107/Chasing Down the Moon Bunny

Chasing Down the Moon Bunny
Date of Scene:	29 June 2015
Location:	Mitakihara - Infinity University
Synopsis:	Hannah Sharpe confronts Mamoru Chiba about her psychic vision. Arguments, apologies, connections, and a plan is hatched.
Cast of Characters:	Hannah Sharpe, Mamoru Chiba

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Mamoru Chiba has posed:
'We have to talk' is pretty much the worst text anyone can get that's not the immediate announcement that someone's dead. It's also the text that Chiba Mamoru got from Hannah Sharpe after the disastrous study session in her dorm room the previous day. His face flushed really red when he saw it; he considered seventeen different excuses he could come up with for not answering it the next time he sees her or for texting back; he considered a lot of things.

What he actually did was just text back 'be there soon'.

He'd been hoping she didn't see anything incriminating. He'd been hoping she didn't feel anything she'd remember, or wouldn't admit to it, would just leave it unspoken because it's so weird. Obviously, it was too much to hope for. And he already knows he's bad at lying. And she's American and won't just gloss past it.

It's maybe twenty minutes later that he's at her door, knocking. "It's Chiba," he calls through, just in case.

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Hannah Sharpe is never a woman to hold back when she can help it. Thus, when there's a knock, the girl and her dog appear and open the door. She's clad in a bright pink bathrobe, hair still wet a bit, and hardly seems to care. She also has coffee. Two cups. One is thrust at the man, and Boris doggie-glares at him.

"...Heh. I was honestly wondering if you would come." There's some amount of irritated respect in her voice. Then she waves him on in. To the couch!

She flops down, rubbing her eyes. She hasn't slept since last time, it seems. Haunting beauty is definitely haunting. A little groan, and she pats the seat.

"Get comfortable. Alright, no beating around the bush, this is probably going to be painful for us both: What exactly was that last night?" There's a little wonder replacing that irritation. Boris growls, only to get a tweak of an ear. Bad boy!

"I mean, I know it might not be something you did voluntarily, but showing me something like /that/, when legions of doctors and a half-mil in debt cannot cure me is a little shocking, you know!? Who was that girl? She was..."

Teeth grit. A tear escapes her. "Beautiful. Desperate. Feh..." Hannah trembles. The sight has truly gotten to her over these last few hours.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Wordlessly, Mamoru takes the coffee; he glances down at Boris, and his face-- well, his face is such that even Boris might take some form of pity on him. He looks kind of like a slow-motion trainwreck, and he walks in slow motion after Hannah once he's shut the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice a low thing; he's moving better than he was the day before, certainly, but he's clearly still sore. He also obligingly sits down.

("If you tell me to stay still")

"I knew you'd keep after me if I didn't show up," he tells her dryly, and just as frankly as she's being, wrapping his long fingers around his coffee cup and resting hands and cup on his knees. Then he starts, "I don't know what you s--"

But she's already answering, and it hits him that /she saw/, saw images, saw the same images he sees, and what's left of the color in his face leaves it. Mamoru's voice is unsteady as he answers Hannah. "I've never seen her waking. I-- try not to let people touch me. I'm sorry. What else did you see."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
After her outburst, Boris helpfully informs his Mistress of the poor young man's pain and visible suffering. The big dog peers, then slowly climbs upon the couch and lays his head on the man's legs. There's a low whine, and a weak tail wag. An olive branch, maybe? All seems to be forgiven as far as Boris is concerned.

Hannah, frowning, slowly sips her coffee. Sluuuuuurp. It's gone in one long gulp, giving her time to /think/.

She'd meant this as a test, a trap. But somehow, she can't find it in herself to be utterly cruel about it. Visibly softening, she reaches over, and gives a friendly ruffle of his hair.

"...Hey. You do not exactly sound like it was on purpose. So, no hard feelings, okay? I would punch you for not warning me, but I would have laughed at you if you had." A helpless shrug.

She takes a deep breath, trying to seem calm, that relaxed confidence she always exudes. But it's clear she's not able to, and simply trying for Mamoru's benefit.

"Not the first time, then? Alright...umm...it reminded me in a weird way of that castle-school Seiyou. All...marble, and..." She rubs her head.

"I guess most marble is white, so that is probably what it was. Umm...the girl...she had a long dress...her hair was like...it was the same color of the moonlight floating around there." Indeed, trying to describe things she's 'seen' is a horrid art for her.

"She was running for /someone/. No idea who. And I smelled death, heard people fighting. It sounded like a warzone. That girl...I wish I could have hugged her, told her things were going to be okay. Maybe sock some of the jerks causing all that chaos!" There's real anger in her voice here. She slams a fist into the couch. It shakes a bit.

"Seriously, Mamoru." She offers, using his first name, voice full of gravity.

"What is going on? You do not just touch people and see beautiful, tragic things like that. I have a feel it is personal, but...I have seen that whole scene every time I close my eyes now, and whenever I dream." She 'looks' to him, a little desperately. It's not entirely fake, either.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
This time, Mamoru ducks away from the incoming touch, the ruffling of his hair. Coffee in one hand and Boris with his head on his lap, the young man's definitely trapped in place, but he can still lean, and he lets out an uncomfortable, apologetic laugh. "I'm rattled, please, Sharpe-san, I don't want it to happen again," he says, then absently starts stroking Boris' head as he listens.

And he listens, and he closes his eyes, and he can see what she's describing because it's more familiar than his apartment, than his school, than the place he grew up in, than anything in his life. It's more familiar, and it still makes no sense. "Ah. That one," he says, tone a bit listless. He sips at his coffee.

Finally, very quietly, Mamoru answers. "I don't know what's going on, Hannah-san. I don't know why you saw a piece of the things I dream when you touched me. I don't touch people if I can help it, because sometimes things happen that no one can explain. I don't know why I dream the things I do. I don't know who she is, or what these dreams are, if they're memories or if they're something else. I'm-- I don't even really know who I-- if I'm-- if I can find her, then..."

He trails off, and the sound in his voice is the sound of someone whose gut is twisting, someone who's talking about something they very much don't want to talk about. It's the identical tone. The very exact tone and voice from a different iteration of a very similar conversation, up on a rooftop.

"But she's a dream."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Hannah winces, pulling her hand back. "Errr...riiiiiight, sorry. Force of habit!" There's a nervous laugh. She audibly sounds like she feels like an idiot for a second.

Then, she lightly punches him in the clothed shoulder.

"There! A good substitute!" Poor, poor Mamoru.

A hand rustles her own hair in confusion. Should she press? That could definitely get her more information. But she might harm her relationship with the man. And if he really /is/ Tuxedo Kamen, she can't afford that. Nevermind she actually likes the young man. Pondering, she latches onto a stray thought.

"So a 'from birth' thing. Yeeesh. Chiba-san, what is this, some supernatural anime? An episode of Pretty Princess Mogu Mogu?" A cheap blow, perhaps, but one any ordinary girl in japan might come up with. Boris looks at Mamoru. He looks specifically for those small reactions only a dog...or Familiar might notice.

A deep sigh. "But, I /did/ see that, so you are not crazy. Well, either that, or this is some shared hallucination. So, doubtful."

He talks, and the way he speaks...it fits. A man searching for someone he only knows in dreams. Who seems so torn. And then he says, in the same tone she heard Tuxedo Kamen, those very words.

It clicks. And it infuriates her at the same time.

"Is this really Chiba-san in front of me?" She starts off, voice trembling with fury.

"All I hear right now is the voice of a COWARD!" She levels to him.

"You show me something like that, let me /see/, and now you are spouting off stuff like 'she is just a dream', or, 'I can't do it'! ARe you trying to make me angry!?" She's right in front of him, scowling, nearly nose-to-nose.

Then she huffs, slides back, and sits back down.

"Idiot. You can literally see something that you dream about. Do you think we /all/ have that kind of priviledge? Go after them. Find that girl. She looks like she is in pain, right? If you keep seeing her, then maybe you and you alone are the only one who can make her stop being so desperate, so afraid. No-one should have to look like that. So..." A sigh.

"Quit making excuses, and try to do something about it before you drive yourself, /and/ other people crazy, okay?" Her words, oddly, are warm and reassuring. Hannah Sharpe, and Miss Whte, in a very twisted way care.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru wobbles at the punch, but doesn't fall down. There's a slightly sickly smile that goes with it and a brief huff of a laugh, but that's all. When Hannah goes on to ask about pretty princesses -- it's at the word 'princess' that he stiffens slightly, but that makes him wince, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

Listening, listening. "Yes: you did see. But that place was no school; that stone was not marble. I don't--"

Suddenly she's GOING OFF on him, and it's all Mamoru can do not to spill his coffee; he leans back away from her, Boris still right there, coffee held away from them both, and his eyes are wide. NOT A WORD. Not one word while she's yelling at him. Finally she sits back down.

"It's not hard," he observes irritably, "to make you angry."

He finishes his coffee and leans over Boris to put the cup down, then says sidelong to Hannah, tone stiff and haughty to hide the injury, "And yes, you did see. You saw exactly what I see. If you saw her face, you got rather a lot more information than 'exactly what I see'. So, please, fill me in."

He gives Boris' head one more brief scritch, then carefully extracts himself and stands. His voice is cold, and his stance sings with tension. "Tell me what she looks like. The shape of her features, the color of her eyes. Any single blasted detail I can get beyond 'long silver hair, white dress, pale, slender'. And then tell me hair dye and haircuts don't exist, that people don't change the way they look through so many different means. Tell me what shortcut you have that I can use to find the princess and stop her pain and give me my memory."

He doesn't care if his eyes are shining too brightly, because she can't see it. He doesn't care if they spill over, because his voice is ice. "If you can't, then don't you DARE call me a coward, don't you DARE tell me I'm making excuses, when all I have done since I woke up for the first time was try and find her. I'm very sorry you were dragged into this. It's my problem, not yours. I wish I could take it back from you so you could remain unbothered. But you have no right to tell me I'm not trying."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Boris catches the reaction, but soon Hannah and Mamoru are in something of a yelling match. Boris wisely covers his ears with his paws as the pair are staring at each other balefully.

He asks her to describe her. She can only recall things, perhaps having a better vision than most...but obfuscated at not having the ability to describe them. The words aren't there to match the shapes and concepts. Even some of her fire goes out beneath that ice, for just a moment.

Hannah is uncharacteristically silent for a while. Her arms cross, and she opens her eyes. Slowly, she smiles, looking oddly...proud?

"Mamoru Chiba, here I thought you did not have a backbone. Color me dead wrong!" She starts, falling back on her breezy manner.

Then, she stands, pauses, and offers a traditional japanese bow to him.

"I crossed a line. Forgive me." She comes sincerely, holding a moment, then sitting down.

She shares a mental conversation with Boris.

It fits horribly well.

In her mind, Mamoru Chiba and Tuxedo Kamen become one-and-the-same, and on that leap of logic, she decides to help. But /how/?

"Alright! You can just calm down riiiiight there, Chiba-san. I hate seeing pretty girls like that cry, you know? So, I am going to help you. And no, you do not get a choice in the matter. You could say I got a pretty good glimpse, but, well bluntly I do not have words for it. So, we need a specialist! Someone who can drag portraits even from useless idiots like me who cannot properly describe my own precious dog's face to help us get at least a small, better, non-dream picture of our target in question."

Cue a devious grin that Mamoru may have the slightest notion he's seen somewhere. But /where/?

"Willing to risk a night or two in jail over this?" A devilish chuckle.

"We, my fine friend, are going to go down to the local police and file a missing person's report for your friend." This is either a terrible, or wonderful idea.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
He can't get her. He does not get Hannah Sharpe. She's so mercurial, she's so emphatic, she's so full of fire and vinegar and hope and mood-changes at the drop of a hat--

It's with a bit of emotional whiplash that Mamoru stares at the breeziness followed by the bow, the correctness of it, the tone to go with it, the apology. It's by rote he responds, bowing back but not as deeply. "Apology accepted," he says, wind knocked out of his sails, weariness taking the place of the tension. He doesn't sit down again, though, can't quite completely relax again.

Especially not with that setup, that devious (familiar) grin, and that SUGGESTION.

Mamoru's silent for a good ten seconds, staring, and then laughs and it sounds like it's both amused and tired at once. "I've risked more than a few nights in jail over this already," he admits, "so sure. But what are we going to tell them? If it's a missing persons report, shouldn't we have a name to give them? Shouldn't we have photographs? I'm really bad at lying."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
How much of those changes are carefully calculated masks, and which ones are her being brutally honest to the world? It's difficult to tell, with darkness gnawing at her soul, and all the many troubles of a foreigner in a strange land still growing up in a culture she can barely grasp.

Either way, she's latched onto the idea, and can't quite stop grinning. If there's one thing she's consistent on, it's that Hannah Sharpe is a woman of action. Moping and brooding are not in her nature by default.

"Let us see...well, when you go across several countries in a lifetime, your family history gets a bit...muddy. The person who is missing is...mmm...how about we call her 'Janna Sharpe'? My adopted sister from Switzerland."

She rubs her chin, grabs Mamoru's empty cup, and then she's off to the kitchen. Today is a coffee night.

"...Point, though. I mean, I could have some friends do some photomanipulation, but how would I even..."

She slumps, after pouring, and offernig coffee to Mamoru.

"Ugh, I still have a headache. Okay. My genius, cunning brain is out on this one. Back me up, Chiba-san." The ball's in his court.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Finally, Mamoru sits down again: his attitude now seems to be 'in for a penny, in for a pound'.

At least, he thinks, she doesn't know that I'm Tuxedo Kamen.

When she comes back with more coffee, Mamoru takes his cup back, watching her; eventually the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "Well. Since you already know I'm a candidate for the X-Files, give me your hand: it won't happen again if I'm paying attention."

If she does, he takes that hand and there's a warmth that spreads from the touch, an easing of tension and a diminishing of that headache, couched in the sensation of being in a sunny overgrown glade deep in the platonic ideal of 'the countryside' where the trees hold their breath and there's a brook that keeps secrets.

All the while, he's talking, and it's not distant, he's right there. "Well, we don't have pictures or a name, so it's someone we don't know. We could be concerned citizens, we saw someone attacked and clearly abducted against her will. I can even give them part of a license plate number and the description of a car that won't get anyone real in trouble."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Hannah smiles a little, more natural this time. "Whatever you want, Mulder. Should I dye my hair?" A wink here!

Then her hand is taken, and she audibly gasps a little. Inwardly, she slaps herself. Raging Tempest is but several feet away in her bedroom, tucked away in her wallet. She hadn't activated an Area Search due to not wanting any magic around just in case...but not it feels like a wasted opportunity to confirm the man's identity truly.

On the other hand, at least her own identity seems safe for the moment. Hannah's body relaxes. It takes a long time. Even with that much magical physical feedback, the girl is a bundle nerves even before all of this. Hannah Sharpe school and work, plus running a massive business, magical girl stuff, /and/ tests with Black-san and Akemi-san?

Someone needs a vacation.

"...Huh. I should have thought of that. Good thinking. Alright! Yeah, that works perfectly! Make up a few numbers, Mamoru-chan! I have a call or two to make!" Then, she stands up, devouring coffee and heading over to her phone and computer. Time to get to /work/!