Ryner Lute (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tearsofademon) wrote2013-06-23 02:12 am
tearsofademon) wrote2013-06-23 02:12 am
☆51☆ [Text/Action for Azalea Town]
It was the right thing to do, Ryner told himself as he walked down the uncomfortably familiar road, in this direction of his own will for the first time, carrying a bouquet of white lilies. It was a pain, and if he was being completely honest he would have been quite content to never come this way again, but they were in town, so it wasn’t like there was the excuse of it being too far out of the way to visit, and it just felt like the right thing to do to go pay his respects, really. And since he didn’t know where she’d been buried (were there any graveyards for people…?), visiting her house was probably the best option.
Of course, to say Marian seemed overjoyed at the prospect of visiting her home herself would be a lie, considering how she hesitantly hovered behind him as he walked. It was probably pretty difficult for her, really. Heck, she’d never really gotten the chance to properly get used to the fact that she was dead in the first place…
“…Hey, Marian,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t think you’re up for it, you know…”
She shook her head even as her grip on her mask got tighter from nerves. “Ya yama.” She wanted to see this through.
“Ahh, all right. But if you change your mind, just let me know, okay?”
He felt Rose’s grip on his shoulder tighten, a slight enough sensation that it was likely invisible to most bystanders but still enough to be distinctly felt. Inwardly, he sighed a little as he brought his arm up to pet her behind the ear reassuringly. He’d tried to teach her not to hold a grudge, really he had. But then, on the other hand, he couldn’t blame her for being uncomfortable with the situation, either.
(Jehra, if he felt any discomfort, certainly wasn’t showing it as he walked stoically next to Ryner. And Glen was happily curled up right between his neck and shoulder blade, as had become the norm, so he probably didn’t care where they went as long as Ryner didn’t suddenly kick him off and start screaming bloody murder.)
The house eventually came into view, and Ryner’s pace slowed. It looked the same as it had months ago when he’d last seen it, save for the small detail that back then, it had been (thankfully) unoccupied. Not this time, however, and considering who the person out front watering flowers was, when Marian quietly squeaked and bolted to hide behind a nearby tree, Ryner thought he had at least a partial idea as to why.
Ryner knew this person.
…Well no, the correct thing to say is that he had seen this person before, in the memories Marian had left behind, and therefore he knew who she was. Oh, certainly, in the memories she had been much younger, but she was unmistakable.
Short, softly-curled greying hair that used to be ļ̶͡o̷̡ǹ͜͠g̢͘͏̸̸ ̵͜͡ą͢͝n͠͏d̴̵͘ ́́b̡̕͝l̴̡̀a̡c̵̴͏̡ķ͏̢̀͡ a vibrant red, and warm, gentle d̸́̀a̧҉̨̀͞r̡̛͢͝k̡͝ ͢͡͏͠ģ̵͠͝r͜͟͟͢e̷̢͟͞e̷͏̶͏͢ń̨̛͏ hazel eyes.
This woman was Joanne Lied, Marian’s mother.
“…”
Ryner exhaled and, as he’d grown accustomed to doing, distanced himself from the sudden flood of memory. The slight headache that accompanied it this time was bothersome, but just something he’d have to deal with, he figured. And really, he should have expected her family to be here this time. It wasn’t like the house had been abandoned, after all, and his luck that the current occupants hadn’t returned last time had probably been too much, all things considered.
Briefly, he considered turning around and coming back later so as to not have to deal with this, but he’d probably been seen anyway, and besides, he’d have to do this at some point, so there was no reason to just stand here awkwardly. Yes, best to just get it over with.
“…Ahh, excuse me,” he called out, walking forward. “You’re Mrs. Lied, right?”
She looked up from her gardening. “Yes, I am. Can I help you?”
“Well, erm, you see, I’m here to pay my respects to your daughter, Marian…”
The instant he said that name, Joanne’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to utter confusion, then to one of almost disbelief but not quite. “Did… did you say Marian?”
He nodded, holding out the flowers. “Ahh, these are…”
But he was interrupted when Joanne reached out to grab his hands between hers, almost pleading. (If she noticed how Rose tensed up and probably glared, knowing her, she didn’t say.) “Tell me, is your name Ryner?”
The question took him aback a little, because how would she know his name… of course, right, Marian had mentioned it in the letter she’d written to her parents, hadn’t she. How she had been accidentally borrowing the body of a man named Ryner, and that was how she was able to leave the note for them. Wordlessly, he nodded.
Joanne smiled a little, though it was a sad smile, and let go of Ryner’s hands. “Please, wait just a moment.” She then ran to the entrance door and called inside. “Darling, come quickly! Ryner has come to visit us!”
It wasn’t long before an elderly man stepped out of the house. He had to use a cane to walk, and he was also much older than he had been in Marian’s memory, but Ryner had seen this man before as well.
A balding, greying head that used to be covered in g̴̵̴͟͠o͏̵͝͠ļ̕͞d̸̶̀͝e̶̴͢͡͞n̸̸̶͢͟ brown hair, and s͟͢҉l͏͘͝͠e͟͡ȩ͜p͡͝͡y̴͏̛͏ ҉̸b̧̕l̴̵͜͟͞u̴͜e̡͜ wise grey eyes.
This man was Samuel Lied, Marian’s father.
The headache pulsed again, but Ryner suppressed it as he was accustomed. They were just left behind memories from Marian. That’s all they were.
“Ah, so you are the young Ryner?” Samuel asked, walking closer, his expression somewhat squinted as his glasses were old and he was apparently losing his sight anyway.
“Ahh… yeah,” Ryner responded, not sure how to respond to all of this. Was it really too much to ask for to just be able to drop off a bouquet of flowers in silence and maybe stand there in silent contemplation for a few minutes while Marian went around one more time…?
Samuel suddenly grabbed Ryner’s hands in much the same way that Joanne had, and Ryner was surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “My boy, you have no idea how grateful we are to you.”
“Grateful, really…?”
“It was so sudden,” Joanne continued, her voice wavering a little as she tried not to cry herself. “You never expect your only child to die on the way home for vacation. It’s the hardest thing. And we never… we never got to say goodbye. But the letter she left, written by your hand...”
“After all these years, it was as though our daughter was with us again, if only for a moment,” her husband added. “You brought so much happiness to our old lives.”
“Ahh, well, it’s really not that big a deal,” Ryner tried to deflect uncomfortably, his gaze drifting to the side as he reached up to pet Rose again. He would have liked it if they wouldn’t keep bringing up what had happened. It wasn’t something he liked talking about at all. Then, to change the subject, he added, “…wait, all these years? How long ago did…” After all, it must have been a long time, everything considered, but…
“It’s been nearly ten years since the night Marian fell down Slowpoke Well,” Samuel replied.
(…well, that was a piece of information that Cobra Commander was never going to learn, ever.)
“…I see,” Ryner commented. “That’s a long time.”
“For years,” Joanne said, “I had dreamed of seeing Marian just one more time, no matter how impossible I knew it was. To this day, I still do. But that letter… it gave me such peace.”
“Well, ahh, if it meant that much to you, I’m glad some good came out of all of that…” Ryner responded even more awkwardly, but he trailed off when he noticed the inky black shadow floating hesitantly by his side. When had she gotten there…?
Samuel was the next to notice. “Oh, what a beautiful Yamask you have there.”
Rose snuffed indignantly, as she hadn’t been noticed at all, but Ryner patted her again, making a note to sit down with Rose later and try yet again to quell this bothersome rivalry. “Ahh, you think so…?”
“Yama…” Marian drifted forward a little, still a little hesitant but not hiding behind her mask, which she displayed prominently in front of her.
Her voice, however, seemed to spark something in the two, and though Samuel’s eyesight was going, Joanne’s was not. “Darling, the Yamask’s mask… could it be?”
Samuel adjusted his glasses and took a closer look, jumping a little when he realized. “By Arceus… Marian, is that you?”
“Yama…!” Marian tried to hold back her tears but couldn’t, nodding as she started floating toward them a little faster.
Her parents came forward to meet her, and the three embraced. “It is you!” Joanne exclaimed, her own eyes tearing up. “Oh, Marian, my darling, how I’ve missed you…”
“Welcome home, Marian…” Samuel added, crying himself.
It was a heartwarming scene, and Ryner had to smile a little. He had no memories of his own family, if he’d ever had one, but a reunion like this… There was just something about it…
Suddenly, he was almost overwhelmed by emotion, the feeling of finally arriving at a moment that he had been longing for his entire life. And that confused him even as he recognized it as foreign and tried to suppress it as he had grown used to, because those feelings only occurred when he could relate strongly to the situation Marian was in at a given time. But he had never known his parents, so how could he relate to the nostalgic feeling that came with
b̕͏e͏͟i͡͡͞͏n͘g̸̷̢͢͞ ̷̴̵͏h̀͟e҉͢͡҉l̀̀͜͜͝d̵̡̡ ̀͡i͏̨́͞n͢͢ ̸̷̧̛͜h̷̸̕͞ȩ̷̕r҉ ҉̨a̧r̴m̷̶͟ś͏̴,̷́ ̸̡̛̕͠ó̷̧f҉̶̡͘͝ ̡̧͠h̶̀̕͢e̴̕͢r̸̵̨̀͞ ̶́͢c̀̕͜͢͠ą҉͘͡l̨͠͏̸͢l͢҉i҉͠n̵͏̶͟͝g̴҉ ͞҉h̨̨̕į̧͜s̡͘͠͡ ̕͜͠n̵͘͟͏á̕͢͢m̶̷̡͟͟e̵͢͠,͏̨̛͘͜ ̀a͢͢ ̶̢͘̕ş͡͠͞o̸̧u͏̷̢̛n̢͟͠͝d̵̶̨́͠ ̵̶̢h̕͜e͘͜͞ ̸̛̀͡h̢͡͡͏a̧͢d̷̸̶̀͠ ́͜l̢̢̛ơ̷͠ǹ̛̀g̸̛ę̴̶́d̴͠ ̕͜͟f͏o̢͘͟r̶̷͢͏ ̢͜͝͠h͡i̶̶̕s̴͘͟ ̀͟͡͡e̸͞͝͡n͏̢͜t͡҉̕͟i͢͝r͘͜e̸̴̡ ͜l̢̀i͢͟͞͝͞f̧͘͏͘͘e҉͟͢͡ ̀͢͜͝͞w̨̢i̛t̛͜͟͠͡ḩ̸́̀ơ͞͝u̸̧͠ţ̧̛́͏ ̸̵̛̕k̢͘n̸̴̵͝ò̧͘w̸͜͞͡i̶̕n̵̵̴͟g̨̀͏,͢͜҉͝ ̵͟͡͞҉“͜͝͡Ỳ͘͏o̵͢u̶̸̢͘͠’͏̡̧͠͠v̀͏ę̸̸͡ ̶̷̧̕͘g̀͘͟͡͠r͘͏̛̛͞o̶͜w̴̡͢͡ǹ̀͢͝ ̧̀҉̕͢ş́̕ǫ̧̢́͘ ̷̵̡b̡i̵̢̡g̵̢҉…̸̷̡”̡̡͜͞͞
ḩ̶̹͙̻̫̭̠ȩ̸̼͚̼̯̜͢l͏̸̗̻̞͇͈̲̬̜̯͖̫̹͕ͅd̷̶̸̨̘̭̟̟̗̣̙̮̺͙̻̭̻̟̲ ̢̀̕҉̛͙͓͍̼̳͓͍̪̠̱̞͙ͅb̹͇̜͇͚̪̙̣̭͙̳͚͡͠ͅo̸̡̡̥̣̱͔͍͔̳̮͚̞͙͇t̵̴̷͈̭̻̰̙̹̼̺̕h̢̛̟̟͉̰̫͙͞ ̷́́͝҉͔̗̖͚̪̞̬͔̤o̧̹̭̱̘͉̹̺̮̪̩͕̩͘f̧͡҉̛̳̺͕͈̗͕̻̩̞͍̞͡ͅ ̸̴̳͖̱̪̜̜͎͎̹̕ͅt̷̶͈̭̜͈̩̳̬͔͕̟̹̖ͅh͏̶̢̛̼̜̼̰̱̫̝̹̭̭̗͙̥̻̮̦̹̮ͅe̦͎͇̼͝͞m̴̶̷̨̺͎̺̩͉̣̦̻̫̝̟̼͚̼̖̀ͅͅ ̸̴̨̜͓̣̖̝̩̗͙͈̙̭̰̳̫͘ì̹̖̭̼̗̣͕̖͢͞ǹ̹͎̯͍̗̗́͠ ̢̧̬̮͖̣̦̹̦͍̖́h̷̛̟̼͖̻͇̗̝͔͇̟̜̭͍̻͔͓͍͘͢͝i̶͘͟͏̡̳̣͖̤͓̭̺̼̬̗̮s͘͏̼͍̜̼ ̵̡̡̪͔̺̱̝̯̬̳̦͚̬͕̯̰̼͚̘̫͢ͅs̡͉̜̯͈̰̙̗̮̹͓̟̬͙͢t̴̨͚̱̖͕͖̥̪͓̼̞̲͖̩̟̪̳̳̞͜͠r҉͏̗̝͙͍̞̭̱͕̘̯̼̘͙͎͓͚͙̺͡ó̶̸̶͖̖̠̣̪͓͕̻͍̥ͅǹ̴̺̖̦̤̭̺͓͇̞͘͟g̸͎̳̘̞͈̥̖͉̀ ̦̪̯̺̕͜͢͞ͅé͍̱̭̞͇̟̜̯̼̫͚̣̬̹̕m̶̡̛͈̳̥̬͔̱͕̙̱͙̣b̵̢̛̤̤͚̪͇̩̭͇͇̺̜͇̬̲͜͞r̷̶̡̩̻̙̺͔̫͚̳̳͚̫̣͕̣̥̳͘à̴̶̦̺͍̟̺̮͔͢ͅc̷̶̵̲̦̗̜̘̟͕͇̤̳̦̮̥̠̫̗̞̝͎͟͠e͏̸̡̖̜̬̼̣͢ ̧̹̥̼̥̝̳̮͝ͅͅą̜̠͎̳͖̟̹̕ͅs̢̠͇̘̜̲͚̫̹̺̪̯̘̳͟ͅ ̡̺̼͍̥̝͈̤̺̞̩̮̝͚̭̯̠̦͟ͅͅh̡́́҉̙̜͚̘̖̬e͓̺̜̯̬̟͇͘͢͠ ̧̢̙͕͔̠̝̬͜p̷̛̜̺̦̖͖̫ṛ̸͎̮̼͇̜̪͖͡ǫ̢̤̗̬̼̣͔̲̝̬̫̺͜͢ͅm̮̪̗̙̭͇̬̝̪͕͖̜̯̠͚͙͎̀͜͡ͅi̵̵͍͎̲̗͎̪̟̼̱̟̙̩̕͠͝s̵̰̺͉̥̪̬̩̤̪̝̻͙͚̜̦̭̖͢͠͝͠ͅe͏͚̗̩̪̖̥̭̰͍̹̪̙̩͔̺̺͞ͅd̪̟̘̮̬̦̻͈̣̤̫̼̦̫̟͝͝,҉̵̠̺̬̯̫̤̝̖̲̠̹͘͢͟ͅͅ ̶͓̦̠̯͠“̨̬̠̱͎̕͝͠T͖͙̝̜͉̪͙͙̞͜͡ͅh҉̶̼͚͔͉͇͉̥̭͔̝̮͙̯̪͈ͅͅí̶̱͕̳̮͉͖͓͓͙͙͈͕̞̪̜̜̱̠ͅs̵͏̷̨̠̝̦̳͙͍͙͖̲̟ͅ ̸̰͙̺̻̭̗̙͓̀́̕͠ç̱̟̬̮̻̭̩͔͉̹͕͈̖͢h̨́̕҉̰̖͚̥̪͙̙̘̲̟į̴̡̺͙̞̬̱̳̰̠͎̬̩͇̬ͅļ̗̯̱̼͇͓́͢͝d͏͔͙̺͇͓̯̹̖̘̠̣̰̬̦̩̩̹̘͝͡͞ ̨̧͇̻̼͘w̷̕͏̸͓̜̱̹̫̣͚̤͇̭͈o̦̦̲̻̙̯̯̱̖̱̦̖̕͡͡n̶̡̤̬͕̠͖̫̮̟̥̮͞’̰̦͍͎͕͙̭͔͉̻̩͍̭̝͔̯́͢͟͡ͅt͖̦̹͓̻͓̀͘͡͝ ̵̛̲͎͍̱̹̹͖͉̭b̀҉̳̼̭̥̦̟͡͞e̢̫̦̠̘̗̰̫̼̠̣̼̖͘͜ ̵͉̺͍̝͎̝͍̗̙͝͡k̡̛͜҉̬̟̣͉̱͍̮͍̥̺i̢̛̜̹̮͇͡ĺ̢̢͈̥̘̩̭͢͢ͅĺ̹̥̻̼̗̳͈͉͈̖̣̘̰͉̘̙̤͜͡é͕̦̳̣̼̩̥̬̱̰̭͞͡͡ͅd̛͈͇̘͈̠̰̰̥̦́͜͢͝.̶̷̛̹̱̘̠̺̞̤̩̪̱͟͢ ̷̧̡̛͍͍̟͉͓̟̱̥̟͚́ ̶̷͔̬̜̥̜̘̪͓͇̩̲̞̱̗̀͘͞ͅY̻̣̟̼͚͓͇̹͝͠o̢̪̟̼̥̭̝͖̮̞̰̱̱̕͢͞u͝͏̷͈̯̗͈͈̪ ̩͈̰̼͢͡͠͡w͏̴̨̲̰̣̦̖̞͈ͅo̶͞͏̵̟̩̭͈͙͎ņ̨̮̳̝̥͙̳̘̣̹̪̝̫͉̤̝̪̦͇͜͢͡ͅ’̢͖͙̭̦̹̣̖͚́t͘͏̧̱̥̘̯͔̝̫̯̭͔͈̰̻̰̕͟ ̷̵̴̮̳̫̩̥̜̣̹͘b̥̝̙͉̹̤͈̰̭̜̯̬͉͜͟͢e̡̨̞̩̰͎͚͓͚̳͓̯̼͈̟̤͓̙̭͓͕ ͚̹͔̦͞k̴̨͏͈͎̲̜̩̹̺̩̠̫̣͚̮͈̲̳̹̟͓i̵̴̧͚̰͎̳̦͉͖̬̫͚̮̘͔͜͠l̶̼̻̗̗̞̰̲̠̭̟͚͙̗̯̖͙̕l̨҉̯͈̣̝͓̫̱̻̝̫̻̪̖͎̣̺͟e͏̷̻̪̰̭̱͚͉̟̪̲d҉̘͕͇̬͔̙,̡͚̹͉͕̭̬̙͈͎͕̠͎̲̖̩̜̩͙̕ ̨҉̵͏̻̮̣̝͔̯̩͕̘̠͇̥̺̞̙̪̮̠e̞̺̙̹̦̥͙̱̤̬͇̠̘̕ͅí̘̤͖̺̳̦̯͉̀̀͠ͅt̻͚̺͉̥̯̫̼̟͟͝͡͞ͅh̪̳̪͍̤͍̙̬̤͜͠e̛̺͍̟̘͖̲̳̪̖̝͘r̵̡̡͇̜̖̼̝̬̠̪͉̬͖͟͝.҉̦̘̮̺͕̘̖̭̺̹̪̻͇̩̬̝͙͠ ̵̴̹̭̩͕͚̗͙ ̶͚͙̱̤̺̮̦̥̰̪̥̱̖͡I͏̸͔̹̜̮̗͉̺̘̕͢’̸̴͙͔̳̱͟ͅl̸͓̠̖̩̥̬͞l̞̯̰̳͎̹̹̜̟͜͟ ̴̨̢̮̩͖̠̪̮͎̘̫p̨͔͖̲͓̦͈͓̲͙̮͙͘ͅr̨̩̗͍͓͖͚̬̝̟͟ͅo̙̠̬͚͚͕͔͔̤̙̺̱̫͍͕̻͓̞̕͜ț̸͎̲̰̮̙͕͓́͞͝e҉̙̬̣̺̬͉̯̲̻̟̮̼͔͇͘c̵̡̛͇͉̗̲̟̥͔̖̘̜̗̘t̷̟̝̞̟̮͍͔͚͝ ̨̖̮̬͉̖̮̱͈͉͡͝y̶̺̠̫̞͈̭͚͕͚̺̪͖͙̲͉ͅò̢̢̢̝̘̙̤͓̲̳͓͉͜u̩̥̭̰͓̼͘͞͡͠ ̛͢͠҉̬̘̻̱̣̻̫̮̬́ͅb̴̢͘͏̴̭͔̥̤͕̮̲͕̞̱ͅo͘͢͏̜̻̙͍͖͍̤̪̬̠̤̖̻t͏̨͇̟̩̩̟̖̠̼̝̜̟͖̪͈͢͡͞h̨͔̹̯̮̠͇̟̞͉̳͎͓̣̞̹̭̣͕̕͢,̹͇̣̬̻̟͔̳͙͘͝ ̨̛̼̰͇̙̲̦̬͙̮̻͕̻̪̤̬͉̰͠w̶̰̗̼̪h̷̸̨̡̢͓̤̟̱̠̗͖͎͔̞a̴̴̵̘͈̙̪̼̟̼͘t̸̝̼̜͈͚̙̼̗͉̺͕̱͈͝é̷̡͎̳͙̲̳̱͎̜̕v̷̸̧̙̟͔̟͕͚͉̜̯͎̙̯̭̳̦̼̦͠e҉͏̸̡̗̝̲͚̫͙̥̝̼̹̯͉͕̺̼͟ͅͅṛ̘͕͉͔̞̙̪͘͡ ̡͓̻͎̼̹̖̝̥͓̀͟͠i̩̞̘̖͜͝͝ţ̫͚̠̤̙̭͕̼̩̰̙͓̭͎͜ ̸̙̦̳̫͎̥͓͇̣͍̥͔̠̝̭͖͞ͅt̷̵̨̡͔̰̗̹͎͎̮̭̖̘̫̳͔͙̳́ͅa͉͕͈͎̘̖̥͖̤̙̞̖̳̣̦̯͓̼͡ͅḱ̡̧͇͙̱̻͕͇̲̠͉͈̳̻̣̣ͅé̦͔̩̭͇̣̹̭̰̀͡s̨͏̧̖̦̮̟͈̮͕͈͞.̸̧̥͓̫̲̙̘͔̗̫͔͠͝ ҉̪̼͙̤̺ ̸̬̖̺͇͈̪̜̜͚͓̥̙̹̰͞I̵̧̯̘͓͍͙̟̹̱̱̻͕͎̟̩͔̕̕͢t̵̫̦̟̮̦͕͚̪̤̙̲̦̘̼̭̙̘͖̭̀’͠͏̸̩̺͉̳̣̣͕̥̫̠̱̦̘̗̘ĺ̴̡̹̩͕̙͙̦̱͍̗̬͎͡͠l͟͝҉̰̜̪̩̻̥̻̜̖͚̙͖̟͉͙̺͈̹ ̮͖͍̹̻͔͔̮͇̖̫͈̻̥͙͘͜b͟҉̥͓̝̟̼͔̳͚͎̥̤̻̤ͅé̶̢͖͎͙͚͍̲͉̩̗͉̱̩͔͚̯̟ ̵̫̺̥͈̱̖̟̙͓̟̤͉̗͔̦̰͜a̡̨͢͠͏̹͉̙̝̗̞͚̫l̶̨͓͈̝̟̦̬̺̗̟͙̠̼̠̭l̨͏҉̨͉̥̬̜͎͍̺͎̱̼̥̰̖̯̤̩̰̣ ̶̡͔̜̘̳̜̀͝͠r̷̷̨̛͔̜̰̩̻͉͓̯̰̼͇̰̫i̡̟͉̫̘͎̬͚̮͖̮͍͖̠̠͘g̷̰̱̙͟h̨͏͏̱̖̣͍̜͎̬͉̫̮͚͍̰̣͢t҉̶̛͙̪͎̳͇͍̟͙͖͉̦͓̣͈͎͔͉͖.̴͓͍͇̩̭̣͈͍͇̜͎͎̘̀͡ ̵̨̬̠͓̙͉̤͇̝̀ ̀͞͠҉̵̙̗̖̖S̖͓͎̞̜͈̱̳̰͎̯̤̤͍͘͝͞u҉̖͍̮͍̝̤̕r̴̰̩͍͎͚̜͝ͅe̴̶͈̲̞̦̩̦͖͎̤̼͍̬ͅĺ́҉̷͇͖̼͚͇̹̺̖̻̺̼̰̱̤͔ý̵̰̟̙̬͓̀͠…̵̺̯̗͉̹͈̹̤̟͟͠”̵̡̨͍͚̰͍̝̩̮͙̥̩̕͝ͅ
b̑͗̎̋́̎̈́̍̅̽̅͆ͭ̚͘͏̧̀͡ǫ̴͂́̓͝t̵̀̉ͤ̉̌ͩ̇͒ͯͥ̈́̆͋̍̀͜͠ḩ̈́ͫͬ͑ͧ͑͂̋͊̾ͬͩ̏̈͡ ̸̸̶ͦ̋ͣ̈́͂ͪ͂̇̂̚o͒ͫͫ͂̂̋͐̏̍̀͘͢͜f̧̛̄̐̐͆͊̊ͮ͡ ͗̋͐̔̈́̈̇ͭ̒͗̿̄̎̎͘͠t̷̴̶̃̑͆̌ͮ͛ͧ̌̀̓̂ͪ̚͝h̽͛̓͛ͭ̊̀͠͠͏ê̽̃ͭ̿̑̒ͨ͑̾̊͌ͦ͞͏mͨ͐̏̿͑ͭ́̉ͪ̀̀ ̛͊̈́ͨ̑̎̉̓͏s͊͒̿̿̾͏t̛̓ͯ͋ͬ̈́͆̒ͪ̃̃̆̏̓͆̽ͪ͟͞a̴̡ͯͧ͒̋̃ͮ̉̄͆ͯͣ̊͐ͧ͜͠n͊̅̃̓̅̏̏̄ͩͯ̋ͭ̌́́́̕d͛̽͌̄̀̇ͨ̃ͣ̃̒ͤ̃ͧ͑́͘͢͠i̛̓͋̏̎ͮ͑ͮ̊͐̎̍̂̐́͢͝n̵̴ͤ͆́̈́̐ģ̶̡̇͆̍ͫ̅̃̕̕ ̧̊̈́̄ͩͧ͛̄ͬ͒͋̽ͩ̾͑̾̿̕a̢̓ͣ̿̐͒ͤͥ̅ͨ͢͢͠b̧̢ͩͭ͋̀̊͝͞oͬͥ̄͆̎̋ͯ̔̏҉҉͡͡v̾͑ͥͣ̃́͡͞ę̀̈́͛͊͑ͪ̏ͥ͊̄̔͑͊͂͋ͦ͞ ̷̈ͤ͗́͑̿̌̀̉̄̍ͧͣ̄͢͝͡h̵̍̀̒͞͏͡i̷̅͌̿ͩ͛͛̆ͣ̿͂́m̨̢ͬ͛̌ͨ͝,̔͐́̃̓̿ͣ̊̇́̉̉̾ͤͮ҉́͟ ̴̨͑ͥͭͪ͑ͪ̇͌̂ͥͥ̎ͪ͘͝͝l̸̴ͦ̈̐͊̒͋ͨ͑̈́ͯ̉̅ͩ̃̂̇́̚̚͏͠ö͌ͥ͛̌ͮ̽̃̑ͨ͋̉̽͂̚҉̸̶͟͡o̷̓̔̑ͥ̉͊͌̍ͥ̚͜k̵̴̨̧̃͊̿ͫ̿͊̈́̐ͮ͆ͥ̍̉ͤ͐̉ͬ́iͧͬͤ͆̽͋͆ͭͪ͊̿͏̧̨͘͟ǹ̵̢͂̆ͭ̉̈́ͤ͑̚̕ģ̴͌͋͋͒ͪ̃̋ͪ̈̑ͥͦ͟͡ ̶̨̌͑ͫ͋͌͘͟a̶̍̔͑ͮͣ̒ͩ̏͊̀̈́̚͢s̛͛̈ͫ̓ͮ̔̇̀ͨ̓ͮ̾̽̅͟͠ ̧ͬ́̽ͬ̌̋ͦͯ͊̓̽͊t̴̡͗ͪ͒̒ͥ̂̕͜͟h̨̅ͨ͆̿͜҉̧͜ơ̐̔͂̿͘ȕ̴̡ͪͮͧ͊͒̃̈ͬ̍͆͒̇́̓͋̚g̷͐̈ͮ͂ͭ̓͒ͩ̀͋ͬ͘͡҉h̸̵̓̉̋̂̑̀̐̈́̾͒ͦ̓̏̊̔̿̚ ̸̵̢ͥ̈̎ͫͫ̅̎̊̑ͧͭ̒̏t̾ͩ̏͌ͩ̔͌̉̎̈́ͩ͋̄̾ͥ͟͠h̏̃̀ͭ̂̂̎͒̒̎͐̋̿͞͞e̷̡ͬ͒̓̈ͭͨ̑̃ͧ̕y͌͂̆ͫ̓͋͊̈́̂̓̽͘͝҉ ̵̡͛̈́ͨ̅ͪͮͪw̴̶̢̢͌ͬ̇̒͑̏̓ͨͬͯ͂̿ͬê̸̅͋ͯ̋̂̆́r͐͆̑͑̉̔̓̔̆̂̓͐̊̉ͨ҉̛̕͢e̴̛̽̽͑͋̊ͨ̓̿ͮͭ͐̕̕͟ ̛̛̂͋̌̿͐ͯͧ͊̅̍̂̉̏̋͋ͥͧ̐҉a̛̋ͬ͂ͥ̓ͭ̄͌͊͗bͬ̈͑ͮ͢͠͡͏o̧̾̄͌ͬͧ̌͋͑̉ͯ̆̎̊͝͡u̸ͯ͂͗̅ͥ̽͌ͩ̈͗̈͂̅ͪ̓ͭ̚҉t̶̵̨̆̉ͮ̃̔̇̔̌ͮ͛͒̍̌̍̆̌͢͠ ͫ͋͆̏͌̽̆ͭ̆̋̊́ͦͫ̋̏́́t̵̴̵̢̛͑ͭ͂́ò̄̽ͪͬ͂ͦ̑̈̀͟ ̸̷ͩ͒ͥ̋ͣ̇͗̾ͪ͑̚̚̚c̴̵̷ͨ̂̾̽̄̽͐̈ͪ̈̚͞r̢͑̋̌̋͐̎͟y̴̧̨̛ͨ̿̈́̋ͨ̐͘,̨͗͒́͆̑͂̓ͯ̓ͪ̈́͢ ̏͒̄̌̋ͪͣͮ͘͢͝“̓͒̄̉ͩͭ͋̓̿̍ͤ̏͜͝N̴̐ͦ̑͑̀ͤ̎̊͐̿̑̊̿͂̀͟͝o̴̢͋͛ͪͨ̐̀͝ ̸̡́ͧ̽ͬͤ̉̀͑̅ͭ͒̾m̾̋̂ͤͯ̐ͬ͑̄̄̆͋́͊̅̅͌ͪ̕̕͜͞a̅͑ͯ̆̓̈́ͦ͟͏̴̴ť̶̷̵̵̵̇ͨ̌t̛́̿ͯ̀̾́̀͢͡e̷̛͊́̏͊ͤ̿̿̐̏͑̂̃̍̽̚͟͞rͭ̿̉͑ͤ̅́̓̌̂͋҉ ̸̷̨͆ͦ́̋̌̃̐͂̑͛͊ͧ̅ͫͮ͢w̴̛͒͂̃̄͒ͥ͊͊ͤͮ͐̋͌̊̓ͦ̀͞h̨ͯ͗ͣͧͪͭ̓̔̀ͪ̓̿̄̒ͨ̓ͦ̂́͝ȧ̶̸̐̈́͛̈́ͨ́͌͌̽̓ͣͤͣ̈͋͟t̍̎ͭ̏̏̀ͥ̋ͮ̽̐͐̍̉ͪͣ̎҉̀ ̨̏̔ͪ̏̏̀͋͊̈̈́̒̾ͫ̏̈́ͤ͗̀͏h̛ͪͨ̑͛͋͝҉̨͞ả̵̷̋́̔̄̑̒̿̽̋ͣ̕͢p̷̨̛ͬ̈̄͗ͤͥ̀͛̇́̉ͣ͒̌ͮp̷̄͑̃͗ͫͪ͗̓̑ͪͭͬ̇ͩͯ͛҉̡e͌ͬ̏͐͏n̨̾͑͗ͬ̓͘s̨̓̐͒̎͂̐ͤ͐͛ͫ̍̈̾ͧ,̧̨̡̊̌̓ͯ͐̃̃ͤ̈̾̀̓̒͐ͦͤ̌ ̶̧̾̋̂ͤ͐I̢̅͒̀̑́ͧ̋̄̇̀͘͢ ̈́̆̑͛̑͆̏͛̋̈́ͤ̆̀͢͠w̶̶̡̧̽̆͆̒ͮi̷ͥ̉̒ͣ͌͋̄͜͏l̵̡̢̇̍̎ͦͨ̐̇́͂ͥ͊ͩ̏͂͌͋̀̚͞l̵̸̀͗ͯ̈́̆̈́͌̍͝͠ ̋̍̅̆̑ͪ̍̍͏̵̶͘a͛͊̊̀̇ͣ̇҉͝l̴ͪ́ͧ̏̄̓̆͋ͬ̽͒ͤ̂ͤ́͏̸̡̕w̑ͮ̒̓ͤ̅ͨ̀ͤ̑̔̊͛̌̓̆̓̚͘͞a̷̴̴͗ͣ͂ͬ̔ͩ̀̀y̸̡̾͑̈́ͯ̄̋̅̋̒̍̄͂̅ͬ̐̀̚s̵̴̨ͨ̓̓͑ͬ͊͋̋̍̅̈̚͜͟ ̨̢ͭ̂̈ͭ̅ͭ̈̉̑̉͒̐͐͐ͮ̏́̚̚͜͢p̷̡̈́ͤ̾ͯ̌ͪͤ̕͘͢rͧ̆̇͋͊ͩ͒̄̉͛ͫ͗͏̀͝ȍ̏͐͋̊̽͆̾͞͞҉̛t̷̢ͥ̇̅͂̈̈́͝e̶ͣ͑̎̎̔̒ͦ͊̾̿̈́͒̽̊̊̾̋͗̓͠c̸̨͒̾̏͂͂ͮ̅ͤ͆̇͗ͮ̄͐ͫͥ̚̚͜͠t̷͌ͯ̀̏̅ͣ͆͒ͪ̔̍͂̇̂́ͨ͊̍͜ ̶̵̛͋ͪ̎ͭy̢̢̢͐̀͒ͩͥ͒̈́́ͭ͑ͬ̀͆́o̍̿ͧ̂̿̉̊̄̇̉̀͞u̸̢ͭ̅͆̏ͣ͊́…̐̿̽̃͛̃̎͏̨”̵̡̢̒̍ͣ́̋̈̓̽͢
“̸̵̸̝̟̺̮̯̦̙͓̹̜̼̼͕̪̄ͭ̃̊͊̾ͥͬ̽̚͘͢Ỉ̍̋ͩ͊́ͯͮ͏̷̡̦̱̬̙̖̥̹̥͖̦͓̥̟͉̦ͅ ͋̉̓̾̓ͥ͂͊҉̷̺͇̗̮̞l͎̘̻͎ͧ͑͂̃ͬͤ̄͋͆̈̽ͫ̿̑͒̋̈́̀͢͝͝o̶̩̱͚̠͔̭̰̘̭͚͎̲̲ͭ̍͒̋͌͗͋͗̃͐͘͢v̐͛͊͛͛̒̌̒̓ͬͩ҉̷̛̯̭̲̩̘̻͖͍̹͉̦̰̥̮̕e̡̨̧̧͚̹̜͖͈̥̭̞͚̻͕̙͐̆́̏̐ͩͯ͊͌̽ͤ̉̍͋́ ̡ͭ̾̋̈́͂̓͋͑͒̎̃ͪͮ͌̈ͪ͛҉͉̞͙̳ͅy̶̸̡̯͓̝̮̙͚̳̺̦͔̬̜͙̼͕͓ͧ̋͊̒͌ͮ̍ͫͅo̦̖̫͇̱͓̟̙̭̤̼̳̩̥̦̫̖̗̅̋ͥ̒̔́͠͞u̷̸̧̠̬͍͍̜̼̺̬̤̟̦̤̬̫ͯ̽ͣ̿͛͗̂̑̎͒͒̂̐̽ͯ́̕ͅ…̛̳͕͈͉͈͉̝̰͉͖͉͙͎̉͑̋ͦ̉͋̌ͬ̉̀̈͊͋̿ͧͦ̚͝”̴̸̴̡͙̗̫͓͖̯͎̪̲̞ͬ̀͛ͣͦͨ̅̎͂̚ͅ
“Ryner?”
A painful Wake-Up Slap snapped him back to reality, and he blinked a couple of times. “…Ahh, what…?”
Rose was looking at him with an expression that to most people would read as annoyed, but if he was reading her right, he was pretty sure she was actually a little scared. Even Jehra and Glen were looking at him quizzically, as were the members of the Lied family. Glancing down, he noticed that his hands were shaking a little… no, his whole body was shaking, his head hurt, and his chest was contorting uncomfortably.
“Are you okay, Ryner?” Joanne asked, concerned. “You turned white as a sheet there for a minute.”
“Ma?” Even Marian was a little worried.
“…A-Ahh, yeah, I’m fine,” he answered even though he obviously wasn’t really. “I… guess I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, huh.”
“Fairy…” Rose clearly didn’t buy that excuse, but Ryner shakily dug a hand into his bag and pulled out a pen and pad of paper to hand to Marian along with the flowers.
“…Here, you guys will probably want to catch up, right?” he assumed. “I really shouldn’t get in the way of that. I’ll just go sit under a tree or something for a while.”
“Are you sure?” Samuel asked. “You’re welcome to come inside and sit down, if you would like.”
“No, I really just need to sit under a tree for a while,” Ryner replied, already turning away to walk away. “You three have a good time, okay?”
He knew it was probably rude of him, but he didn’t turn around even when they called his name again, asking him to come back. He just needed to get away and think.
What was that?
.
.
.
[Text, about half an hour later]
What’s it like to have a family?
[If you want Ryner in person, he’s sitting under a tree in Azalea Town, knees bent partway up so he can lean forward on them, hand massaging his forehead, and generally looking pretty pale. Today has been an odd day, to put it nicely.]
Of course, to say Marian seemed overjoyed at the prospect of visiting her home herself would be a lie, considering how she hesitantly hovered behind him as he walked. It was probably pretty difficult for her, really. Heck, she’d never really gotten the chance to properly get used to the fact that she was dead in the first place…
“…Hey, Marian,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t think you’re up for it, you know…”
She shook her head even as her grip on her mask got tighter from nerves. “Ya yama.” She wanted to see this through.
“Ahh, all right. But if you change your mind, just let me know, okay?”
He felt Rose’s grip on his shoulder tighten, a slight enough sensation that it was likely invisible to most bystanders but still enough to be distinctly felt. Inwardly, he sighed a little as he brought his arm up to pet her behind the ear reassuringly. He’d tried to teach her not to hold a grudge, really he had. But then, on the other hand, he couldn’t blame her for being uncomfortable with the situation, either.
(Jehra, if he felt any discomfort, certainly wasn’t showing it as he walked stoically next to Ryner. And Glen was happily curled up right between his neck and shoulder blade, as had become the norm, so he probably didn’t care where they went as long as Ryner didn’t suddenly kick him off and start screaming bloody murder.)
The house eventually came into view, and Ryner’s pace slowed. It looked the same as it had months ago when he’d last seen it, save for the small detail that back then, it had been (thankfully) unoccupied. Not this time, however, and considering who the person out front watering flowers was, when Marian quietly squeaked and bolted to hide behind a nearby tree, Ryner thought he had at least a partial idea as to why.
Ryner knew this person.
…Well no, the correct thing to say is that he had seen this person before, in the memories Marian had left behind, and therefore he knew who she was. Oh, certainly, in the memories she had been much younger, but she was unmistakable.
Short, softly-curled greying hair that used to be ļ̶͡o̷̡ǹ͜͠g̢͘͏̸̸ ̵͜͡ą͢͝n͠͏d̴̵͘ ́́b̡̕͝l̴̡̀a̡c̵̴͏̡ķ͏̢̀͡ a vibrant red, and warm, gentle d̸́̀a̧҉̨̀͞r̡̛͢͝k̡͝ ͢͡͏͠ģ̵͠͝r͜͟͟͢e̷̢͟͞e̷͏̶͏͢ń̨̛͏ hazel eyes.
This woman was Joanne Lied, Marian’s mother.
“…”
Ryner exhaled and, as he’d grown accustomed to doing, distanced himself from the sudden flood of memory. The slight headache that accompanied it this time was bothersome, but just something he’d have to deal with, he figured. And really, he should have expected her family to be here this time. It wasn’t like the house had been abandoned, after all, and his luck that the current occupants hadn’t returned last time had probably been too much, all things considered.
Briefly, he considered turning around and coming back later so as to not have to deal with this, but he’d probably been seen anyway, and besides, he’d have to do this at some point, so there was no reason to just stand here awkwardly. Yes, best to just get it over with.
“…Ahh, excuse me,” he called out, walking forward. “You’re Mrs. Lied, right?”
She looked up from her gardening. “Yes, I am. Can I help you?”
“Well, erm, you see, I’m here to pay my respects to your daughter, Marian…”
The instant he said that name, Joanne’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to utter confusion, then to one of almost disbelief but not quite. “Did… did you say Marian?”
He nodded, holding out the flowers. “Ahh, these are…”
But he was interrupted when Joanne reached out to grab his hands between hers, almost pleading. (If she noticed how Rose tensed up and probably glared, knowing her, she didn’t say.) “Tell me, is your name Ryner?”
The question took him aback a little, because how would she know his name… of course, right, Marian had mentioned it in the letter she’d written to her parents, hadn’t she. How she had been accidentally borrowing the body of a man named Ryner, and that was how she was able to leave the note for them. Wordlessly, he nodded.
Joanne smiled a little, though it was a sad smile, and let go of Ryner’s hands. “Please, wait just a moment.” She then ran to the entrance door and called inside. “Darling, come quickly! Ryner has come to visit us!”
It wasn’t long before an elderly man stepped out of the house. He had to use a cane to walk, and he was also much older than he had been in Marian’s memory, but Ryner had seen this man before as well.
A balding, greying head that used to be covered in g̴̵̴͟͠o͏̵͝͠ļ̕͞d̸̶̀͝e̶̴͢͡͞n̸̸̶͢͟ brown hair, and s͟͢҉l͏͘͝͠e͟͡ȩ͜p͡͝͡y̴͏̛͏ ҉̸b̧̕l̴̵͜͟͞u̴͜e̡͜ wise grey eyes.
This man was Samuel Lied, Marian’s father.
The headache pulsed again, but Ryner suppressed it as he was accustomed. They were just left behind memories from Marian. That’s all they were.
“Ah, so you are the young Ryner?” Samuel asked, walking closer, his expression somewhat squinted as his glasses were old and he was apparently losing his sight anyway.
“Ahh… yeah,” Ryner responded, not sure how to respond to all of this. Was it really too much to ask for to just be able to drop off a bouquet of flowers in silence and maybe stand there in silent contemplation for a few minutes while Marian went around one more time…?
Samuel suddenly grabbed Ryner’s hands in much the same way that Joanne had, and Ryner was surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “My boy, you have no idea how grateful we are to you.”
“Grateful, really…?”
“It was so sudden,” Joanne continued, her voice wavering a little as she tried not to cry herself. “You never expect your only child to die on the way home for vacation. It’s the hardest thing. And we never… we never got to say goodbye. But the letter she left, written by your hand...”
“After all these years, it was as though our daughter was with us again, if only for a moment,” her husband added. “You brought so much happiness to our old lives.”
“Ahh, well, it’s really not that big a deal,” Ryner tried to deflect uncomfortably, his gaze drifting to the side as he reached up to pet Rose again. He would have liked it if they wouldn’t keep bringing up what had happened. It wasn’t something he liked talking about at all. Then, to change the subject, he added, “…wait, all these years? How long ago did…” After all, it must have been a long time, everything considered, but…
“It’s been nearly ten years since the night Marian fell down Slowpoke Well,” Samuel replied.
(…well, that was a piece of information that Cobra Commander was never going to learn, ever.)
“…I see,” Ryner commented. “That’s a long time.”
“For years,” Joanne said, “I had dreamed of seeing Marian just one more time, no matter how impossible I knew it was. To this day, I still do. But that letter… it gave me such peace.”
“Well, ahh, if it meant that much to you, I’m glad some good came out of all of that…” Ryner responded even more awkwardly, but he trailed off when he noticed the inky black shadow floating hesitantly by his side. When had she gotten there…?
Samuel was the next to notice. “Oh, what a beautiful Yamask you have there.”
Rose snuffed indignantly, as she hadn’t been noticed at all, but Ryner patted her again, making a note to sit down with Rose later and try yet again to quell this bothersome rivalry. “Ahh, you think so…?”
“Yama…” Marian drifted forward a little, still a little hesitant but not hiding behind her mask, which she displayed prominently in front of her.
Her voice, however, seemed to spark something in the two, and though Samuel’s eyesight was going, Joanne’s was not. “Darling, the Yamask’s mask… could it be?”
Samuel adjusted his glasses and took a closer look, jumping a little when he realized. “By Arceus… Marian, is that you?”
“Yama…!” Marian tried to hold back her tears but couldn’t, nodding as she started floating toward them a little faster.
Her parents came forward to meet her, and the three embraced. “It is you!” Joanne exclaimed, her own eyes tearing up. “Oh, Marian, my darling, how I’ve missed you…”
“Welcome home, Marian…” Samuel added, crying himself.
It was a heartwarming scene, and Ryner had to smile a little. He had no memories of his own family, if he’d ever had one, but a reunion like this… There was just something about it…
Suddenly, he was almost overwhelmed by emotion, the feeling of finally arriving at a moment that he had been longing for his entire life. And that confused him even as he recognized it as foreign and tried to suppress it as he had grown used to, because those feelings only occurred when he could relate strongly to the situation Marian was in at a given time. But he had never known his parents, so how could he relate to the nostalgic feeling that came with
b̕͏e͏͟i͡͡͞͏n͘g̸̷̢͢͞ ̷̴̵͏h̀͟e҉͢͡҉l̀̀͜͜͝d̵̡̡ ̀͡i͏̨́͞n͢͢ ̸̷̧̛͜h̷̸̕͞ȩ̷̕r҉ ҉̨a̧r̴m̷̶͟ś͏̴,̷́ ̸̡̛̕͠ó̷̧f҉̶̡͘͝ ̡̧͠h̶̀̕͢e̴̕͢r̸̵̨̀͞ ̶́͢c̀̕͜͢͠ą҉͘͡l̨͠͏̸͢l͢҉i҉͠n̵͏̶͟͝g̴҉ ͞҉h̨̨̕į̧͜s̡͘͠͡ ̕͜͠n̵͘͟͏á̕͢͢m̶̷̡͟͟e̵͢͠,͏̨̛͘͜ ̀a͢͢ ̶̢͘̕ş͡͠͞o̸̧u͏̷̢̛n̢͟͠͝d̵̶̨́͠ ̵̶̢h̕͜e͘͜͞ ̸̛̀͡h̢͡͡͏a̧͢d̷̸̶̀͠ ́͜l̢̢̛ơ̷͠ǹ̛̀g̸̛ę̴̶́d̴͠ ̕͜͟f͏o̢͘͟r̶̷͢͏ ̢͜͝͠h͡i̶̶̕s̴͘͟ ̀͟͡͡e̸͞͝͡n͏̢͜t͡҉̕͟i͢͝r͘͜e̸̴̡ ͜l̢̀i͢͟͞͝͞f̧͘͏͘͘e҉͟͢͡ ̀͢͜͝͞w̨̢i̛t̛͜͟͠͡ḩ̸́̀ơ͞͝u̸̧͠ţ̧̛́͏ ̸̵̛̕k̢͘n̸̴̵͝ò̧͘w̸͜͞͡i̶̕n̵̵̴͟g̨̀͏,͢͜҉͝ ̵͟͡͞҉“͜͝͡Ỳ͘͏o̵͢u̶̸̢͘͠’͏̡̧͠͠v̀͏ę̸̸͡ ̶̷̧̕͘g̀͘͟͡͠r͘͏̛̛͞o̶͜w̴̡͢͡ǹ̀͢͝ ̧̀҉̕͢ş́̕ǫ̧̢́͘ ̷̵̡b̡i̵̢̡g̵̢҉…̸̷̡”̡̡͜͞͞
ḩ̶̹͙̻̫̭̠ȩ̸̼͚̼̯̜͢l͏̸̗̻̞͇͈̲̬̜̯͖̫̹͕ͅd̷̶̸̨̘̭̟̟̗̣̙̮̺͙̻̭̻̟̲ ̢̀̕҉̛͙͓͍̼̳͓͍̪̠̱̞͙ͅb̹͇̜͇͚̪̙̣̭͙̳͚͡͠ͅo̸̡̡̥̣̱͔͍͔̳̮͚̞͙͇t̵̴̷͈̭̻̰̙̹̼̺̕h̢̛̟̟͉̰̫͙͞ ̷́́͝҉͔̗̖͚̪̞̬͔̤o̧̹̭̱̘͉̹̺̮̪̩͕̩͘f̧͡҉̛̳̺͕͈̗͕̻̩̞͍̞͡ͅ ̸̴̳͖̱̪̜̜͎͎̹̕ͅt̷̶͈̭̜͈̩̳̬͔͕̟̹̖ͅh͏̶̢̛̼̜̼̰̱̫̝̹̭̭̗͙̥̻̮̦̹̮ͅe̦͎͇̼͝͞m̴̶̷̨̺͎̺̩͉̣̦̻̫̝̟̼͚̼̖̀ͅͅ ̸̴̨̜͓̣̖̝̩̗͙͈̙̭̰̳̫͘ì̹̖̭̼̗̣͕̖͢͞ǹ̹͎̯͍̗̗́͠ ̢̧̬̮͖̣̦̹̦͍̖́h̷̛̟̼͖̻͇̗̝͔͇̟̜̭͍̻͔͓͍͘͢͝i̶͘͟͏̡̳̣͖̤͓̭̺̼̬̗̮s͘͏̼͍̜̼ ̵̡̡̪͔̺̱̝̯̬̳̦͚̬͕̯̰̼͚̘̫͢ͅs̡͉̜̯͈̰̙̗̮̹͓̟̬͙͢t̴̨͚̱̖͕͖̥̪͓̼̞̲͖̩̟̪̳̳̞͜͠r҉͏̗̝͙͍̞̭̱͕̘̯̼̘͙͎͓͚͙̺͡ó̶̸̶͖̖̠̣̪͓͕̻͍̥ͅǹ̴̺̖̦̤̭̺͓͇̞͘͟g̸͎̳̘̞͈̥̖͉̀ ̦̪̯̺̕͜͢͞ͅé͍̱̭̞͇̟̜̯̼̫͚̣̬̹̕m̶̡̛͈̳̥̬͔̱͕̙̱͙̣b̵̢̛̤̤͚̪͇̩̭͇͇̺̜͇̬̲͜͞r̷̶̡̩̻̙̺͔̫͚̳̳͚̫̣͕̣̥̳͘à̴̶̦̺͍̟̺̮͔͢ͅc̷̶̵̲̦̗̜̘̟͕͇̤̳̦̮̥̠̫̗̞̝͎͟͠e͏̸̡̖̜̬̼̣͢ ̧̹̥̼̥̝̳̮͝ͅͅą̜̠͎̳͖̟̹̕ͅs̢̠͇̘̜̲͚̫̹̺̪̯̘̳͟ͅ ̡̺̼͍̥̝͈̤̺̞̩̮̝͚̭̯̠̦͟ͅͅh̡́́҉̙̜͚̘̖̬e͓̺̜̯̬̟͇͘͢͠ ̧̢̙͕͔̠̝̬͜p̷̛̜̺̦̖͖̫ṛ̸͎̮̼͇̜̪͖͡ǫ̢̤̗̬̼̣͔̲̝̬̫̺͜͢ͅm̮̪̗̙̭͇̬̝̪͕͖̜̯̠͚͙͎̀͜͡ͅi̵̵͍͎̲̗͎̪̟̼̱̟̙̩̕͠͝s̵̰̺͉̥̪̬̩̤̪̝̻͙͚̜̦̭̖͢͠͝͠ͅe͏͚̗̩̪̖̥̭̰͍̹̪̙̩͔̺̺͞ͅd̪̟̘̮̬̦̻͈̣̤̫̼̦̫̟͝͝,҉̵̠̺̬̯̫̤̝̖̲̠̹͘͢͟ͅͅ ̶͓̦̠̯͠“̨̬̠̱͎̕͝͠T͖͙̝̜͉̪͙͙̞͜͡ͅh҉̶̼͚͔͉͇͉̥̭͔̝̮͙̯̪͈ͅͅí̶̱͕̳̮͉͖͓͓͙͙͈͕̞̪̜̜̱̠ͅs̵͏̷̨̠̝̦̳͙͍͙͖̲̟ͅ ̸̰͙̺̻̭̗̙͓̀́̕͠ç̱̟̬̮̻̭̩͔͉̹͕͈̖͢h̨́̕҉̰̖͚̥̪͙̙̘̲̟į̴̡̺͙̞̬̱̳̰̠͎̬̩͇̬ͅļ̗̯̱̼͇͓́͢͝d͏͔͙̺͇͓̯̹̖̘̠̣̰̬̦̩̩̹̘͝͡͞ ̨̧͇̻̼͘w̷̕͏̸͓̜̱̹̫̣͚̤͇̭͈o̦̦̲̻̙̯̯̱̖̱̦̖̕͡͡n̶̡̤̬͕̠͖̫̮̟̥̮͞’̰̦͍͎͕͙̭͔͉̻̩͍̭̝͔̯́͢͟͡ͅt͖̦̹͓̻͓̀͘͡͝ ̵̛̲͎͍̱̹̹͖͉̭b̀҉̳̼̭̥̦̟͡͞e̢̫̦̠̘̗̰̫̼̠̣̼̖͘͜ ̵͉̺͍̝͎̝͍̗̙͝͡k̡̛͜҉̬̟̣͉̱͍̮͍̥̺i̢̛̜̹̮͇͡ĺ̢̢͈̥̘̩̭͢͢ͅĺ̹̥̻̼̗̳͈͉͈̖̣̘̰͉̘̙̤͜͡é͕̦̳̣̼̩̥̬̱̰̭͞͡͡ͅd̛͈͇̘͈̠̰̰̥̦́͜͢͝.̶̷̛̹̱̘̠̺̞̤̩̪̱͟͢ ̷̧̡̛͍͍̟͉͓̟̱̥̟͚́ ̶̷͔̬̜̥̜̘̪͓͇̩̲̞̱̗̀͘͞ͅY̻̣̟̼͚͓͇̹͝͠o̢̪̟̼̥̭̝͖̮̞̰̱̱̕͢͞u͝͏̷͈̯̗͈͈̪ ̩͈̰̼͢͡͠͡w͏̴̨̲̰̣̦̖̞͈ͅo̶͞͏̵̟̩̭͈͙͎ņ̨̮̳̝̥͙̳̘̣̹̪̝̫͉̤̝̪̦͇͜͢͡ͅ’̢͖͙̭̦̹̣̖͚́t͘͏̧̱̥̘̯͔̝̫̯̭͔͈̰̻̰̕͟ ̷̵̴̮̳̫̩̥̜̣̹͘b̥̝̙͉̹̤͈̰̭̜̯̬͉͜͟͢e̡̨̞̩̰͎͚͓͚̳͓̯̼͈̟̤͓̙̭͓͕ ͚̹͔̦͞k̴̨͏͈͎̲̜̩̹̺̩̠̫̣͚̮͈̲̳̹̟͓i̵̴̧͚̰͎̳̦͉͖̬̫͚̮̘͔͜͠l̶̼̻̗̗̞̰̲̠̭̟͚͙̗̯̖͙̕l̨҉̯͈̣̝͓̫̱̻̝̫̻̪̖͎̣̺͟e͏̷̻̪̰̭̱͚͉̟̪̲d҉̘͕͇̬͔̙,̡͚̹͉͕̭̬̙͈͎͕̠͎̲̖̩̜̩͙̕ ̨҉̵͏̻̮̣̝͔̯̩͕̘̠͇̥̺̞̙̪̮̠e̞̺̙̹̦̥͙̱̤̬͇̠̘̕ͅí̘̤͖̺̳̦̯͉̀̀͠ͅt̻͚̺͉̥̯̫̼̟͟͝͡͞ͅh̪̳̪͍̤͍̙̬̤͜͠e̛̺͍̟̘͖̲̳̪̖̝͘r̵̡̡͇̜̖̼̝̬̠̪͉̬͖͟͝.҉̦̘̮̺͕̘̖̭̺̹̪̻͇̩̬̝͙͠ ̵̴̹̭̩͕͚̗͙ ̶͚͙̱̤̺̮̦̥̰̪̥̱̖͡I͏̸͔̹̜̮̗͉̺̘̕͢’̸̴͙͔̳̱͟ͅl̸͓̠̖̩̥̬͞l̞̯̰̳͎̹̹̜̟͜͟ ̴̨̢̮̩͖̠̪̮͎̘̫p̨͔͖̲͓̦͈͓̲͙̮͙͘ͅr̨̩̗͍͓͖͚̬̝̟͟ͅo̙̠̬͚͚͕͔͔̤̙̺̱̫͍͕̻͓̞̕͜ț̸͎̲̰̮̙͕͓́͞͝e҉̙̬̣̺̬͉̯̲̻̟̮̼͔͇͘c̵̡̛͇͉̗̲̟̥͔̖̘̜̗̘t̷̟̝̞̟̮͍͔͚͝ ̨̖̮̬͉̖̮̱͈͉͡͝y̶̺̠̫̞͈̭͚͕͚̺̪͖͙̲͉ͅò̢̢̢̝̘̙̤͓̲̳͓͉͜u̩̥̭̰͓̼͘͞͡͠ ̛͢͠҉̬̘̻̱̣̻̫̮̬́ͅb̴̢͘͏̴̭͔̥̤͕̮̲͕̞̱ͅo͘͢͏̜̻̙͍͖͍̤̪̬̠̤̖̻t͏̨͇̟̩̩̟̖̠̼̝̜̟͖̪͈͢͡͞h̨͔̹̯̮̠͇̟̞͉̳͎͓̣̞̹̭̣͕̕͢,̹͇̣̬̻̟͔̳͙͘͝ ̨̛̼̰͇̙̲̦̬͙̮̻͕̻̪̤̬͉̰͠w̶̰̗̼̪h̷̸̨̡̢͓̤̟̱̠̗͖͎͔̞a̴̴̵̘͈̙̪̼̟̼͘t̸̝̼̜͈͚̙̼̗͉̺͕̱͈͝é̷̡͎̳͙̲̳̱͎̜̕v̷̸̧̙̟͔̟͕͚͉̜̯͎̙̯̭̳̦̼̦͠e҉͏̸̡̗̝̲͚̫͙̥̝̼̹̯͉͕̺̼͟ͅͅṛ̘͕͉͔̞̙̪͘͡ ̡͓̻͎̼̹̖̝̥͓̀͟͠i̩̞̘̖͜͝͝ţ̫͚̠̤̙̭͕̼̩̰̙͓̭͎͜ ̸̙̦̳̫͎̥͓͇̣͍̥͔̠̝̭͖͞ͅt̷̵̨̡͔̰̗̹͎͎̮̭̖̘̫̳͔͙̳́ͅa͉͕͈͎̘̖̥͖̤̙̞̖̳̣̦̯͓̼͡ͅḱ̡̧͇͙̱̻͕͇̲̠͉͈̳̻̣̣ͅé̦͔̩̭͇̣̹̭̰̀͡s̨͏̧̖̦̮̟͈̮͕͈͞.̸̧̥͓̫̲̙̘͔̗̫͔͠͝ ҉̪̼͙̤̺ ̸̬̖̺͇͈̪̜̜͚͓̥̙̹̰͞I̵̧̯̘͓͍͙̟̹̱̱̻͕͎̟̩͔̕̕͢t̵̫̦̟̮̦͕͚̪̤̙̲̦̘̼̭̙̘͖̭̀’͠͏̸̩̺͉̳̣̣͕̥̫̠̱̦̘̗̘ĺ̴̡̹̩͕̙͙̦̱͍̗̬͎͡͠l͟͝҉̰̜̪̩̻̥̻̜̖͚̙͖̟͉͙̺͈̹ ̮͖͍̹̻͔͔̮͇̖̫͈̻̥͙͘͜b͟҉̥͓̝̟̼͔̳͚͎̥̤̻̤ͅé̶̢͖͎͙͚͍̲͉̩̗͉̱̩͔͚̯̟ ̵̫̺̥͈̱̖̟̙͓̟̤͉̗͔̦̰͜a̡̨͢͠͏̹͉̙̝̗̞͚̫l̶̨͓͈̝̟̦̬̺̗̟͙̠̼̠̭l̨͏҉̨͉̥̬̜͎͍̺͎̱̼̥̰̖̯̤̩̰̣ ̶̡͔̜̘̳̜̀͝͠r̷̷̨̛͔̜̰̩̻͉͓̯̰̼͇̰̫i̡̟͉̫̘͎̬͚̮͖̮͍͖̠̠͘g̷̰̱̙͟h̨͏͏̱̖̣͍̜͎̬͉̫̮͚͍̰̣͢t҉̶̛͙̪͎̳͇͍̟͙͖͉̦͓̣͈͎͔͉͖.̴͓͍͇̩̭̣͈͍͇̜͎͎̘̀͡ ̵̨̬̠͓̙͉̤͇̝̀ ̀͞͠҉̵̙̗̖̖S̖͓͎̞̜͈̱̳̰͎̯̤̤͍͘͝͞u҉̖͍̮͍̝̤̕r̴̰̩͍͎͚̜͝ͅe̴̶͈̲̞̦̩̦͖͎̤̼͍̬ͅĺ́҉̷͇͖̼͚͇̹̺̖̻̺̼̰̱̤͔ý̵̰̟̙̬͓̀͠…̵̺̯̗͉̹͈̹̤̟͟͠”̵̡̨͍͚̰͍̝̩̮͙̥̩̕͝ͅ
b̑͗̎̋́̎̈́̍̅̽̅͆ͭ̚͘͏̧̀͡ǫ̴͂́̓͝t̵̀̉ͤ̉̌ͩ̇͒ͯͥ̈́̆͋̍̀͜͠ḩ̈́ͫͬ͑ͧ͑͂̋͊̾ͬͩ̏̈͡ ̸̸̶ͦ̋ͣ̈́͂ͪ͂̇̂̚o͒ͫͫ͂̂̋͐̏̍̀͘͢͜f̧̛̄̐̐͆͊̊ͮ͡ ͗̋͐̔̈́̈̇ͭ̒͗̿̄̎̎͘͠t̷̴̶̃̑͆̌ͮ͛ͧ̌̀̓̂ͪ̚͝h̽͛̓͛ͭ̊̀͠͠͏ê̽̃ͭ̿̑̒ͨ͑̾̊͌ͦ͞͏mͨ͐̏̿͑ͭ́̉ͪ̀̀ ̛͊̈́ͨ̑̎̉̓͏s͊͒̿̿̾͏t̛̓ͯ͋ͬ̈́͆̒ͪ̃̃̆̏̓͆̽ͪ͟͞a̴̡ͯͧ͒̋̃ͮ̉̄͆ͯͣ̊͐ͧ͜͠n͊̅̃̓̅̏̏̄ͩͯ̋ͭ̌́́́̕d͛̽͌̄̀̇ͨ̃ͣ̃̒ͤ̃ͧ͑́͘͢͠i̛̓͋̏̎ͮ͑ͮ̊͐̎̍̂̐́͢͝n̵̴ͤ͆́̈́̐ģ̶̡̇͆̍ͫ̅̃̕̕ ̧̊̈́̄ͩͧ͛̄ͬ͒͋̽ͩ̾͑̾̿̕a̢̓ͣ̿̐͒ͤͥ̅ͨ͢͢͠b̧̢ͩͭ͋̀̊͝͞oͬͥ̄͆̎̋ͯ̔̏҉҉͡͡v̾͑ͥͣ̃́͡͞ę̀̈́͛͊͑ͪ̏ͥ͊̄̔͑͊͂͋ͦ͞ ̷̈ͤ͗́͑̿̌̀̉̄̍ͧͣ̄͢͝͡h̵̍̀̒͞͏͡i̷̅͌̿ͩ͛͛̆ͣ̿͂́m̨̢ͬ͛̌ͨ͝,̔͐́̃̓̿ͣ̊̇́̉̉̾ͤͮ҉́͟ ̴̨͑ͥͭͪ͑ͪ̇͌̂ͥͥ̎ͪ͘͝͝l̸̴ͦ̈̐͊̒͋ͨ͑̈́ͯ̉̅ͩ̃̂̇́̚̚͏͠ö͌ͥ͛̌ͮ̽̃̑ͨ͋̉̽͂̚҉̸̶͟͡o̷̓̔̑ͥ̉͊͌̍ͥ̚͜k̵̴̨̧̃͊̿ͫ̿͊̈́̐ͮ͆ͥ̍̉ͤ͐̉ͬ́iͧͬͤ͆̽͋͆ͭͪ͊̿͏̧̨͘͟ǹ̵̢͂̆ͭ̉̈́ͤ͑̚̕ģ̴͌͋͋͒ͪ̃̋ͪ̈̑ͥͦ͟͡ ̶̨̌͑ͫ͋͌͘͟a̶̍̔͑ͮͣ̒ͩ̏͊̀̈́̚͢s̛͛̈ͫ̓ͮ̔̇̀ͨ̓ͮ̾̽̅͟͠ ̧ͬ́̽ͬ̌̋ͦͯ͊̓̽͊t̴̡͗ͪ͒̒ͥ̂̕͜͟h̨̅ͨ͆̿͜҉̧͜ơ̐̔͂̿͘ȕ̴̡ͪͮͧ͊͒̃̈ͬ̍͆͒̇́̓͋̚g̷͐̈ͮ͂ͭ̓͒ͩ̀͋ͬ͘͡҉h̸̵̓̉̋̂̑̀̐̈́̾͒ͦ̓̏̊̔̿̚ ̸̵̢ͥ̈̎ͫͫ̅̎̊̑ͧͭ̒̏t̾ͩ̏͌ͩ̔͌̉̎̈́ͩ͋̄̾ͥ͟͠h̏̃̀ͭ̂̂̎͒̒̎͐̋̿͞͞e̷̡ͬ͒̓̈ͭͨ̑̃ͧ̕y͌͂̆ͫ̓͋͊̈́̂̓̽͘͝҉ ̵̡͛̈́ͨ̅ͪͮͪw̴̶̢̢͌ͬ̇̒͑̏̓ͨͬͯ͂̿ͬê̸̅͋ͯ̋̂̆́r͐͆̑͑̉̔̓̔̆̂̓͐̊̉ͨ҉̛̕͢e̴̛̽̽͑͋̊ͨ̓̿ͮͭ͐̕̕͟ ̛̛̂͋̌̿͐ͯͧ͊̅̍̂̉̏̋͋ͥͧ̐҉a̛̋ͬ͂ͥ̓ͭ̄͌͊͗bͬ̈͑ͮ͢͠͡͏o̧̾̄͌ͬͧ̌͋͑̉ͯ̆̎̊͝͡u̸ͯ͂͗̅ͥ̽͌ͩ̈͗̈͂̅ͪ̓ͭ̚҉t̶̵̨̆̉ͮ̃̔̇̔̌ͮ͛͒̍̌̍̆̌͢͠ ͫ͋͆̏͌̽̆ͭ̆̋̊́ͦͫ̋̏́́t̵̴̵̢̛͑ͭ͂́ò̄̽ͪͬ͂ͦ̑̈̀͟ ̸̷ͩ͒ͥ̋ͣ̇͗̾ͪ͑̚̚̚c̴̵̷ͨ̂̾̽̄̽͐̈ͪ̈̚͞r̢͑̋̌̋͐̎͟y̴̧̨̛ͨ̿̈́̋ͨ̐͘,̨͗͒́͆̑͂̓ͯ̓ͪ̈́͢ ̏͒̄̌̋ͪͣͮ͘͢͝“̓͒̄̉ͩͭ͋̓̿̍ͤ̏͜͝N̴̐ͦ̑͑̀ͤ̎̊͐̿̑̊̿͂̀͟͝o̴̢͋͛ͪͨ̐̀͝ ̸̡́ͧ̽ͬͤ̉̀͑̅ͭ͒̾m̾̋̂ͤͯ̐ͬ͑̄̄̆͋́͊̅̅͌ͪ̕̕͜͞a̅͑ͯ̆̓̈́ͦ͟͏̴̴ť̶̷̵̵̵̇ͨ̌t̛́̿ͯ̀̾́̀͢͡e̷̛͊́̏͊ͤ̿̿̐̏͑̂̃̍̽̚͟͞rͭ̿̉͑ͤ̅́̓̌̂͋҉ ̸̷̨͆ͦ́̋̌̃̐͂̑͛͊ͧ̅ͫͮ͢w̴̛͒͂̃̄͒ͥ͊͊ͤͮ͐̋͌̊̓ͦ̀͞h̨ͯ͗ͣͧͪͭ̓̔̀ͪ̓̿̄̒ͨ̓ͦ̂́͝ȧ̶̸̐̈́͛̈́ͨ́͌͌̽̓ͣͤͣ̈͋͟t̍̎ͭ̏̏̀ͥ̋ͮ̽̐͐̍̉ͪͣ̎҉̀ ̨̏̔ͪ̏̏̀͋͊̈̈́̒̾ͫ̏̈́ͤ͗̀͏h̛ͪͨ̑͛͋͝҉̨͞ả̵̷̋́̔̄̑̒̿̽̋ͣ̕͢p̷̨̛ͬ̈̄͗ͤͥ̀͛̇́̉ͣ͒̌ͮp̷̄͑̃͗ͫͪ͗̓̑ͪͭͬ̇ͩͯ͛҉̡e͌ͬ̏͐͏n̨̾͑͗ͬ̓͘s̨̓̐͒̎͂̐ͤ͐͛ͫ̍̈̾ͧ,̧̨̡̊̌̓ͯ͐̃̃ͤ̈̾̀̓̒͐ͦͤ̌ ̶̧̾̋̂ͤ͐I̢̅͒̀̑́ͧ̋̄̇̀͘͢ ̈́̆̑͛̑͆̏͛̋̈́ͤ̆̀͢͠w̶̶̡̧̽̆͆̒ͮi̷ͥ̉̒ͣ͌͋̄͜͏l̵̡̢̇̍̎ͦͨ̐̇́͂ͥ͊ͩ̏͂͌͋̀̚͞l̵̸̀͗ͯ̈́̆̈́͌̍͝͠ ̋̍̅̆̑ͪ̍̍͏̵̶͘a͛͊̊̀̇ͣ̇҉͝l̴ͪ́ͧ̏̄̓̆͋ͬ̽͒ͤ̂ͤ́͏̸̡̕w̑ͮ̒̓ͤ̅ͨ̀ͤ̑̔̊͛̌̓̆̓̚͘͞a̷̴̴͗ͣ͂ͬ̔ͩ̀̀y̸̡̾͑̈́ͯ̄̋̅̋̒̍̄͂̅ͬ̐̀̚s̵̴̨ͨ̓̓͑ͬ͊͋̋̍̅̈̚͜͟ ̨̢ͭ̂̈ͭ̅ͭ̈̉̑̉͒̐͐͐ͮ̏́̚̚͜͢p̷̡̈́ͤ̾ͯ̌ͪͤ̕͘͢rͧ̆̇͋͊ͩ͒̄̉͛ͫ͗͏̀͝ȍ̏͐͋̊̽͆̾͞͞҉̛t̷̢ͥ̇̅͂̈̈́͝e̶ͣ͑̎̎̔̒ͦ͊̾̿̈́͒̽̊̊̾̋͗̓͠c̸̨͒̾̏͂͂ͮ̅ͤ͆̇͗ͮ̄͐ͫͥ̚̚͜͠t̷͌ͯ̀̏̅ͣ͆͒ͪ̔̍͂̇̂́ͨ͊̍͜ ̶̵̛͋ͪ̎ͭy̢̢̢͐̀͒ͩͥ͒̈́́ͭ͑ͬ̀͆́o̍̿ͧ̂̿̉̊̄̇̉̀͞u̸̢ͭ̅͆̏ͣ͊́…̐̿̽̃͛̃̎͏̨”̵̡̢̒̍ͣ́̋̈̓̽͢
“̸̵̸̝̟̺̮̯̦̙͓̹̜̼̼͕̪̄ͭ̃̊͊̾ͥͬ̽̚͘͢Ỉ̍̋ͩ͊́ͯͮ͏̷̡̦̱̬̙̖̥̹̥͖̦͓̥̟͉̦ͅ ͋̉̓̾̓ͥ͂͊҉̷̺͇̗̮̞l͎̘̻͎ͧ͑͂̃ͬͤ̄͋͆̈̽ͫ̿̑͒̋̈́̀͢͝͝o̶̩̱͚̠͔̭̰̘̭͚͎̲̲ͭ̍͒̋͌͗͋͗̃͐͘͢v̐͛͊͛͛̒̌̒̓ͬͩ҉̷̛̯̭̲̩̘̻͖͍̹͉̦̰̥̮̕e̡̨̧̧͚̹̜͖͈̥̭̞͚̻͕̙͐̆́̏̐ͩͯ͊͌̽ͤ̉̍͋́ ̡ͭ̾̋̈́͂̓͋͑͒̎̃ͪͮ͌̈ͪ͛҉͉̞͙̳ͅy̶̸̡̯͓̝̮̙͚̳̺̦͔̬̜͙̼͕͓ͧ̋͊̒͌ͮ̍ͫͅo̦̖̫͇̱͓̟̙̭̤̼̳̩̥̦̫̖̗̅̋ͥ̒̔́͠͞u̷̸̧̠̬͍͍̜̼̺̬̤̟̦̤̬̫ͯ̽ͣ̿͛͗̂̑̎͒͒̂̐̽ͯ́̕ͅ…̛̳͕͈͉͈͉̝̰͉͖͉͙͎̉͑̋ͦ̉͋̌ͬ̉̀̈͊͋̿ͧͦ̚͝”̴̸̴̡͙̗̫͓͖̯͎̪̲̞ͬ̀͛ͣͦͨ̅̎͂̚ͅ
“Ryner?”
A painful Wake-Up Slap snapped him back to reality, and he blinked a couple of times. “…Ahh, what…?”
Rose was looking at him with an expression that to most people would read as annoyed, but if he was reading her right, he was pretty sure she was actually a little scared. Even Jehra and Glen were looking at him quizzically, as were the members of the Lied family. Glancing down, he noticed that his hands were shaking a little… no, his whole body was shaking, his head hurt, and his chest was contorting uncomfortably.
“Are you okay, Ryner?” Joanne asked, concerned. “You turned white as a sheet there for a minute.”
“Ma?” Even Marian was a little worried.
“…A-Ahh, yeah, I’m fine,” he answered even though he obviously wasn’t really. “I… guess I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, huh.”
“Fairy…” Rose clearly didn’t buy that excuse, but Ryner shakily dug a hand into his bag and pulled out a pen and pad of paper to hand to Marian along with the flowers.
“…Here, you guys will probably want to catch up, right?” he assumed. “I really shouldn’t get in the way of that. I’ll just go sit under a tree or something for a while.”
“Are you sure?” Samuel asked. “You’re welcome to come inside and sit down, if you would like.”
“No, I really just need to sit under a tree for a while,” Ryner replied, already turning away to walk away. “You three have a good time, okay?”
He knew it was probably rude of him, but he didn’t turn around even when they called his name again, asking him to come back. He just needed to get away and think.
What was that?
.
.
.
[Text, about half an hour later]
What’s it like to have a family?
[If you want Ryner in person, he’s sitting under a tree in Azalea Town, knees bent partway up so he can lean forward on them, hand massaging his forehead, and generally looking pretty pale. Today has been an odd day, to put it nicely.]