically, after a huge war broke out between us and…whatever the hell else…everybody who was anybody packed up shop and moved out. Most moved out of Japan entirely, but for those that stayed on the island opted someplace a bit less…game oriented?” Drake states.
The hell…?
By my raised eyebrow, Drake realizes the confusion.
He shakes his head, opting to ignore it.
“Nevertheless, after things calmed down, I was really the only one that remained. I get passerbys every now and again, but usually they’re just old students dicking around, or occasionally the lost soul trying to find an old memory. One time I even had a couple students lurking around the old cove down by the pier, but…once they found what was down there they never came back,” he says.
“You have a knack for the ominous that I don’t find entertaining nor warranted. Where are you taking me?” I ask.
Drake shakes his head, stopping once we reach a door. He opens it for me, so I take the lead, entering the room.
What I find is a pristine desk, on top of which sits a bottle of scotch and two empty glasses. It’s an office, if the generic feel of poor decoration was any clue.
Drake enters behind me, closing the door as if somebody might intrude.
He walks towards his desk and pours himself a drink. When he offers me one, I decline, opting instead to light another S*** stick.
Once it’s done, the two of us stare at our vices. With a small smirk, Drake takes a drink of his scotch.
“I once knew a friend who…well…quite bluntly declined my usage of cigarettes,” he says.
“It’s a new habit of mine. It does its job without the after effects of alcohol. Once I get used to it, I’ll feel the effects much less so than I would something like that. Scotch, though…pretty rare to find somebody drinking it leisurely,” I say.
“That same man suggested it after he found me shooting Jack later on. He, uh…he was a…honestly a godsend. When Shinjuku was active, the two of us often found ourselves talking about…God knows what. Usually about his son and how he compared to me. I never knew where the bastard went, so I obviously failed him in the end, but hell…that’s the story of my life.”
Drake raises his glass in front of him. With a frown, he drowns whatever is left. Once it’s empty, he sets the glass on the desk, deciding to refill it just as quickly.
“Well, clearly we’re not so unalike. I’ve failed those I once cared about as well. Maybe not to the extent of immediately alcohol abuse, but certainly to the point of changing my life,” I say.
“It’s not even really what changed my life. The goddamn lesbian beating corn—I…I ran into some issues with a group of females, and really, my own insistence on being included in…something is what changed me. I tried joining Duel Academy again, but…by that time it wasn’t worth it. So…I managed to snag a job at the museum. Once everybody ducked out of Domino, I appointed myself the head curator. Pardon me if I’m a bit lacking at my job. You are the first person I’ve seen since…hell, a year and a half.”
“You’ve been alone that long? The council has just…left you here?” I ask.
Drake shakes his head, clearly not one to denounce anybody. After another slow drink, he responds.
“No, it’s not that. They certainly tried to find something for me to do. It’s just…there’s something about Domino that I always held onto. I could have left at any time, abandoned it like everybody else. I probably should have. But alas…there was always one thing that kept me here.”
I exhale, letting both the smoke from the S*** stick and my breath come out in a sigh.
“You’re being ominous again,” I say.
“Right, sorry,” Drake says.
He empties another glass of scotch before setting it on the desk.
“Let’s go, I wanna show you something,” he says.
I clicked the camera off, deciding to make the trip shorter.