Magician's Shadow Part I
Apr. 16th, 2016 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Persona 4 Arcana Life
Chapter Summary: Yosuke's Shadow is not happy.
Word Count: 1257
Rating: teen, but, you know, it's a Shadow. /shrug It being Yosuke's Shadow, there's a lot of swearing in this particular one.
Notes: 2nd person, pretty sure this Shadow is half Persona already, and is just that much more maladjusted for all that.
Persona 4 Arcana Life
Chapter Summary: Yosuke's Shadow is not happy.
Word Count: 1257
Rating: teen, but, you know, it's a Shadow. /shrug It being Yosuke's Shadow, there's a lot of swearing in this particular one.
Notes: 2nd person, pretty sure this Shadow is half Persona already, and is just that much more maladjusted for all that.
Something’s wrong, you know. He wouldn’t be staring like this at you if it wasn’t. Not with horror. He’s your favorite fan. Whenever you’re feeling down, like your music doesn’t matter and it is all a publicity stunt for Junes, that you’re useless and have no friends, just people who mutter around you and wish you were dead, you remind yourself of him. Of that concert, that stupid, beautiful, surreal concert. It already seems more dream than memory, but coming here, to the boonies, you’ve gotten to see him again, and the way he looks at you? There’s no way it was just a dream. It was real, just the two of you, there in one of the unused dressing rooms.
“All I want,” you begin, the guy that looks like you panicking. It’s irritating, really. “…all I really want—is to be on stage. I’m free to be myself. None of this dead weight dragging me down.”
“Don’t deny it,” the girl in green says to the stupid one, and you switch an irritable glare to her.
“Stay out of this, you stupid cow,” you lash out viciously, and she gasps. The girl in red’s eyes harden, and you know you’ve earned yourself an enemy. No, no, no, this is all wrong, I’m the Magician, I’m nice…it’s him, he’s infecting me… “I’m the one denying him!” That sounds better.
You’re choking, the darkness rising, and you can see his eyes. They’re in pain. I don’t want to fight you. And then, just for a second, you feel compassion for him. He’s you. We shouldn’t have to fight.
He makes his slow, painful way to his feet. When’d he end up on his knees? “Who the hell…” he musters, voice thick with rage, “…do you think you are?”
You feel…well, it’s not anger. Sure, you want to rip this selfish git wearing your face to pieces, but it’s not anger. Contempt, maybe, which would explain the sneer coming to your face. In fact, it’s funny. This jerk doesn’t recognize you? Why the hell not? Doesn't he bother to look in a mirror once in a while? You laugh, like it’s all one big joke, and that expression on his face…fear? Yeah, that’s more like it. “What’s the matter, you suddenly blind or something?” No, that’s not right either. He’s still infecting me, the useless waste of space. This isn’t the mask the Stage Magician wears. This isn’t right. “I’m you, who else?”
“I wouldn’t say things like that,” he protests, and you see his weakness for what it is. Time to show the world.
You bare your teeth in a savage parody of a smile. “Like hell you wouldn’t. Oh, you might not say any of it out loud, but you think it, and I am sick of it. Sick of you. All those thoughts about what girls would like in this swimsuit or that. I’m sick of you using me to hide what you’re really like underneath. Everyone loves the Magician. He’s always so happy. Nothing ever gets that guy down, does it?”
He turns toward him, and you see a blinding curtain of red. “Don’t you dare look at him!” you scream. “He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t care about you. He’s mine!” Time for the big guns. “You think if you were just yourself, just Yosuke Hanamura, he would’ve given you a second glance? You’re a loser! You’re terrified of being alone, so you’ll go along with anyone, anything. You think it’s wrong sometimes, sure, but being a bully to people just like you is better than being that person being picked on, than being alone. Your pranks aren’t funny. They wound. They hurt people. You try to tell yourself that it’s fine, but it’s all just a pretty lie to soothe your conscience.”
“…No. That’s not true,” he whispers, but he falls again, and you feel stronger.
“You hate all of them. You want to be entertained. You want to be the hero. No wonder you love using me so much,” you spit. “You’re never bored. It’s always the big city and lights, and people screaming a name you stole.” That sounds wrong, but you don’t care if what you’re saying is entirely accurate anymore. You just want to tear him off that perfect pedestal of his.
You glance over at him, and his eyes are pained. He looks more hurt than your other self, and no, that’s wrong, that shouldn’t be happening. “They’re all such hypocrites,” you state bitterly, ignoring everyone now. “On stage, they love you. They talk about how much they love Junes, how every day’s great, and off stage you’re just some loser who styles his hair like a celebrity to get attention. They fill up their carts with our products and take advantage of sales and whine about how terrible Junes is for destroying so many small businesses. It doesn’t ever occur to them that if they weren’t so damn pathetic, if they took a stand and only bought local, no matter how much more expensive it’s gotta be, then there’s no way Junes could destroy anything. But they want to blame something, anything else.” You look up to brown eyes, and manage the creeping, poisonous smile again. This is all wrong, everything’s wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. But you can’t stop. “And you loathe them for that. Your stupid friends, they’re all the same. Everyone’s so shallow, and you’re no different. Even this guy. You talk this big talk about how you didn’t want to know his name, like it would’ve ruined the moment, but honestly you just didn’t want to see him again. You didn’t want to see him come to his senses and find out how freakin’ annoying you are.”
“I-I…” They’re yelling at him, but when he’s standing he’s ignoring them, too. It’s just the two of you. No one else is there.
“Everything is a pain in the ass. You hate it all. School? That’s just an excuse to sleep. You suck at everything, and your parents don’t get how hard it is, trying to keep up. The teachers are shit. Everyone hates you. They’re only your friends when they want something. There’s no such thing as true friendship. It’s all shallow, just people being dicks to each other and just putting on a show of actually caring when they want things. It’s all lies, and if everyone died, if everything disappeared…” You shrug. “Well, nothing would change, would it? You don’t have anything or anyone.”
He finds his voice. “How dare you say those things with my face?” They’re all yelling at him now—“Don’t say it, please don’t say it,” but you can find it rising like an inevitability. “Shut up! You’re not me!”
No, please no. “Keep going!” The infection is getting worse. You don’t want to fight. You don’t want to hurt anyone. The opposite, really. You want to amuse people, you want to make them smile. You don’t believe this crap you’re saying. E-even if…even if it’s true, that there’s nothing real in this world, then the least you can do is make it bearable for people, make it just slightly brighter.
“None of that is true!" He's right. He's wrong. He takes a deep breath. "I don’t know what the hell you are, but you’re not me!” For a moment, he looks triumphant, like he just won. The others look grim and ready their weapons.
Then he falls, and the darkness rises, and you lose yourself within it.
“All I want,” you begin, the guy that looks like you panicking. It’s irritating, really. “…all I really want—is to be on stage. I’m free to be myself. None of this dead weight dragging me down.”
“Don’t deny it,” the girl in green says to the stupid one, and you switch an irritable glare to her.
“Stay out of this, you stupid cow,” you lash out viciously, and she gasps. The girl in red’s eyes harden, and you know you’ve earned yourself an enemy. No, no, no, this is all wrong, I’m the Magician, I’m nice…it’s him, he’s infecting me… “I’m the one denying him!” That sounds better.
You’re choking, the darkness rising, and you can see his eyes. They’re in pain. I don’t want to fight you. And then, just for a second, you feel compassion for him. He’s you. We shouldn’t have to fight.
He makes his slow, painful way to his feet. When’d he end up on his knees? “Who the hell…” he musters, voice thick with rage, “…do you think you are?”
You feel…well, it’s not anger. Sure, you want to rip this selfish git wearing your face to pieces, but it’s not anger. Contempt, maybe, which would explain the sneer coming to your face. In fact, it’s funny. This jerk doesn’t recognize you? Why the hell not? Doesn't he bother to look in a mirror once in a while? You laugh, like it’s all one big joke, and that expression on his face…fear? Yeah, that’s more like it. “What’s the matter, you suddenly blind or something?” No, that’s not right either. He’s still infecting me, the useless waste of space. This isn’t the mask the Stage Magician wears. This isn’t right. “I’m you, who else?”
“I wouldn’t say things like that,” he protests, and you see his weakness for what it is. Time to show the world.
You bare your teeth in a savage parody of a smile. “Like hell you wouldn’t. Oh, you might not say any of it out loud, but you think it, and I am sick of it. Sick of you. All those thoughts about what girls would like in this swimsuit or that. I’m sick of you using me to hide what you’re really like underneath. Everyone loves the Magician. He’s always so happy. Nothing ever gets that guy down, does it?”
He turns toward him, and you see a blinding curtain of red. “Don’t you dare look at him!” you scream. “He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t care about you. He’s mine!” Time for the big guns. “You think if you were just yourself, just Yosuke Hanamura, he would’ve given you a second glance? You’re a loser! You’re terrified of being alone, so you’ll go along with anyone, anything. You think it’s wrong sometimes, sure, but being a bully to people just like you is better than being that person being picked on, than being alone. Your pranks aren’t funny. They wound. They hurt people. You try to tell yourself that it’s fine, but it’s all just a pretty lie to soothe your conscience.”
“…No. That’s not true,” he whispers, but he falls again, and you feel stronger.
“You hate all of them. You want to be entertained. You want to be the hero. No wonder you love using me so much,” you spit. “You’re never bored. It’s always the big city and lights, and people screaming a name you stole.” That sounds wrong, but you don’t care if what you’re saying is entirely accurate anymore. You just want to tear him off that perfect pedestal of his.
You glance over at him, and his eyes are pained. He looks more hurt than your other self, and no, that’s wrong, that shouldn’t be happening. “They’re all such hypocrites,” you state bitterly, ignoring everyone now. “On stage, they love you. They talk about how much they love Junes, how every day’s great, and off stage you’re just some loser who styles his hair like a celebrity to get attention. They fill up their carts with our products and take advantage of sales and whine about how terrible Junes is for destroying so many small businesses. It doesn’t ever occur to them that if they weren’t so damn pathetic, if they took a stand and only bought local, no matter how much more expensive it’s gotta be, then there’s no way Junes could destroy anything. But they want to blame something, anything else.” You look up to brown eyes, and manage the creeping, poisonous smile again. This is all wrong, everything’s wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. But you can’t stop. “And you loathe them for that. Your stupid friends, they’re all the same. Everyone’s so shallow, and you’re no different. Even this guy. You talk this big talk about how you didn’t want to know his name, like it would’ve ruined the moment, but honestly you just didn’t want to see him again. You didn’t want to see him come to his senses and find out how freakin’ annoying you are.”
“I-I…” They’re yelling at him, but when he’s standing he’s ignoring them, too. It’s just the two of you. No one else is there.
“Everything is a pain in the ass. You hate it all. School? That’s just an excuse to sleep. You suck at everything, and your parents don’t get how hard it is, trying to keep up. The teachers are shit. Everyone hates you. They’re only your friends when they want something. There’s no such thing as true friendship. It’s all shallow, just people being dicks to each other and just putting on a show of actually caring when they want things. It’s all lies, and if everyone died, if everything disappeared…” You shrug. “Well, nothing would change, would it? You don’t have anything or anyone.”
He finds his voice. “How dare you say those things with my face?” They’re all yelling at him now—“Don’t say it, please don’t say it,” but you can find it rising like an inevitability. “Shut up! You’re not me!”
No, please no. “Keep going!” The infection is getting worse. You don’t want to fight. You don’t want to hurt anyone. The opposite, really. You want to amuse people, you want to make them smile. You don’t believe this crap you’re saying. E-even if…even if it’s true, that there’s nothing real in this world, then the least you can do is make it bearable for people, make it just slightly brighter.
“None of that is true!" He's right. He's wrong. He takes a deep breath. "I don’t know what the hell you are, but you’re not me!” For a moment, he looks triumphant, like he just won. The others look grim and ready their weapons.
Then he falls, and the darkness rises, and you lose yourself within it.