Rheotaxis chapter 1 DVD commentary part 1
Nov. 15th, 2015 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somethingdarkerWhen I started "Rheotaxis," I had no idea at all where it would end up going. I actually thought I'd be writing something short. I wanted to write something short.
Yohji woke with his cheek pressed against a hard, smooth surface. His drool had puddled around his face. Must've been here a while... Those lights're awfully bright. Did I fall asleep watching tv? No. No noise, and I'd have the lights turned down. Dining room table? No, somebody'd have come through and wakened me before this. He pushed himself up. The floor then. Definitely the floor. He stared for a moment. But it's the wrong color…
In fact, I wanted to write a sex scene, mostly to see if I could because I never had before. I thought of it as an exercise, something I'd use as practice for "real" writing later.
But I couldn't just start with the smut-- I felt I needed to set the scene.
"Crap." He swiped a hand along his mouth in an effort to dry it. One of his eyes was reluctant to focus, but he could see quite enough to know that he was not at home. We got no rooms like this. The walls and the floor were all the same color, just the blue side of white, so that for a second he couldn't quite tell where the walls began. A quick glance revealed surveillance cameras in all four corners, and he reflexively made an obscene gesture at one of them. This looks very bad... I don't know where this is, but... The lack of windows and general architecture are not promising.
I selected Yohji as my point of view character because I thought I could write him, and as it turned out, I could, but he kept insisting that there was more I needed to do to set things up. He needed to look around, take inventory, probe for weaknesses and so on.
One corner of the room held a brown box-- Probably cardboard. Anything else would be too damn useful— an unscreened toilet, a small sink and what he thought might be a shower head. The floor over there seemed to slope a little toward a dark spot on the floor that was probably a drain.
In the first draft of this scene, I didn't get very strongly inside Yohji's head. I told the reader what his reactions were rather than giving his mental commentary. My first reader, Amy the Evitable, read through it all and found it (cardinal sin!) boring.
So I tackled the scene again, looking for stuff I could cut, and ended up adding paragraphs and snide comments instead.
He dragged himself to his feet. Given his surroundings, he was unsurprised by his nakedness. Stripping a prisoner not only helped prevent unpleasant surprises but also created a definite power dynamic when the naked person faced clothed jailers. Fortunately, being aware of that makes it a little less effective. He turned his head, looking around. Unfortunately, people who set up this sort of thing don't go in for due process. Lack of clothes'll be the least of my problems.
I actually made the cell so grimly dull because that made describing the space easier. I hate writing visual description because that's not how I think of things. My knowledge of things I'm describing tends to use other senses and to be largely kinesthetic. I know where things are and how people move around them, and I usually don't even notice that I'm not putting in the visual stuff. When I read, I skim visual descriptions because they're just words to me, the don't create any images in my head.
He staggered toward the sink. How long have I been lying here? My legs... I couldn't fight off Momoe-san's cat right now. His mouth tasted like the worst morning after he could remember. He pushed desperately at the faucet, braced his upper body against the sink, then lowered his head to let the resulting stream of cold water flow over at least part of his face. He gulped water, gargled and rinsed his mouth. That cleared the fuzz a little. He straightened and splashed water over his face and hair.
I found myself getting very into Yohji's speculations, all of the things he looked at and analyzed. I thought he'd understand the psychological games being played with him, at least to some extent, but I was a bit surprised by how thoroughly he understood them.
There was no mirror, but he took a moment to explore his face and scalp with his fingertips. No lumps. No splits. Nothing hurts when I touch it, and I definitely need a shave. My earrings're gone, and I don't see my sunglasses anywhere around here. He sighed. I wonder what the other guy looks like? He sighed again. I have no damn idea if there even was another guy. I just hope I wasn't stupid enough to take a drugged drink. He continued inspecting his body and found needle marks on his arms, including a large bruise. Poorly inserted or abruptly removed i.v. I'm clean, and I smell like antiseptic soap. Not my cologne of choice.
The earrings were a difficulty. I knew Yohji had at least one, but I wasn't sure which ear it was in. So I watched and rewatched the anime and finally realized that he seemed to have both ears pierced. It might have been a continuity problem because they never showed both ears at once (it would be hard to do, I admit), but I decided to go with it.
He thought about that while he used the toilet. I’m not hungry, but I've obviously been out for a while, not just a few hours-- Days? Then somebody else shaved me. My stubble's not that long. He gave a mental shrug. Time disorientation. Also effective. One of his teammates might have an idea as to what drug had been used, but he'd never bothered memorizing that sort of trivia. Whatever had been used had worked and had left him feeling wrung out as he did. After effects will happen or not.
I was a little surprised to find Yohji such a pragmatist about his situation, but I also couldn't imagine him reacting any other way. Working as an assassin requires nerves of steel, patience and a fairly realistic sense of what he can do. He has to be able to evaluate a situation rapidly and formulate a course of action equally quickly, or he'll die.
He knelt to look in the box and found it full of small luxuries. Toilet paper. Hairbrush. Soap, no scent. Shampoo, no scent. No conditioner. Washcloth. Toothbrush. Toothpaste, a very small tube. No floss. He grinned just a little at that. I'd rather have the floss, but I appreciate the acknowledgment of my abilities. Sadly, dental floss is a poor substitute for wire, but... I'll take what I can get.
I ended up redoing the list of toiletries several times. I didn't want to leave out anything necessary but also didn't want to include anything that could be used as a weapon. I thought the contents of the box were important because they're a fairly big anomaly in the situation and because they demonstrate Yohji's powerlessness in the situation.
Finally, he pulled out a shrink wrapped box. Nicotine patches. He rocked back on his heels, a bit startled by the discovery. They, whoever "they" are, know enough about me to know that I smoke and care enough to help me through withdrawal. What the hell? Withdrawal'd put me further off balance. He considered. I'd kill for a cigarette. He smiled and chuckled softly. Not saying much. I kill for a living. But… He hesitated. Then he sighed and picked at the plastic. Any drugs they want to give me, they can manage without this much trouble.
When I put in the nicotine patches, I didn't know the exact mechanism of nicotine withdrawal. Fortunately, Amy the Evitable knew quite a bit about it from a job she'd had at one time. I just thought that the patches would be a disquieting touch.
When I found out how the whole thing works, that physiological withdrawal takes a very short time and that nicotine in a system unaccustomed to it (or not accustomed to such high doses) provokes nightmares, I thought that it made even more sense. Yohji'd still be psychologically dependent, but his body wouldn't be used to nicotine any more.
Of course, I don't understand why they're doing this. Given my reputation for vanity... Leaving me dirty should work physically and psychologically. They can't know that it isn't altogether true. Can they? Or do they want something I haven't thought of?
Yohji is vain; he's just not quite as vain as most people think he is.
After applying a patch, he brushed his teeth and then his hair. That helped a bit. He began a leisurely tour of the cell. Not like I've got anything better to do… He didn't expect to find anything useful, at least not immediately useful. But I'll feel like an utter moron-- instead of whatever partial state's indicated by getting caught in the first place-- if I don't look.
This all became a lot more interesting after I added Yohji's mental commentary. I'd had the comment about being a partial moron and about his arms not being that long in the first draft, but they weren't in his voice. Somehow, they became funnier once they were his thoughts instead of my comments.
The drain was small. Might be able to get my hand in if I get the cover off. He shook his head. No point. In his experience, drains were slimy and smelly and didn't go anywhere useful short of their final destination. Not a chance in hell my arms are that long. He moved on. I could disassemble the shower head. Probably. It'd be a bludgeon of sorts. He snorted at the thought. Plastic'd crack on the first blow; I'd be better off unarmed. Still… He took his time over the plumbing. Call it an inventory of sorts. I need to know what's available if there are opportunities later.
The humor in this story has confused some people. I found that Yohji has a tendency toward gallows humor, that he needs to mock things-- The grimmer things are, the more he sees the ridiculous. It's a survival trait.
The cameras were beyond his reach. A jump might let me grab one. I don't know how long the bracing'd hold. Could I? Not bloody likely. It'd be a more effective weapon than the shower head, but… He shook his head and looked up at the light. Not a chance. Illumination came from a fluorescent tube in a metal cage. Not even with my best jump, and there's just nothing to grab even if I do get that high.
I kept thinking about what sort of high security cell I'd design if money weren't important. There are still some details, like the light fixture, I'd alter if I were doing this again, and I made the place altogether too low tech given the Taisken, but... I hadn't really articulated the Taisken yet.
Small vents opened into the room about eight feet off the floor on three sides of cell. The fourth wall held the door. The vents're probably a couple of decimeters high and maybe half a meter wide… All three were covered with slatted grates the same color as the surrounding wall. One vent blew warm air into the room; the other two seemed inactive. Want to bet they can't gas me? Yep. No takers here either.
I'm actually justifying the style of technology in most of the complex by saying that it's designed to be superficially in Earth styles so that people from Earth don't find it alien and so that those not from Earth get used to "native styles" before they need to venture out.
The door held no surprises either. Definitely a prison cell. If I hadn't noticed the other evidence, this would tell me for sure. Somebody put a lot of money, a lot of thought, into the design. The door was the same color as the walls and floor. Only a thin line around it set it off from the everything else. No knob, lock or anything else. It's not meant to be opened from this side. Ever.
Someone, probably Amy the Evitable, commented that the almost airlock set up with the door reminded her of a sort of biological containment system. She's right, but what I found creepier was the utter paranoia implicit in the arrangement.
As he prowled the room, touching the walls, testing the floor, he thought about the implications. They're used to having dangerous prisoners. This wasn't built for me or even, more generically, for a member of Weiss. The enemy's big, has to be. Multinational or maybe governmental, with lots of money either way. The conclusion brought no comfort. His paces told him that the room was larger than he'd expected. Plenty of room for a workout. I can keep a routine going if I'm here that long. His steps faltered slightly before he covered for it. Do I hope for that or not?
Yohji underestimates the power of the organization he's dealing with. The reality simply doesn't occur to him; it can't. But even underestimating things, he's scared. He's intellectualizing like crazy.
Yohji could almost hear Omi's voice in his head. "If you ever get captured-- And I hope none of you ever will." A brief darkness had passed over the younger man's face as he spoke. Then his face had hardened in a look only those he trusted ever saw. "If you ever do, my rules and only my rules apply. Fuck Kritiker's priorities." Yohji remembered his shock at hearing Omi use obscenity. Yohji'd realized afterward that Omi'd done it deliberately in order to make sure his words made an impression. "Your first priority if you're captured is very simple: Don't die. The second: Don't let your teammates die; protect them if you can. Third: Escape if you can. Fourth: Help your teammates escape. Then, and only then, worry about the mission. You are-- none of you-- replaceable."
I considered the question of who headed the team very carefully. I could see an argument for Omi and an argument for Ran. I went with Omi because he made more sense to me and because I saw him as more likely to give his team this sort of order. Yohji will need that to focus him later.
Okay, Omi. I remember. I won't die. I won't hope for it.
Part of the reason I like Omi for team leader is that I'm not certain that the rest of the team would put up with the crap that Ran pulls in his obsession with killing Takatori Reiji. He keeps leaving them behind, reshuffling priorities. His actions always seem to use Weiss as a means to an end. A successful leader has to be loyal to his team.
Eventually, much sooner than he'd hoped, his body gave out on him. His muscles trembled, and he had to admit that continuing to move might harm him more than sitting. Admittedly, when I'm sitting, I'm less ready to deal with anything that comes through that door, but I can do damn all if I collapse, and if I reach that point, I won't even be able to think. His lips thinned as he frowned at the room in general. My mind's a lot more likely to be useful when that door opens than my body is. Unless they don't know what sort of creature they've caged…
By this point in my first draft, I was starting to drive myself crazy. What sort of crazy PWP takes this long to get anywhere? Yohji's still alone for god's sake.
He settled himself against the wall across from the door. He leaned back against the smooth, almost slick surface and let himself relax. Just think about your breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Don't think about... Cigarettes. In. Out. Damn, I want a smoke. In. Out. His fingers curled as if holding a roll of tobacco. Several times, he barely aborted movements to reach and pick up something that simply wasn't there. Finally, he pulled his knees up and used his arms to hold them close to his body. Moving a hand will unbalance me a bit. Enough, I hope, to keep me still.
But the story wouldn't be hurried.
I kept thinking about how Yohji'd be feeling. He'd be desperately wanting a cigarette, craving something familiar, but he wouldn't quite be off balance enough.
His mind wandered in circles. Did a mission go wrong? Are the other guys searching for me? Are they in cells too? Or worse on slabs in some morgue? Or is this worse... Did somebody set me-- or us-- up? I can't remember anything out of the ordinary. Just another day in the shop, selling flowers, avoiding being the one to make deliveries, bickering over whose turn it was to cook dinner... And avoiding the chore by making everybody remember the disasters I produced in the past. There was that show I wanted to see. I stayed in, but I'd have been better off skipping it. Damn disappointing. Unconvincing actors mangling inoffensive dialog. Went to bed fairly early. The guys were all there, I think. Once again, he began to reach for a cigarette. He stared at his hand. Damn it! I know better than this.
And here I started thinking about what he'd remember. I decided that he, that most of Weiss, had been taken completely by surprise. In the back of my head, I think I always knew that Ken had been awake and had tried to defend everybody.
After that, nothing. I don't remember a mission. Not even a briefing. Omi said something about high level meetings for senior Kritiker personnel. Not the sort of thing we're supposed to know about let alone attend. He predicted changes in affiliations, not in operations necessarily or in goals, but... Does this have something to do with that?
Basically, in spite of my intention to keep this as a simple exercise, my mind was insisting that I had to know why everybody was where they were, why they did the things they did.
He smiled. I do know a few things an interrogator might find useful. All things I'm not supposed to know, of course, the results of paying attention and poking at things Weiss isn't supposed to notice. He and his teammates had come to a tacit agreement some time back that they were better off knowing more of what was going on than their handlers would ever let slip. We keep careful track of who's watching and why, picking the faces we show Kritiker. He leaned his head back against the wall. Being Balinese has actually been fun... As carefully choreographed a performance as what I do for the customers in the shop. Deceiving Kritiker's easier, I think.
I told myself that I was just creating a framework in my own mind, that it wouldn't matter, that none of it would ever get written down.
I lied.
They'd all asked for additional training with an eye toward covering the team's weak spots and, they'd hinted, toward making sure they had skills useful to Kritiker when they became too old or too senior for their current tasks. Kritiker encouraged a certain level of "appropriate ambition;" most field agents didn't end up achieving those ambitions, but having them meant staying focused on the organization's goals. They'd all played along when training inevitably became tests of their loyalty to Kritiker. In a way, they were constantly engaged in the toughest deep cover mission that any of them had ever undertaken. Can't afford to break character…
Since my views of the members of Weiss differed from what I'd seen in many fics and since a lot of things in the anime didn't jibe in my mind with a top notch assassin team, I had to think about explanations. This was a start on that.
Yohji woke with his cheek pressed against a hard, smooth surface. His drool had puddled around his face. Must've been here a while... Those lights're awfully bright. Did I fall asleep watching tv? No. No noise, and I'd have the lights turned down. Dining room table? No, somebody'd have come through and wakened me before this. He pushed himself up. The floor then. Definitely the floor. He stared for a moment. But it's the wrong color…
In fact, I wanted to write a sex scene, mostly to see if I could because I never had before. I thought of it as an exercise, something I'd use as practice for "real" writing later.
But I couldn't just start with the smut-- I felt I needed to set the scene.
"Crap." He swiped a hand along his mouth in an effort to dry it. One of his eyes was reluctant to focus, but he could see quite enough to know that he was not at home. We got no rooms like this. The walls and the floor were all the same color, just the blue side of white, so that for a second he couldn't quite tell where the walls began. A quick glance revealed surveillance cameras in all four corners, and he reflexively made an obscene gesture at one of them. This looks very bad... I don't know where this is, but... The lack of windows and general architecture are not promising.
I selected Yohji as my point of view character because I thought I could write him, and as it turned out, I could, but he kept insisting that there was more I needed to do to set things up. He needed to look around, take inventory, probe for weaknesses and so on.
One corner of the room held a brown box-- Probably cardboard. Anything else would be too damn useful— an unscreened toilet, a small sink and what he thought might be a shower head. The floor over there seemed to slope a little toward a dark spot on the floor that was probably a drain.
In the first draft of this scene, I didn't get very strongly inside Yohji's head. I told the reader what his reactions were rather than giving his mental commentary. My first reader, Amy the Evitable, read through it all and found it (cardinal sin!) boring.
So I tackled the scene again, looking for stuff I could cut, and ended up adding paragraphs and snide comments instead.
He dragged himself to his feet. Given his surroundings, he was unsurprised by his nakedness. Stripping a prisoner not only helped prevent unpleasant surprises but also created a definite power dynamic when the naked person faced clothed jailers. Fortunately, being aware of that makes it a little less effective. He turned his head, looking around. Unfortunately, people who set up this sort of thing don't go in for due process. Lack of clothes'll be the least of my problems.
I actually made the cell so grimly dull because that made describing the space easier. I hate writing visual description because that's not how I think of things. My knowledge of things I'm describing tends to use other senses and to be largely kinesthetic. I know where things are and how people move around them, and I usually don't even notice that I'm not putting in the visual stuff. When I read, I skim visual descriptions because they're just words to me, the don't create any images in my head.
He staggered toward the sink. How long have I been lying here? My legs... I couldn't fight off Momoe-san's cat right now. His mouth tasted like the worst morning after he could remember. He pushed desperately at the faucet, braced his upper body against the sink, then lowered his head to let the resulting stream of cold water flow over at least part of his face. He gulped water, gargled and rinsed his mouth. That cleared the fuzz a little. He straightened and splashed water over his face and hair.
I found myself getting very into Yohji's speculations, all of the things he looked at and analyzed. I thought he'd understand the psychological games being played with him, at least to some extent, but I was a bit surprised by how thoroughly he understood them.
There was no mirror, but he took a moment to explore his face and scalp with his fingertips. No lumps. No splits. Nothing hurts when I touch it, and I definitely need a shave. My earrings're gone, and I don't see my sunglasses anywhere around here. He sighed. I wonder what the other guy looks like? He sighed again. I have no damn idea if there even was another guy. I just hope I wasn't stupid enough to take a drugged drink. He continued inspecting his body and found needle marks on his arms, including a large bruise. Poorly inserted or abruptly removed i.v. I'm clean, and I smell like antiseptic soap. Not my cologne of choice.
The earrings were a difficulty. I knew Yohji had at least one, but I wasn't sure which ear it was in. So I watched and rewatched the anime and finally realized that he seemed to have both ears pierced. It might have been a continuity problem because they never showed both ears at once (it would be hard to do, I admit), but I decided to go with it.
He thought about that while he used the toilet. I’m not hungry, but I've obviously been out for a while, not just a few hours-- Days? Then somebody else shaved me. My stubble's not that long. He gave a mental shrug. Time disorientation. Also effective. One of his teammates might have an idea as to what drug had been used, but he'd never bothered memorizing that sort of trivia. Whatever had been used had worked and had left him feeling wrung out as he did. After effects will happen or not.
I was a little surprised to find Yohji such a pragmatist about his situation, but I also couldn't imagine him reacting any other way. Working as an assassin requires nerves of steel, patience and a fairly realistic sense of what he can do. He has to be able to evaluate a situation rapidly and formulate a course of action equally quickly, or he'll die.
He knelt to look in the box and found it full of small luxuries. Toilet paper. Hairbrush. Soap, no scent. Shampoo, no scent. No conditioner. Washcloth. Toothbrush. Toothpaste, a very small tube. No floss. He grinned just a little at that. I'd rather have the floss, but I appreciate the acknowledgment of my abilities. Sadly, dental floss is a poor substitute for wire, but... I'll take what I can get.
I ended up redoing the list of toiletries several times. I didn't want to leave out anything necessary but also didn't want to include anything that could be used as a weapon. I thought the contents of the box were important because they're a fairly big anomaly in the situation and because they demonstrate Yohji's powerlessness in the situation.
Finally, he pulled out a shrink wrapped box. Nicotine patches. He rocked back on his heels, a bit startled by the discovery. They, whoever "they" are, know enough about me to know that I smoke and care enough to help me through withdrawal. What the hell? Withdrawal'd put me further off balance. He considered. I'd kill for a cigarette. He smiled and chuckled softly. Not saying much. I kill for a living. But… He hesitated. Then he sighed and picked at the plastic. Any drugs they want to give me, they can manage without this much trouble.
When I put in the nicotine patches, I didn't know the exact mechanism of nicotine withdrawal. Fortunately, Amy the Evitable knew quite a bit about it from a job she'd had at one time. I just thought that the patches would be a disquieting touch.
When I found out how the whole thing works, that physiological withdrawal takes a very short time and that nicotine in a system unaccustomed to it (or not accustomed to such high doses) provokes nightmares, I thought that it made even more sense. Yohji'd still be psychologically dependent, but his body wouldn't be used to nicotine any more.
Of course, I don't understand why they're doing this. Given my reputation for vanity... Leaving me dirty should work physically and psychologically. They can't know that it isn't altogether true. Can they? Or do they want something I haven't thought of?
Yohji is vain; he's just not quite as vain as most people think he is.
After applying a patch, he brushed his teeth and then his hair. That helped a bit. He began a leisurely tour of the cell. Not like I've got anything better to do… He didn't expect to find anything useful, at least not immediately useful. But I'll feel like an utter moron-- instead of whatever partial state's indicated by getting caught in the first place-- if I don't look.
This all became a lot more interesting after I added Yohji's mental commentary. I'd had the comment about being a partial moron and about his arms not being that long in the first draft, but they weren't in his voice. Somehow, they became funnier once they were his thoughts instead of my comments.
The drain was small. Might be able to get my hand in if I get the cover off. He shook his head. No point. In his experience, drains were slimy and smelly and didn't go anywhere useful short of their final destination. Not a chance in hell my arms are that long. He moved on. I could disassemble the shower head. Probably. It'd be a bludgeon of sorts. He snorted at the thought. Plastic'd crack on the first blow; I'd be better off unarmed. Still… He took his time over the plumbing. Call it an inventory of sorts. I need to know what's available if there are opportunities later.
The humor in this story has confused some people. I found that Yohji has a tendency toward gallows humor, that he needs to mock things-- The grimmer things are, the more he sees the ridiculous. It's a survival trait.
The cameras were beyond his reach. A jump might let me grab one. I don't know how long the bracing'd hold. Could I? Not bloody likely. It'd be a more effective weapon than the shower head, but… He shook his head and looked up at the light. Not a chance. Illumination came from a fluorescent tube in a metal cage. Not even with my best jump, and there's just nothing to grab even if I do get that high.
I kept thinking about what sort of high security cell I'd design if money weren't important. There are still some details, like the light fixture, I'd alter if I were doing this again, and I made the place altogether too low tech given the Taisken, but... I hadn't really articulated the Taisken yet.
Small vents opened into the room about eight feet off the floor on three sides of cell. The fourth wall held the door. The vents're probably a couple of decimeters high and maybe half a meter wide… All three were covered with slatted grates the same color as the surrounding wall. One vent blew warm air into the room; the other two seemed inactive. Want to bet they can't gas me? Yep. No takers here either.
I'm actually justifying the style of technology in most of the complex by saying that it's designed to be superficially in Earth styles so that people from Earth don't find it alien and so that those not from Earth get used to "native styles" before they need to venture out.
The door held no surprises either. Definitely a prison cell. If I hadn't noticed the other evidence, this would tell me for sure. Somebody put a lot of money, a lot of thought, into the design. The door was the same color as the walls and floor. Only a thin line around it set it off from the everything else. No knob, lock or anything else. It's not meant to be opened from this side. Ever.
Someone, probably Amy the Evitable, commented that the almost airlock set up with the door reminded her of a sort of biological containment system. She's right, but what I found creepier was the utter paranoia implicit in the arrangement.
As he prowled the room, touching the walls, testing the floor, he thought about the implications. They're used to having dangerous prisoners. This wasn't built for me or even, more generically, for a member of Weiss. The enemy's big, has to be. Multinational or maybe governmental, with lots of money either way. The conclusion brought no comfort. His paces told him that the room was larger than he'd expected. Plenty of room for a workout. I can keep a routine going if I'm here that long. His steps faltered slightly before he covered for it. Do I hope for that or not?
Yohji underestimates the power of the organization he's dealing with. The reality simply doesn't occur to him; it can't. But even underestimating things, he's scared. He's intellectualizing like crazy.
Yohji could almost hear Omi's voice in his head. "If you ever get captured-- And I hope none of you ever will." A brief darkness had passed over the younger man's face as he spoke. Then his face had hardened in a look only those he trusted ever saw. "If you ever do, my rules and only my rules apply. Fuck Kritiker's priorities." Yohji remembered his shock at hearing Omi use obscenity. Yohji'd realized afterward that Omi'd done it deliberately in order to make sure his words made an impression. "Your first priority if you're captured is very simple: Don't die. The second: Don't let your teammates die; protect them if you can. Third: Escape if you can. Fourth: Help your teammates escape. Then, and only then, worry about the mission. You are-- none of you-- replaceable."
I considered the question of who headed the team very carefully. I could see an argument for Omi and an argument for Ran. I went with Omi because he made more sense to me and because I saw him as more likely to give his team this sort of order. Yohji will need that to focus him later.
Okay, Omi. I remember. I won't die. I won't hope for it.
Part of the reason I like Omi for team leader is that I'm not certain that the rest of the team would put up with the crap that Ran pulls in his obsession with killing Takatori Reiji. He keeps leaving them behind, reshuffling priorities. His actions always seem to use Weiss as a means to an end. A successful leader has to be loyal to his team.
Eventually, much sooner than he'd hoped, his body gave out on him. His muscles trembled, and he had to admit that continuing to move might harm him more than sitting. Admittedly, when I'm sitting, I'm less ready to deal with anything that comes through that door, but I can do damn all if I collapse, and if I reach that point, I won't even be able to think. His lips thinned as he frowned at the room in general. My mind's a lot more likely to be useful when that door opens than my body is. Unless they don't know what sort of creature they've caged…
By this point in my first draft, I was starting to drive myself crazy. What sort of crazy PWP takes this long to get anywhere? Yohji's still alone for god's sake.
He settled himself against the wall across from the door. He leaned back against the smooth, almost slick surface and let himself relax. Just think about your breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Don't think about... Cigarettes. In. Out. Damn, I want a smoke. In. Out. His fingers curled as if holding a roll of tobacco. Several times, he barely aborted movements to reach and pick up something that simply wasn't there. Finally, he pulled his knees up and used his arms to hold them close to his body. Moving a hand will unbalance me a bit. Enough, I hope, to keep me still.
But the story wouldn't be hurried.
I kept thinking about how Yohji'd be feeling. He'd be desperately wanting a cigarette, craving something familiar, but he wouldn't quite be off balance enough.
His mind wandered in circles. Did a mission go wrong? Are the other guys searching for me? Are they in cells too? Or worse on slabs in some morgue? Or is this worse... Did somebody set me-- or us-- up? I can't remember anything out of the ordinary. Just another day in the shop, selling flowers, avoiding being the one to make deliveries, bickering over whose turn it was to cook dinner... And avoiding the chore by making everybody remember the disasters I produced in the past. There was that show I wanted to see. I stayed in, but I'd have been better off skipping it. Damn disappointing. Unconvincing actors mangling inoffensive dialog. Went to bed fairly early. The guys were all there, I think. Once again, he began to reach for a cigarette. He stared at his hand. Damn it! I know better than this.
And here I started thinking about what he'd remember. I decided that he, that most of Weiss, had been taken completely by surprise. In the back of my head, I think I always knew that Ken had been awake and had tried to defend everybody.
After that, nothing. I don't remember a mission. Not even a briefing. Omi said something about high level meetings for senior Kritiker personnel. Not the sort of thing we're supposed to know about let alone attend. He predicted changes in affiliations, not in operations necessarily or in goals, but... Does this have something to do with that?
Basically, in spite of my intention to keep this as a simple exercise, my mind was insisting that I had to know why everybody was where they were, why they did the things they did.
He smiled. I do know a few things an interrogator might find useful. All things I'm not supposed to know, of course, the results of paying attention and poking at things Weiss isn't supposed to notice. He and his teammates had come to a tacit agreement some time back that they were better off knowing more of what was going on than their handlers would ever let slip. We keep careful track of who's watching and why, picking the faces we show Kritiker. He leaned his head back against the wall. Being Balinese has actually been fun... As carefully choreographed a performance as what I do for the customers in the shop. Deceiving Kritiker's easier, I think.
I told myself that I was just creating a framework in my own mind, that it wouldn't matter, that none of it would ever get written down.
I lied.
They'd all asked for additional training with an eye toward covering the team's weak spots and, they'd hinted, toward making sure they had skills useful to Kritiker when they became too old or too senior for their current tasks. Kritiker encouraged a certain level of "appropriate ambition;" most field agents didn't end up achieving those ambitions, but having them meant staying focused on the organization's goals. They'd all played along when training inevitably became tests of their loyalty to Kritiker. In a way, they were constantly engaged in the toughest deep cover mission that any of them had ever undertaken. Can't afford to break character…
Since my views of the members of Weiss differed from what I'd seen in many fics and since a lot of things in the anime didn't jibe in my mind with a top notch assassin team, I had to think about explanations. This was a start on that.
