Yuri Worlds
[90] Confinement
Misaki worked to slowly right herself as dizziness swirled inside her, exacerbated by the ivory blankness of the surroundings. The force field, or whatever it was sealing them in, buzzed like a bug zapper. She eyeballed it and considered her options for throwing something as a test, but her pockets were completely empty. Tearing off some of the yukata cloth to use was a possibility, but they’d already torn off a decent amount of material in desperation to do something for the true Maharu.
If she was going to tear any more off, she figured that making rudimentary protective gloves would be the best course of action. However, it was a wild supposition to even think that a few layers of cloth might stop whatever that was. Dwight bought a bug-killing tennis racket a couple years ago, and one of the first things they had to know was what kind of zap it gave.
Dwight found out first and yanked his hand away with a grimace and a yelp. Guy wound up doing it on a stream and played up the results. Franklin eventually found out how it felt when he accidentally grabbed the racket the wrong way to use on a rogue moth. It wasn’t a standard electrical snap like what sometimes happens with a static charge built up in metal warehouse carts; it was much stronger. Although not to the level of a taser, while Franklin didn’t have first-hand experience, it was sharply unpleasant.
The energy coursing through the threshold looked harsh enough to burn hair and singe flesh. She had the inkling that the company and those connected to it didn’t care about whether this was safe or complied with laws against war crimes. Chucking a crumpled ball of fabric was a tempting prospect, especially for the possible annoyance it might trigger.
If it bounced off, she could reenact for Yuka that old movie with Steve McQueen that Dwight liked. Although she surmised that this world probably had some equivalent counterpart with an anime girl actress instead.
Ignoring the uncertain force field for the moment, Misaki edged over to Yuka and asked if she was all right. Yuka hadn’t bothered to pick herself up from where her big sister tossed her or even move an inch from that anonymous patch of sterile white floor.
Her positioning was similar to how Haruka was placed in the memory and dream, but mirrored. Yuka’s position curled tighter, with her legs tucked in the errant folds of her yukata. Her hands squeezed against her tummy without wrapping around it, and her bright, beautiful brown eyes looked out without a destination for their gaze. The girl she loved was desperately broken.
Misaki moved close and positioned herself so she could gently stroke Yuka’s hair, which was leeched of its ambiguous, dark qualities by blinding ivory in all directions. The material of their clothes had too many losses and not enough material, to begin with, to block out the oppressive light, but they huddled together to diminish at least some of the exhausting glow.
Yuka softly sniffled but held back her tears. Misaki knew it was dangerous to be so close to the magnetic pull of being a part of Yuka that desperately wanted to return home. They might activate the same craziness that happened at the resort to leave her as a silent passenger inside. Haruka likely wouldn’t help this time. And what would happen to her empty body? Someone else could take it over, or no one would, and she’d just die as Yuka screamed and struggled to understand. Maybe she could ring her heart again with repetitions of love. Would it happen the same way?
She honestly had no idea how or what happened at the resort. The wristband wasn’t actually what allowed possession. But it still seemed to help facilitate it. Or perhaps her absence opened up a spot. Whoever grabbed it did so quickly. She could also imagine that they intentionally pushed her out.
It could also be related to the whole quantum splitting thing that came up. The company was very interested in that. No matter what fragments of understanding she was thrown or could cobble together, so much still didn’t make sense.
And then there was the megalithic elephant casting an inescapable shadow in the form of that supposed human, telling her that the world she knew had all the anime girl energy stripped from it, like a control in an experiment. Her world was also just like this one. That should not have been just a low-level mindfuck; it should’ve been the truth bomb of the century.
Everything that itched, grated, and felt wrong in her perceptions of reality was validated. The world felt wrong because it was wrong; it had been turned and torn asunder by a cruel science experiment. Was she actually Carrie? Was Guy truly supposed to be her little sister Silvia? And Fiona for Dwight? Or was that another smokescreen of nonsense and obfuscation drawing her away from some greater truth? That was huge, and yet it felt like just one piece among many.
This company dove into places beyond and between, into the gaps and seams between worlds and realities. And they totally fucked them all up.
They took a pristine ecosystem and bent it to their will because they got something out of it. And they’d been doing it for a long time.
So they probably weren’t responsible for how the last couple of years and even decades felt unmoored and chaotically wrenched in nightmarish directions. But she figured the present and the future always felt like a mess until they were finally in the rearview mirror.
And the matter of time. She didn’t understand it except as some sort of time dilation that sped them up faster than everything else, like accelerating a simulation to see what happened at the end. Not a pleasant thought.
Did that mean the rest of the worlds out there were hundreds or even thousands of years behind, maybe having just discovered fire? So, where did the company come from? Every question just invited more.
The big matter to her was what Haruka viciously demonstrated, and that entity wanted to make absolutely sure they knew beyond all doubt: Yuka was an immortal. Misaki was not. In some respects, it barely seemed to matter because of all the terrible things the company surely had cooked up for both of them. But it was there, and Misaki knew in her heart that the listless shadow around Yuka spawned because of this. She knew her too well.
They fancifully said to one another… A thousand years, if necessary, an eternity of patience. Misaki truly didn’t have that time, but Yuka did. Such a strange thing to worry about amidst all the rest.
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Yuka’s eyes finally sought her out as she breathed rough and bitterly. "I need to get you somewhere safe. Mari is gone, but maybe there are others like her, hiding in the shadows, fighting back. They might protect you. And we can recover everyone who’s left, and you can all be safe. I’m strong. They made me like this, but there’s a chance that something about me can hurt them. I have to have something I can use. Even if I make myself into a bomb to send them all to hell and join them. That would be fine."
Misaki vigorously shook her head, but Yuka looked away, as though it were decided. She begged her to look at her and think about other options. She didn’t have to sacrifice herself.
"What other option do I have?" Yuka pleaded. "I AM a monster. They made me to be their thing—their servant, their cleaner, their tool of eternity—from a destiny they already saw through to its ends. I’d rather die myself than live to become an instrument of evil who’s forgotten the love of her life."
The last words trickled out of Yuka as all the tears upwelled from her heart and soul, scrambled beyond recognition with sorrow. She wailed against Misaki but also leaned to create a gap between them that wouldn’t draw feelings as strongly.
Tears flowed down her face in a way that wasn’t an artistic masterpiece or a shading of luminescent colors precisely animated, but just completely and sorrowfully human. Misaki let her have as much of her sleeve as she needed for her eyes and her nose. It was a mess, and Yuka whimpered out mournful apologies. Misaki wasn’t having that. She practically scolded Yuka about being rough on herself, and since they shared more than they ever knew, this was an important reminder.
Yuka gave the most noncommittal chuckle that sounded more like trying to clear her throat than hint at any elevation of her mood. Misaki persisted.
"You are beautiful. You are more than what anyone has decided you should be. I know a piece of your gentle, precious heart lives with me. Not as a crude duplicate that thinks the same things and feels the same way. We share a part, but we’ve had arguments, we’ve disagreed, and we live separate lives with different understandings. I love you, not because I have a piece of you inside me, but because all of me treasures all of you, no matter how close or far apart we are."
Those assertions were an absolute mess, with plenty of simple responses that could easily rip them apart. But Yuka needed them; they both needed them, even if they were as slight and delicate as a spider‘s web may seem.
Getting up from the lowest point on the floor wasn’t a matter to be resolved with a few words, or even the right words honed and sharpened to maximum effect. But the presence of one another, fighting in their own way for mutual support, pulled them up, as they had already done.
There was reason to hope that a sharing, a cutting transplanted might actually seed the same in Misaki. Not that she sought eternity, but they could better safeguard it against hungry, ruthless forces together. Even if they didn’t have forever, they had every touch, every breath, and every moment sealed within thought.
Yuka swore that even though ages may pass, civilizations fall away, stars be born and lost to darkness, realms and realities crash and erode, and the very foundation of all things be worn to a smooth emptiness like everything around them… She would never forget. Not a single moment they shared in love everlasting. Takano Misaki… Carrie Francesca Fowler… Franklin Fowler… Every side, every smile, every nervous fear, every bold discovery, every quiet revelation, every moment just laying together, every step, every embarrassment, every secret, every intimacy, every hope held close. They would be a part of her as long as she drew breath and fought for what she cared for so deeply.
They pressed against one another and lifted themselves together. They kept the magnetic turbulence from shaking their confidence. Yuka was so sweaty, especially with the brightness of everything. She lamented how gross she felt and wished the hot spring was still within reach. She envisioned them just sinking down together again, letting the worst of everything drift away. Queue up another episode in five years of space journeys and let the silliness and deep reflection wash over. They squeezed their hands together but left enough space on the wall to be safe.
“I hate the fact that I really would like to get some sleep. And they’ll watch us. In everything, in every way.”
Misaki chimed in, "Fuck ‘em. I’m watching you, and you’re watching me. That’s all that really matters."
They kissed and cuddled and traced their hands along each other like delicate, tiny massages seeking perfect points. All that eventually elicited a tentative giggle from Yuka. More soon followed, and her eyes stayed on her partner’s rather than checking the opening and every detail beyond the confinement for judging, scrutinizing eyes. Their embrace wasn’t as fluid and comforting as they wanted or even close to how it had been on so many previous occasions, but that any form of it could be expressed under these conditions was a minor miracle they accepted gladly.
What energy they had left went into this renewed bout of happiness. It couldn’t last long though, before the glossy wall slid beneath them. Working together, they tested different spots on the wall before coming to the obvious conclusion that the corner, while rounded like so many things, would have to suffice.
The nuance lay in sitting close enough that they could settle comfortably into a spot without sliding away from one another or crunching together so close that they had another incident. It took curious deduction and Yuka doing some rough angle calculations while struggling to keep her eyes open and resist constant yawns before they found a position that looked painfully weird and was sure to hurt when they woke, but it did the trick for the time being.
The only remaining problem, along with countless others, were Yuka’s arm restraints. She cursed their awkwardly tight but still wiggly position and considered ripping her limbs off. But whatever held them in place also prevented that. Misaki couldn’t do anything about it either. Eventually, she forgot about them.
Misaki let Yuka slip into restfulness, even though she kept poking her eyes open to check and make sure she was still there. Exhaustion gripped her, and she slowly breathed with an uncomfortably kinked body. Misaki wanted to watch her the whole time and express more little notes of comfort and care, but she was soon asleep as well.