(ooc: Default to prose because I'm wordy and introspective. Will use brackets if you prefer.)
#1 – Glitch: Please, I'm Starving (tourist), in the bed and breakfast
He had only planned on grabbing a piece of toast and getting a big lunch later, but as soon as Atsushi entered the dining room for breakfast, he was starving. He had certainly experienced hunger before, but it was nothing compared to this. This was a physical ache inside his very being, the proverbial bottomless pit, and he couldn't stop it. Nothing quelled the hunger. It was constant and the only thing he could think about. He had four helpings of absolutely everything, even things he didn't like. He'd barely resisted stealing pieces of bacon from the woman sitting next to him, at least for a few minutes. She didn't finish it, so he grabbed it off her plate like a heathen when she got up from the table. The last to leave the dining room, he'd proceeded into the adjoining kitchen and raided the refrigerator and every cabinet he could reach, then got a chair to stand on to get to the others. It was ludicrous behavior and he wallowed in guilt and shame while he choked down a tub of peanut butter. He couldn't make himself stop.
Now someone had just walked in; and there he was, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by various food packaging, ravenously licking his fingers for any last vestiges of sustenance. The hunger was finally abating and all he felt was disgust and self-loathing.
#2 – Role: Gossip (local) [cw: murder plotting?]
Atsushi scribbled down details in a notebook. He was hiding behind a hedgerow and watching Mrs. O'Brien whisper with her neighbor and take him into the garage. This was the second Tuesday they'd had a clandestine meeting and he was going to get close enough to hear them better. Just the fact that they met wasn't good enough. He needed more information.
After the garage door closed, he crept up the driveway and lay down in front of the door. There was only a crack to look through, but he could see the neighbor, one Mr. Stoyanov, pacing back and forth. Mrs. O'Brien's feet were stationery. Her voice was calm and sweet, pleading. Or more like wheedling. Atsushi put his ear to the crack. Did she just say that? This was good. This was really good.
“Refuse, you have to refuse,” he whispered to himself, waiting for Stoyanov's answer.
He didn't. Atsushi now had details and confirmation on the best piece of gossip he'd come across yet. It felt wrong just thinking that, to be excited over what was happening, but he was still so afraid of what those consequences were that he was going to play his part. He could agonize over it later.
He hurried to the street and walked past several houses before pulling out his cellphone to call the police. No one answered. Of course they didn't. Now he was going to have to write a notice for the bulletin board in the library or something and wouldn't that just be tactless. He rounded the corner and bumped into somebody.
“Oh, sorry.”
And now he had to tell them, didn't he? It would definitely be against the rules to hold something like this back. He jerked his thumb back towards the street he'd come from and tried to sound excited and conspiratorial.
“You know Mrs. O'Brien, right? Well, she and her neighbor, not Old Lady Adams in the yellow house, but Mr. Stoyanov who has that particularly decrepit gray one and the four cats? Yeah, they've been meeting for a couple weeks in O'Brien's garage and planning the whole thing. He's going to kill Mr. O'Brien after work on Friday, not this Friday, but next Friday when Mrs. O'Brien's out of town so she has an alibi. It's going to look like a break in, she's leaving the living room window unlocked and they purchased a gun earlier this month from, um,” he trailed off, consulting his notes, looking for the gun shop's name. It was important to be accurate.
#3 – Wildcard (local), at the outskirts
He was supposed to pretend this was his life, in this overly quaint little town. The whole atmosphere felt oppressive and off-kilter. It wasn't so much the how, but the why that he was concerned with. Why would anyone conceive this situation? Why a small town in the middle of nowhere? He was most certainly not enjoying his stay. Not that Corwin was a horrible place, not by a long shot. As a 'local', he wasn't expected to want to leave.
But he had to escape. He couldn't fathom going along with his charade for any length of time. Granted, he probably could have gotten something far worse than 'local high school student', but it was its own special kind of hell. The school was full of annoying drones asking him the same questions day after day, while the teachers handed out homework and pop quizzes with nonsensical mathematical equations and essays that quickly descended into gibberish. Like it didn't matter at all what was on the page. Like no one important would even notice the assignments weren't fully realized.
He hadn't mentioned his concerns to anyone, partially because he didn't know who else was in the same position and who was in league with overseers. Mostly because he was terrified of invoking the wrath of whomever was in charge here if he talked about 'the role'. But today at lunch, when the same girl, for the second day in a row, asked him repeatedly if he wanted her chicken nuggets, he almost screamed. That's when he snapped.
Now he was standing in the middle of the road out of town, surrounded by flooded cornfields as far as the eye could see. It was somehow even creepier than being in town. Every step further away from the center of Corwin made him more uneasy. Where exactly was the town line? How far could he get before something happened?
Then he saw them. Someone a few yards ahead just standing there. Maybe they were trying to get out too.
Nakajima Atsushi | Bungo Stray Dogs | OTA, various roles
#1 – Glitch: Please, I'm Starving (tourist), in the bed and breakfast
He had only planned on grabbing a piece of toast and getting a big lunch later, but as soon as Atsushi entered the dining room for breakfast, he was starving. He had certainly experienced hunger before, but it was nothing compared to this. This was a physical ache inside his very being, the proverbial bottomless pit, and he couldn't stop it. Nothing quelled the hunger. It was constant and the only thing he could think about. He had four helpings of absolutely everything, even things he didn't like. He'd barely resisted stealing pieces of bacon from the woman sitting next to him, at least for a few minutes. She didn't finish it, so he grabbed it off her plate like a heathen when she got up from the table. The last to leave the dining room, he'd proceeded into the adjoining kitchen and raided the refrigerator and every cabinet he could reach, then got a chair to stand on to get to the others. It was ludicrous behavior and he wallowed in guilt and shame while he choked down a tub of peanut butter. He couldn't make himself stop.
Now someone had just walked in; and there he was, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by various food packaging, ravenously licking his fingers for any last vestiges of sustenance. The hunger was finally abating and all he felt was disgust and self-loathing.
#2 – Role: Gossip (local) [cw: murder plotting?]
Atsushi scribbled down details in a notebook. He was hiding behind a hedgerow and watching Mrs. O'Brien whisper with her neighbor and take him into the garage. This was the second Tuesday they'd had a clandestine meeting and he was going to get close enough to hear them better. Just the fact that they met wasn't good enough. He needed more information.
After the garage door closed, he crept up the driveway and lay down in front of the door. There was only a crack to look through, but he could see the neighbor, one Mr. Stoyanov, pacing back and forth. Mrs. O'Brien's feet were stationery. Her voice was calm and sweet, pleading. Or more like wheedling. Atsushi put his ear to the crack. Did she just say that? This was good. This was really good.
“Refuse, you have to refuse,” he whispered to himself, waiting for Stoyanov's answer.
He didn't. Atsushi now had details and confirmation on the best piece of gossip he'd come across yet. It felt wrong just thinking that, to be excited over what was happening, but he was still so afraid of what those consequences were that he was going to play his part. He could agonize over it later.
He hurried to the street and walked past several houses before pulling out his cellphone to call the police. No one answered. Of course they didn't. Now he was going to have to write a notice for the bulletin board in the library or something and wouldn't that just be tactless. He rounded the corner and bumped into somebody.
“Oh, sorry.”
And now he had to tell them, didn't he? It would definitely be against the rules to hold something like this back. He jerked his thumb back towards the street he'd come from and tried to sound excited and conspiratorial.
“You know Mrs. O'Brien, right? Well, she and her neighbor, not Old Lady Adams in the yellow house, but Mr. Stoyanov who has that particularly decrepit gray one and the four cats? Yeah, they've been meeting for a couple weeks in O'Brien's garage and planning the whole thing. He's going to kill Mr. O'Brien after work on Friday, not this Friday, but next Friday when Mrs. O'Brien's out of town so she has an alibi. It's going to look like a break in, she's leaving the living room window unlocked and they purchased a gun earlier this month from, um,” he trailed off, consulting his notes, looking for the gun shop's name. It was important to be accurate.
#3 – Wildcard (local), at the outskirts
He was supposed to pretend this was his life, in this overly quaint little town. The whole atmosphere felt oppressive and off-kilter. It wasn't so much the how, but the why that he was concerned with. Why would anyone conceive this situation? Why a small town in the middle of nowhere? He was most certainly not enjoying his stay. Not that Corwin was a horrible place, not by a long shot. As a 'local', he wasn't expected to want to leave.
But he had to escape. He couldn't fathom going along with his charade for any length of time. Granted, he probably could have gotten something far worse than 'local high school student', but it was its own special kind of hell. The school was full of annoying drones asking him the same questions day after day, while the teachers handed out homework and pop quizzes with nonsensical mathematical equations and essays that quickly descended into gibberish. Like it didn't matter at all what was on the page. Like no one important would even notice the assignments weren't fully realized.
He hadn't mentioned his concerns to anyone, partially because he didn't know who else was in the same position and who was in league with overseers. Mostly because he was terrified of invoking the wrath of whomever was in charge here if he talked about 'the role'. But today at lunch, when the same girl, for the second day in a row, asked him repeatedly if he wanted her chicken nuggets, he almost screamed. That's when he snapped.
Now he was standing in the middle of the road out of town, surrounded by flooded cornfields as far as the eye could see. It was somehow even creepier than being in town. Every step further away from the center of Corwin made him more uneasy. Where exactly was the town line? How far could he get before something happened?
Then he saw them. Someone a few yards ahead just standing there. Maybe they were trying to get out too.
“Hey! What are you doing out here?”