duocaeli inbox;

[petitejournalism]

DUONET ID: meryl.stryfe

"This is Meryl Stryfe. Sorry I missed you! If this is about a scoop, let me know a time and place and I'll meet you in person!

If not, then just leave me a message, I guess, and I'll get back to you!"

✉️ ☎️ 📷

Comments

Nightingale Suite, shortly after the shuffle!

[janescayre]

[This was appearing to be a pattern.

As if the injury of losing Lottie Person wasn't a foul enough blow, the insult comes in being shuffled into new quarters with zero warning. Suddenly her phone wouldn't swipe, and the house's (resoundingly creepy) gentle nudges into new directions leads her into the Nightingale Suite. It takes her several minutes of thin breaths and standing taut at the threshold before she's ready to enter.

Whoever was inside here, she's probably faced worse. Usually. Most likely. She was prepared for everyone to despise her at least, it was just whether she had to room with a complete psychopath.

What waits beyond is nothing more than a wee woman in a beret, hunched over several papers. Fukawa clutches her own bookbag tighter to her chest and glowers. She's writing? By hand, even? That's at least more promising than most dolts.]

Wh-who are you?

[Said as if she'd been walked in on, not the other way around. She hasn't taken more than two steps past the door.]

<3!!

[petitejournalism]

[ meryl's been through a lot, much of it things she's barely been able to parse, mentally. from the situation she was in just before arriving here, to that weird "online" world, to this one she's in now — full of things she'd never even dreamed of existing, let alone in abundance.

her journalistic instinct comes in hard, and the moment she has a chance — the moment she's in her "home" — she's taking out paper and writing down notes like her life depends on it. she has to chronicle all of this, every scrap of information she's come across. she can look over it all later, like when she'd write a story, piecing things together she may not have noticed before.

when she hears toko's voice, however, her head snaps up, out of her little writing trance. ] Huh? Oh, uh — sorry. [ is she not supposed to be here? she can't tell... this place is confusing. ] I probably should've introduced myself before coming in here...

[ she places her pencil down to the side of the paper she'd been working on, and gives a soft smile, as if trying to make a good impression. ] I'm Meryl — Meryl Stryfe. And... you are?

[janescayre]

How c-could you introduce yourself when I wasn't even here yet?

[Worlds may vary and cultures may differ, but teenage petulance is universal.

Fukawa skulks inward. And it is skulking: her hunch and scuttle are better suited to slinking along lines of shadows than crossing open floor. She sets her books on a counter, tugging the hardcover tomes out and refolding the shopping bag for later use. She tucks it into a kitchen cabinet, tossing glares over at her new roommate.

"Meryl", was it? Or should she use "Stryfe"? What a foul thing to call yourself. Was it some edgy online persona was trying to slip into the waking world? If so, it's pathetic. This woman was way too old to be pulling that shit.]

F-Fukawa. [Said curtly. No honorifics used or given.] Not that you'll remember it. What mess are you making over there? S-some kind of grocery list?

[petitejournalism]

[ that's a good point... she had no idea there was even someone else meant to be here. she's kind of figuring all this out as she goes along. still, it feels rude to have not introduced herself? she guesses?

and maybe she's right in that assumption, because this girl doesn't seem all too fond of her, right off the bat. she's barely done anything but give her name. this might be an uphill battle, meryl notes to herself. ]

Fukawa, then. It's, um, nice to meet you. [ she doesn't comment on whether she'll "forget it", instead just making sure to remember it so that it doesn't become a problem. meryl's a trained professional when it comes to journalism, and that includes speaking to others. she can be rough around the edges, but in a situation where it matters, she'll do her best to be cordial.

at the mention of her papers, she glances down at them, and then back at fukawa. ]

Oh, these? I'm trying to take notes on everything I've experienced here so far — so I can look back over them later.

[janescayre]

[There's no "likewise". Just a dismissive grunt before she collects her books again, pressing them tight to her chest as she takes a cautionary step closer.]

Notes? [Her nose wrinkles.] Oh. Y-you're not a detective, are you?

[It's not that she despises her old classmate Kirigiri. It just that she was such a fucking show off. All those brains and not a lick of tact, always shoving herself into the spotlight, stealing her beloved Byakuya-sama's thunder.

Still...if there was someone who might prove useful in this situation...

She steps even closer.]

What do you have so far?

[petitejournalism]

No, nothing like that. I'm a journalist, actually. Writing things down helps me keep track of what I know.

[ it's an invaluable skill, in her profession, and one she's studied and put into practice alike. she takes pride in it, actually. there are a myriad of skills that go into being a successful journalist, and, being that she graduated at the top of her class, she can rightfully claim she's got them down pat.

experience and knowledge of the wider world beyond textbooks, however? now, that's still a work in progress. don't worry about it.

she's not secretive about what she's taken notes on, either, so she moves her papers so they're a little more visible, moving her hands out of the way and leaning back in her chair so that fukawa can properly come in close, if she chooses to. ]

Just what I've seen. I'm not done writing it all down yet, though.

[ there're notes about the basics of the VR world, about where things are, how people react both on and offline to specific things... more specifically for meryl's interests, there are notes about the abundance of water here, the non-wormlike creatures she's spotted, and the distinct lack of plants. ]

[janescayre]

A journalist? [Not quite so handy as a sleuth, but definitely not without use. She could have been stuck with another idiot clairvoyant or big-breasted swim jock.

At least she recognizes the invitation for what it is. Fukawa edges closer and peers at the meticulous scrawl. She's careful to keep a measured distance just the same, even if it means she has to squint. From here the spine of her books peek over the folds of her sleeve: No Longer Human, Osamu Dazai, The House of Spirits, Isabelle Allende, The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough, and two slimmer paperbacks about Crane City itself.]

Hmm... [Her lips begin to twitch, mouthing the words Meryl's committed to paper. Her brow furrows suddenly.]

Water? Worms? [She looks at her curiously.] Th-there was all kinds of worms on the sidewalk after it rained last month. What kind of half-baked observation is that?

[petitejournalism]

[ meryl takes a moment to peer at the books fukawa has while she reads her notes, not recognizing any of them due to how far removed no man's land is to actual earth — their titles are certainly interesting, though, and pique her interest. she connects the first two titles, wondering if this girl's researching death...? kind of depressing.

she's woken out of this little observational trance when fukawa speaks again, sounding strangely judgmental with that last sentence. ]

Wait, what? What do you mean, it "rained"? [ they uhhh don't have that where she's from. ] I just got here, but I haven't noticed any worms anywhere! Flying around or otherwise! [ she doesn't want to think about otherwise. they can get too big. ] And what's wrong with writing about the water? There's tons of it here, and I haven't seen a single Plant! Where's it all coming from?

[ ....... this is going to get confusing. ]

🌼 delivery

[ndw]

[ Wolfwood still has no clue that the flowers that Meryl sent him were passive aggressive, but he doesn't want her to lord the fact that she sent flowers over him, so he decides to return the favour to even out the ledger.

He doesn't look up the meanings of the flowers, pulling together some canterbury bells, cornflowers and white roses.

It just comes with his name on it, and no message. You're welcome!! ]

[petitejournalism]

[ wow, wolfwood got her flowers? what a weirdly pleasant surprise.

wonder what they mean? she's so in love with flowers and their apparent meanings, she can't help herself in looking them up, scouring searches to find pictures of the right ones so she can learn what they—

"...worn by single men to signify that they were an eligible bachelor...", "...purity, innocence, and eternal love..."

... ]

is this funny to you????

[ndw]

[ meryl is so aggressive

wolfwood doesn't help by just texting back with, ] what

[ ??? ]

[petitejournalism]

[ right, okay, context would be useful, meryl. jumped the gun a little, as usual. ]

please just tell me you didn't bother to look up their meanings before you sent me these flora.

[ndw]

they have meanings?

[ hello? ]

[petitejournalism]

[ BIGGEST. SIGH. OF RELIEF. she doesn't have to hide them in the closet for the rest of her time here now. ]

that's all i needed to know.

thanks.

[ does that answer your question? she's satisfied now, anyway. ]

[ndw]

[ ...? ]

so the ones you sent me had meanings?

[petitejournalism]

of course they did. i think all of them do.

[ she still doesn't expect him to look up any of them though. ]

if you knew what you sent me, you'd need that huge cross of yours for yourself.

🌷 at the garden

[ndw]

[ While Wolfwood hasn't made any real effort to socialize or make friends or speak to people in general, he can't say that he hasn't been enjoying the opportunity to wander Crane City (and Avisile, when it's not in shambles). Nearly everything in the city is something he's never seen before, and while it can be overwhelming, it's exciting at the same time.

It's been a long time since he's been excited about anything.

He's in one of the botanical gardens in the city, hands tucked into his pockets and enjoying the vibrant colours and sweet smells. It's not his first visit, but he hasn't gotten tired of it yet.

And he's not entirely surprising to see Meryl there either—well, maybe a little. It's late into the evening; the sky more inky black than golden.

He lets himself drift over to where she's standing, tucking his lollipop against his cheek before he speaks, ] More research for your flowergrams?

[petitejournalism]

[ normally, meryl's quite responsible with where she goes and when she's home by, not just for her safety but to make sure she's in bed at a decent hour. that has gone out the window since she's been here, a mix of trouble sleeping and new goals making her schedule a bit of a mess.

she's kneeling down by some flowers when he approaches her, her pocket-sized notebook in her hands as she writes down whatever she can see, draws little diagrams of things to remember them. she's starting from nothing, and while checking out the library has proved helpful, she knows she needs to see them in person to get a real understanding of them. (and she just... likes to see them. it's calming.)

her shoulders jolt slightly when she hears him, not expecting anyone to be around, let alone approach her, as she turns quickly to check the source of the voice, and— oh. just him. there's a small amount of shock in her voice: ] Undertaker.

[ and then she turns back to the flowers she was looking at, still annoyed with him from before, but not necessarily mad at this point in time. she might be too tired to be, the softly present dark circles under her eyes an indication. ]

Research for the ones I'm growing, actually. I don't plan on sending them to anyone right now.

[ndw]

[ He's not entirely surprised by that answer. Of all the technological marvels that existed in this world, Wolfwood was most fascinated by the abundance of water first, and the variety of plant life second. His phone was full of the pictures he'd taken of trees, flowers and grass. So while he hadn't gone as far as to try and raise his own, he could understand the sentiment.

He's here too, after all, in the dead of night. ]

You always do your research during hours that'll make you go blind? [ Says Wolfwood, standing there and wearing sunglasses at night.

Tugging his pants up, he crouches down next to her, nosily peering at her notebook and not bothering to hide his interest. ]

[petitejournalism]

[ see, they actually have something to talk about when it comes to all the water and plant life, when they can get past their arguments.

she doesn't move to keep her notes from him, actually kind of appreciative of the interest he's taking, but understanding full well why he'd take it in the first place. they're both from a land devoid of this, so they both can understand the significance of it. there's something nice about being in the company of someone who understands? when everyone else is so used to this.

she stops writing for a moment, tapping her pencil against the page. ] I don't make a habit of it, no. Just... happened to get the urge. [ yeah, that makes sense.

she peers over at him now. ] It's not any worse than wearing sunglasses at night, though. Don't you ever take those off? How can you even see?

[ yeah she has to call him out on it, sorry. her voice isn't full of the same vitriol that it might normally, though. just a tiny bit of teasing mixed with incredulousness. seriously, wolfwood. ]

[ndw]

[ He lifts a brow behind said glasses when she calls him out, mildly surprised. Instead of answering honestly—that he's just so used to them it feels weird not to have them on—he smiles at her, full of mischief. ]

What's the matter? Hopin' to get a chance to gaze into my eyes?

[ What Happened Under The Tree was terrible and should be forgotten, except in moments that he wants to lord it over her.

He's hoping to get a reaction of her, maybe flustering or maybe denial, and tries to pluck the notebook from her grasp while she's distracted, leaning back enough until he's no longer crouched, falling onto his butt. ]

What's your research tell you anyway? That plants need—what is it—oxygen, water and sunlight to grow?

[petitejournalism]

[ okay she takes all those thoughts about this being kind of nice back. this guy is the worst.

she immediately feels a surge of embarrassment run through her upon hearing those words, freezes up and gives him the perfect chance to take her notebook. she drops her pencil, too, in the process, before shouting, face a bit red from the embarrassment. god, god. ]

A-Absolutely not! Fine, keep them on in the dark, see if I care! [ HUFF.

she knew that stupid tree experience would haunt her. she knew it.

shifting her position to face him more now that he's fallen backward, on her knees, she groans a little, trying to keep herself from letting this become another argument. fine, look at her notebook, she's not hiding anything in it anyway. ]

Of course it at least tells me that. But some of them need different amounts, kind of like how people do. [ she can fit far less in her than her larger companions, as an example. and that reminds her of: ] Have you heard of "cacti" yet?

[ndw]

[ Thankfully Meryl is mature enough to try and keep this conversation productive, whereas Wolfwood would be content for them to poke at each other all night. It's not malicious at least, despite the suffering that he's inevitably caused her, a smile on his face and a beat of happiness that he hasn't yet thought to beat back so that he can return to his usual sullen demeanour.

He's curious about her notes too, not having stolen them just to antagonize her.

And, just to be annoying, he plucks his glasses off so that he can read what she's written, squinting at her handwriting and diagrams. ]

Cacti? [ ???

Wait, people need different amounts of water? He blinks, supposing that makes sense. The amount of water that Wolfwood drinks would probably drown Meryl's little body. ]

[petitejournalism]

[ she takes his smile as a reaction he's having to his own teasing, not questioning it any further, and making A Face when she sees him take his glasses off. okay, fine, be that way. always so difficult.

she sighs, recomposing herself, and moves herself to sit next to him properly, reaching to flip the pages in her notebook as it remains in his hands. ] Yeah. It's called a "cactus" when there's only one of them, though. Look here.

[ ah, here's the page. there are more notes on cacti than most of the other flora in her notebook, and for good reason: ] They can survive in deserts. [ her voice holds quite a bit more weight here, as she hopes he understands what this could mean for them. ] They still need water, but way less of it than other flora.

[ pointing at her notes about its water consumption and heat tolerance. ] They might even be able to survive on...

[ their home planet. without the need to be in particular, controlled locations. ]

sometime in May, extremely begrudgingly

[janescayre]

[Maybe half an hour after this fiasco has concluded, Fukawa exits her room, hauls the vase to Meryl's door, rings the bell, and dashes away.

Meryl will find a nice bouquet! The original note is rumpled beyond reason. Almost as if crushed in a fit of fury. There's a newer note as well, ripped clumsily from a lined sheet of paper. In a neat but sharply foreboding scrawl:

These are for you.

Tell Vash to stop huffing pollen and learn to read.

- Fukawa.


Do NOT contact her after this.]