155/What ARE Friends For

What ARE Friends For
Date of Scene:	10 July 2015
Location:	Mitakihara/Pikarigaoka - Penguin Public Library
Synopsis:	Mamoru tries to teach Hiroko how to pronounce 'roses'.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Hiroko Koumoto

---

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    Routines are good. While many decry them as an undesirable symptom of the banality of modern life, such thoughts are seen by many as a luxury. Yes, routines can be either boring or interesting, mundane or dangerous, but what's important is that they offer dependability and predictability. To those who live lives of occasional chaos, that certainty can be a bulwark against the madness of their world. And perhaps the most beneficial kind of routine is the human variety, familiar faces at familiar times, doing and acting how we expect them to, even if it's not entirely pleasant. Hiroko and Mamoru, maybe, offer such a thing to each other.

    Mamoru is here, as he usually is, during their appointed weekly time, and Hiroko is acting much like she always does. She's cold on most days, and even in her brightest moments, her demeanor is lukewarm at best. She's not dialing it in, no. She knows that her parents ask Mamoru for progress reports, needless as they may be, so she tries and does well academically, even here. But she's making no effort interpersonally. Most attempts at politeness or personal conversation are one-sided. There's an everpresent feeling that she would much rather the young man disappeared, that she could simply be left to her own devices.

    Mostly, anyway. It's buried beneath layer upon layer of aloof defensiveness, but somewhere in there, there is a lonely girl that perhaps enjoys some form of human company, even if it's not friendship. For if she wasn't studying in places like this, she would be /out there/, wearing her /other uniform/, and there's still enough humanity left inside her that she can't sustain that high stakes game for very long. Mamoru, maybe, might feel the same way, about finally knowing someone of the female gender who neither has magical powers or a tortured destiny to navigate. No mortal peril here, nope. Disappointment in time, and all that. Or maybe it's no accident of fate that he's her tutor.

    And today, they're studying. It's English, perhaps Hiroko's least favorite subject. She's competent, yes, but like many students, her pronunciation leaves much to be desired. And it's not something she can easily study her way out of alone. It's important to her parents, though, so Mamoru is here.

    The current troublesome word: roses. Or as she says, biting back her frustration, ro-zizu. She hates that word, for some reason. Maybe it's time to skip it.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Ro-zizu. Mamoru, who likes the cold little girl despite her issues -- maybe he can see too much of his younger self in her -- is patient to a fault. When that frustration mounts, he puts his hands flat on the tabletop for a second and then holds one finger up. "Let's build it from other words. You have 'ro', that's good. So if you're angry and talking to yourself about it, 'ro ze' -- and put another ze after it, but interrupt it. Like someone pushed you before you finished speaking. So you'd get 'rozeze' but you leave off the e. English has a lot of words that sound interrupted."

It's hot today, so instead of just loosening his tie, he's taken it off entirely; his school jacket sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and his hair's comparatively wild from walking in the humidity outside. Rakish tutor. He leans across the table and scribbles hiragana next to the troublesome word, then erases the second half of the last symbol. "'Roses'."

Right before he straightens up, he drops the pencil and reaches just a little further, hand going past Hiroko's head -- when he pulls it back, he's holding a perfect long-stemmed red rose, which he presents to her. "It used to help me, when I was learning, if I thought of it as some kind of sorcerer's incantation, where every sound had to be exactly right or the wizard's spell would misfire. I mean obviously it's not magic, and maybe that's too fanciful to be of use..."

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    Hiroko's eyes narrow at the flash of red in her peripheral vision, finding herself skeptically staring at the rose a moment later. She's childish in a lot of ways, but she makes a point of not outwardly showing many of those aspects of her personality. That's not to say they're not there, though. She's just the type that's easier to read by her actions than her expressions. The raven-haired girl takes the rose, as if seeing one of the first time, watching it inquisitively for a few silent moments. Then she briefly looks at Mamoru. It doesn't look like she has read anything more into it than simple sleight-of-hand. But still she says, in a quiet voice that's barely audible, even in the near silence of the study room the two are in, "That was impressive." And then she carefully sets the flower down on the table, and she tries again, slowly, the word coming out in deliberate, careful piece. "Ro-ze-zzz." Well. Better?

    Mamoru's eyes, being more attuned to crystals and gems than most, might spot something a little odd, though, when he reaches forward for his brief display of magic. That distinct gray gem which Hiroko wears? It's barely visible, but there's the slightest hairline crack starting to form at the bottom. It's not clear why. It doesn't look like there's a flaw in the setting of her pendant, and Hiroko definitely isn't the type to be careless with her belongings.

    "Chiba-sensei?" Hiroko asks after her latest attempt with the word. She has, perhaps annoyingly, been insisting on calling Mamoru that, though it's not clear whether that's just her way of pushing him away or something her parents insisted on. "Can I ask you a personal question?" That would certainly be the first time she has wanted to.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Quick grin at the 'that was impressive', and Mamoru waves a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, just a magic trick I picked up when I was little. But thank you."

It's also not entirely out of the realm of normality for the older boy to hear what Hiroko calls him: Chiba-sensei is generally what he gets from the small class of kids he gives special help classes for on Fridays. He's more accustomed to being Chiba-senpai, but they're not in the same school-- either way, the address goes entirely unremarked.

"You've got it, that's it. It just takes practice!" he tells her cheerfully, crossing his arms and leaning on the table.

Yes: he did catch the crack in the gem, but he and gems of various kinds do have a special relationship, as it were. It's food for thought. In fact, it's tasty enough food for thought that Hiroko's question almost doesn't register for a second. When it does, his own bright blue eyes are instantly somewhat more guarded. "Hm? Yes. I may decline to answer, but you can ask," he says carefully.

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    "Do you have," Hiroko begins, eyes falling to the table in front of her as she looks for the right words, "a lot of friends?" A lot of friends? What was she going to say originally, then? And then her face again rises. "Nevermind, actually. That was a silly question. I'm sorry, Chiba-sensei." She smiles, though it's clearly a little less than genuine. Whatever else she may be, deception is not something Hiroko is particularly skilled at. Though with the way her life is trending, that may have be a skill she has mastered by the time she gets into her teen years.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
There's a moment where that guardedness behind Mamoru's eyes goes flat. 'Friends'. It's a word he's heard a lot, recently. He's even heard it used to refer to him, he's even heard someone call him that. But to be completely fair, he's not entirely sure what each of them means by it.

He's a little stiff for a moment, then laughs uncomfortably, reaching up to rub at the back of his head before slouching down into his chair. "No, it's not a silly question. To be honest, I'm not really sure about the definition of the word. Many people use it very freely, and others are quite careful about it."

So his hands go on the table again, though he's still sitting back; it's more his fingertips hold on to its edge. "I know a lot of people. I get along with a lot of people. But I don't think I have many friends, no." There's a pause, and he glances away toward one of the posters on the study room wall, not really seeing it. "A few, I guess. If there's something else you want to ask me, you can. We're taking an accomplishment break, I so decree."

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    Hiroko watches and listens, large gray eyes peering patiently at the teenager as he struggles with the question. She's silent for a few moments after he offers to hear another, but eventually, she follows up with a second question. "Well." A pause. She self-audits a lot in moments like this, trying very hard not to say the wrong thing. "My parents have told me that you're successful," she adds. Successful perhaps being a loaded word here. They were likely referring to his net worth; it's not clear if Hiroko herself caught that. "Does it matter how many friends you have, if you have success?"

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru blinks, and he sits up a little and takes his glasses off, watching Hiroko now. "Successful? I'm a high school student. I have excellent marks and I'm a competitively good athlete. If-- if they looked into my history when they screened potential tutors for you, I suppose I could be considered successful in that I go to Infinity and do have good marks, because I don't have a background conducive to either of these things. But I haven't achieved success at the goals that are truly important to me, so I suppose part of the answer is another question: how do they define success?"

Then he sits up the rest of the way and reaches to pick up his pencil, putting it back down by his own notebook. "And the other part of the answer is-- no matter how successful a person can be, they won't be happy without friends. I don't think a person has to have a LOT of friends, but-- if you don't have people who you care about and who care about you, about your accomplishments and your problems, your dreams and your fears-- and you care about theirs-- then you aren't connecting to an intrinsic part of your own humanity. I... have started making friends like that, this year. There's more to worry about, but I'm not alone anymore. And not being alone is more important than any kind of success."

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    A slight frown creases Hiroko's face. "I've heard people say things like that recently," she says quietly. She reaches for the textbook near her, pulling it a few inches closer. And then she turns the page without being prompted, a finger tracing for a few moments to find the start of the next lesson. "I don't really know if I agree anymore." Her break is over, it seems. She begins to write, inscribing slow, careful block letter onto the page. Writing English has always been a little easier for her than reading or conversation.

    She doesn't make eye contact as she speaks, her attention staying on the page in front of her, the girl speaking in a dry, neutral tone. "What about your goals, Chiba-sensei? What about the things that are most important to you? If it was a choice between those and your friends, wouldn't you be willing to sacrifice a few of your friendships? I think most people would be. Most people don't only because it's never an option." A pause, though her fingers keep moving, the sound of graphite against notebook paper filling the room. "They don't work hard enough to ever have that choice."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru doesn't contradict Hiroko, he just listens. Of course, as he listens, he takes his pencil and leans across again, here and there writing in the correct tense or form of a word that's not quite right. It's not often; she's very careful, after all.

It's not until Hiroko asks him more questions that he speaks again, and even then, it's after consideration. His hesitation isn't looking for the right words, it's actually turning over her words in his head until he can give the most accurate answer-- that's what his expressions say, what his tone says.

"My most important goal," he says slowly, "is something that has consumed my life for as long as I can remember, though I was only able to put a reason to all my preparations a little less than a year ago. It's only now that I've begun sharing the burdens of that goal that I've begun to see something resembling progress."

He holds the pencil at the ready, but is only putting the smallest fraction of his attention on the words Hiroko is writing. He keeps thinking, turning things over in his head. "A year ago, I didn't have any friends at all. Now that I have them, I would risk everything for them, to keep them safe, to keep their dreams safe. They're very important to me, and-- success is nothing without someone to share it with. It would be a very empty victory if I were to achieve my goal at the expense of someone who's become dear."

Another moment, another word corrected, and the high schooler says seriously, "And good friends will understand if you don't have time to do everything with them. They'll understand if sometimes you have to choose your work over their company. But if you need help, if you're in trouble, they'll also drop everything to come to you if you ask. There's a balance to it. I've seen that balance upset with other people more times than I can count, but-- when that balance is there, it's also a safety net for you. People together are stronger than people alone."

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    Hiroko continues with her lesson, falling silent as she does. The only sound of life from her is the scratching of her mechanical pencil against the sheet below her. It's not clear if she's listening, with her head down, eyes locked on the letters she's writing, her stare only occasionally breaking to steal a quick glance at the book for her next sentence. But one might see her reaction in other ways. Her shoulders tense, her left hand holds the notebook down a little too tightly, while her right pushes her pencil too hard and too fast. Her emotion comes out in ways like those, in moments like this, indirectly for lack of a more honest outlet. But it's still not clear exactly what she's feeling. She's too much of a child to hide her emotions entirely but not enough of a little kid to be totally transparent. More than that, there's not a whole lot one can see by staring at the top of her head.

    Though there's one small thing. Maybe. Where her hair parts in the center, her scalp is a tad more exposed, though it's still barely given the thickness of her hair. There one might see a smear of blackness against the otherwise pale skin of her scalp. Dye? Inexpertly applied?

    But whatever one might be thinking after seeing that, it's interrupted by the snap that fills the otherwise silent room a few moments after Mamoru finishes speaking. Broken lead. And then the second sign of frustration. Click-click-click-click-click. Hiroko shakes the pencil a bit. Click-click-click-click-click. Empty? She sets it down, closing her eyes. And then she opens them a moment later. "I don't agree, Chiba-sensei."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
All details of strangeness, and this tension from her -- so young and so frustrated --

But it's not like when he met Madoka Kaname. She was falling apart and every piece of her was reaching out for support she couldn't find. This girl, Hiroko Koumoto, she's searching and reaching too, but from behind the safety of anger, from behind a filter that will keep her fingers from being burned if the reaching should touch fire. And she's not reaching in a way that welcomes help.

If there's one thing Mamoru Chiba is good at, it's respecting the difference between needing help and wanting it.

Silently, he takes the empty pencil and replaces it, then looks up at Hiroko's face. "You don't have to. What's true for me isn't true for everyone," he says quietly. Then he gives her a very faint smile. "What is true for you, Koumoto-san, is that if you are in trouble, you can call me."

Sitting up, he lifts his eyebrows. "Also, when we're done, I have some information packets for you from several renowned art schools. If you keep your grades up like this and broaden your portfolio over the next few years, you could easily get into any of them. I've been doing some research -- and it's important to show them proficiency in multiple media when interviewing."

Hiroko Koumoto has posed:
    "OK," Hiroko replies quietly. "I'll look at them." She'll take them, of course. She'll even look them over, as promised. She's rarely impolite to her elders, even if she might be a bit of a terror to her peers. What she'll actually do with them after that is another question. There's always the sense that she's simply afraid to push certain issues, that her parents have already decided a great deal for her. Though it's hard to know that for sure from the outside. Her parents aren't around much, so it's not easy to form an impression of them. During most of his tutoring sessions with Hiroko, Mamoru doesn't see them at all.

    And that's all Hiroko says about any of that today. That's usually how it is, with her. Real interaction comes only in tiny doses, buffered on either side by the proper and detached version of Hiroko, the one she seems more comfortable pretending to be. It's rare, really, for adults or teenagers to see anything else from her. There won't be any more of it today, and it's not clear if there will be the next week or the next. Though certain kinda of trouble might have a bad habit of following Mamoru, so one never knows.