Plot summary: "Naoto's Journal. May 18th, 2011. Meat rotting through soggy croquet in small town gutter. Inaba is afraid of me, I have seen its true self." Naoto's Journal entries concerning significant events in Inaba, year 2011. Crack, with OOC.
Author Note: After the lukewarm reception of GARdian, here is yet another Persona character emulating a pop culture icon. Bet you can't guess whom.
Disclaimer: Persona 4 is the property of Atlus, just as Watchmen is the property of Alan Moore…depending on the version.
Naoto's Journal. May 18th, 2011. Meat rotting through soggy croquet in small town gutter. Inaba is afraid of me, I have seen its true self. The streets are extended moors and the moors are full of fog and when the dams finally burst, all the hens will gasp. The accumulated tedium of their rumors and fascination with the obscene will engulf their chatty mouths and all the gossipers and reporters will look about and shout "Help us," and I'll whisper, "Warned You."
On The Rumors of the Town
Back when my grandfather walked these streets, all was silence, save for bustling of occasional automobile activity. Quaint aesthetics tainted via oratory vandalism, bored housewives and old maids chatter and whisper of whatever scandal or incident they've seen over the television static or drunken ramble. Was originally disgusted with excitement over murder's earlier this year, made more disturbed by the sudden cessation of these talks.
Mayumi Yamano was a household name even when that name was dragged through mud by mad passions. Sacrificing career for a man's lips and 'assets' still makes little sense outside of biological view. Now all interest in her murder has vanished, like the mists that unveiled her body hanging from tv antaennaae miles from residence.
Saki Konishi, daughter of local liquor store owner, former employee of Junes, founder of Yamano's corpse, dead the next day. Hens of shopping district enjoyed pecking at her till she vanished, possibly to escape. Didn't make it. Story didn't make it, even father seems to have vague memory of having daughter. Brother sickly, spathetic to situation. Admirable dealing with tragedy, should send Hallmark card.
Tipped hat in respect on both subjects. Is that what happens to us? A lifetime of strife with little time for joy? And when we ourselves pass, even our scandals and sins don't outlast us for long.
Hear name of Kanji Tatsumi when passing pork cheeked regular of Aiya's. Talking about he made a mockery of Inaba on television. Air and venom slick down my ears, headed towards oblivion, only to be sucked back up when I recall, the other two victims were on TV as well.
Boy my age, attends local high school. I milk police records from those condescending gnats in the department and grit my teeth at rumors. Burned metaphorically and literally that which was extraneous to my investigation. Never killed bear, did beat up gang with metal plate. Tough, can take care of self. Yamano and Konishi women, possible pattern, Kanji, though former member of art club and gender confused, biologically male.
A slight hesitation at dismissal. Yamano had police protection, still died. Konishi was under surveillance, still died.
I shall go and tell the unbeatable man someone plans to murder him.
On a listless night, a seamstress vanished in Inaba. Nobody cares but me.
Must wait for eureka in all this fog and rumor.
On the Inaba Police Department
With age comes experience, seasoning to wines and such nonsense. This department if full of old grapes, soft, easily punctured, bitter and completely full of themselves. They are undermanned, ill-equipped, poorly organized, yet still manage to sneer at me. Never mind that cases have gone cold in their neglect. I am some upstart from the city, unlike them, I am young, unlike them and cannot do what they could not. Notice many have pistols unloaded, mine is not, unlike theirs.
Meeting with the head detectives on Murderes left odd ache in my gut. Dojima is gruff and unapproachable, still obsessed with wife's murder and neglectful of child and ward. Adachi is a hapless cabbage-loving boob, charming only in his complete incompetence. Possible homosexuals? Must remember to investigate further.
Kanji's body found on rainy day...alive.
Possessed no recollection of previous whereabouts.
Lack of malnourishement and trauma indicate no imprisonment or sexual assault. His walk is normal.
No signs of severe inebriation and lack of track marks discourage idea of heavy hallucinogens.
Though, he could have them on his rear, have still attributed loss of memory to his natural thick-headedness.
On the Inaba Youth
Despite disdain for belittlement put forth by 'Seniors', I find myself relating to views of superiority.
Local high school filled with students of above average or eccentric temperament, made susceptible to hanging around in same spots each day and walking back and forth.
Bizarre behaviour; Amagi Girl, refined and elegant, resorted to snorting hyena after bad pun. Best friend of hyena confrontational tomboy who cowers when spiders near. Tatsumi has resumed beating people and sewing.
All mentioned in tandem as they are connected via an odd tangent. Tranfer student, Junior, from city, shirt open, expression stiff, grey hair making him look older than file stipulates. Dojima's charge, Souji Seta, acquaintance of significant persons above, previously inquired of Tatsumi before his dissapearance. Involved, perhaps?
Have seen him run all across town, conversing with old ladies, nurses, young mothers, foxes, trombone players, drama queens and ladies above.
Suspect he is building harem via these friendships. Broad tastes…
Away down in Faculty Room, heard strange sounds, odd cacophony in school's mundane aria. Approached source, peeked in room. Homeroom Teacher aquainting himself with Idol photo book. Eyes widened at his release of tension. Buck teeth curled in ridiculous sigh. Sometimes, the hunt is good to me. This was not one of those times.
Fading starlet, with eyes full of dissolution arrives.
Works in grandmother's tofu shop.
Attendance and visitations skyrocket, sales rise slightly.
She was on TV, as Amagi and Tatsumi were. Have warned her.
Entertained idea of shadowing her, keep watchful eye.
But there are more officers surrounding her coming than every assembled.
Even Adachi pulls weight, though I have heard he is not a fan in slightest.
I leave her to them and study disappearances with further scrutiny.
She is gone before the week ends.
Teacher of inappropriate exercise found dead in apartment, hung in manner similar to murder victims. Cause of death recognizable. Blow to back of balding head. Am slightly grateful he did not make advances on Rise.
Suspect at hand. Morose and hideous high schooler, fish eyes, and ineffective beauty mark. Gone, vanished shortly after being identified.
His lack of alibi and psyche profile put him in bad light. Am sure he is responsible to Morooka's murder.
Am unsure if he is genuine article.
Heard rumor once, carried with it stench of death and gasoline. Soul wants to see soulmate. Unable to find him/her in fog of life and uncertainty. Looks to idiot box for guidance. Television not on, rain patters and leaks through roof, sees vision of desired person on screen. August approaches, Mitsuo still missing, look at black set expecting boredom and self-hate. Did not expect Teddie Bear (or monkey) attacking giant pixilated warrior alongside giant robot skull and disco ninja. See flash of grey clashing against the video game reject and am intrigued. Rumor disproven, BUSTED as it were.
There are discrepancies in testimony, holes in confession, contradictions in methods used to slay victims. Inaba police do not care, they know Mitsuo killed Morooka, and lacking leads on killer that inspired him, have decided to compromise. Wrap case up, sweep loose ends under rug for it to stagnate and rot.
Taken aback by lazyness, moreso in that Doujima and Adachi are the only ones who seem to care.
Frustration justified. For there are truth and there are lies, and lies must be ousted. Even in the face of Armageddon, I shall not compromise on this.
Have new theory, will put in practice, must taunt and entice correct individuals, may cost life, but my ghosts will be put to rest.
Thankfully spared from giving piggy back rides and being molested by androgynous bishounen, Kanji is not so fortunate.
Have inquired to odd group, consisting of disappeared individuals and Junes employees on their involvement. Answer…preposterous and would be attributed to intoxication…if this club served alcohol. Associates of confessors oddly horrified, even Seta, a twitch has formed on face at slurred pronunciation of 'Persona'.
Told life story, may have killed mood.
Drugged, Subdued and Sacked, that is all.
Have seen this place, dodging the sight of my imaginings, almost coyly, somewhat sinister.
Mad Scientist Lair that extends deep underground in whatever unknown place this is.
Flags red and emblazoned with emblem of eagle, suspect Patron may be Communist, Mad, or some amalgamation.
Used to see this place in high branches of trees. My Secret Base…full of super computers and split nuclear waste.
So why is it beneath the Earth? And who is this boisterous fool running it.
He flits between cackling and sobbing, moods swinging like a rabid monkey's fists. Wiping tears with lab coat sleeves too long for him, begging not to be left alone. I do not, as the door is locked. Have inexplicable urge to shoot stranger in annoying face.
Nice hat he has on though.
Keeps urging me to get on table, will change me for better. Table is laden with saws, lasers and baseball bats. Declined politely and tried the door again.
When the door opened, and familiar footfalls filled whine-filled silence, crying ceased, and stranger looked at me with intense golden gaze.
Ousted my issues, and with others present at all times. Hits every button on person, my insecurities, my fears. Age, Respect, Loneliness, and as I feel the bindings on my chest tighten, Gender.
Embarrassed, infuriated, accuse stranger of not knowing anything about me. Tell him he isn't me.
Irony and nausea strike as black fog fills room. Irony, have dedicated life to revealing truth, only to deny one so obvious and known to me. Charging of ray guns and reving of Jet Pack fill ear as eyes close.
Stood in gaudy limelight. Tearstains on face like streaks of liquid fire. Felt cleansed. Felt small earth turn under my gumstained shoes and knew what monks know that makes them hum as temples are ransacked. Looked at ceiling through soft blue mist and a God was there. The warm, liberating light on its blade, and I was complete. I had lived my life, felt void and prescense in center. Would assess contradiction at convenience. Take case; solve case, sense of accomplishment fleeting, get thrown away. There was nothing else. Existence was random. No design save personal musing sand theories. Meaning constituted by facts and stimuli. But not anymore, have tool now to see truth, tool is me, always existed, seldom acknowledged, puny, but Lucky, will keep pistol loaded. Am not alone.
Running out of space. Persona excels in light and dark attributes which are either overwhelmingly effective or completely useless. Good with sword though.
Received challenge to intrigue from Seta, will pursue as Phantom Thief has stolen something of mine. Have dragged Senpai into matter, I could use an assistant. He looks at me, not down on me. Welcome change from usual associates.
Case is not solved, will fill in details to form disturbing picture at later time.
Around me, this secluded town, it whispers like a restaurant booth filled with hoarse smokers. Inaba. Somebody knows why. Somewhere…somebody knows. The afternoon smells of beef bowls and falsities. I believe I shall take my exercise
Back in the Real World
"Well…" Souji started as he closed the diary, his mind still trying to process the words that constituted its writer's thoughts. "…That was unexpected."
It was a few hours later, that Naoto realized that she had forgotten her diary at Souji's house as they were working on the Phantom Thief case that afternoon.
When this becam apparent, she quickly dashed back to his home…on foot…in the rain.
"Senpai!" she panted as she burst through the door, clothes heavy with moisture. "I believe I've left my-."
The words were instantly cast aside by the sight of the small black tome in Souji's lap and the mischevous frown on his face.
He slowly closed the book, laid it on the table, stood up and pointed at her, waved his finger back and forth in a manner that was both playful and somewhat disapproving and said.
"You totally ripped off Alan Moore."
Author Note: May write sequel. Reception must meet standards. Good Yarn, done in one sitting? Highly likely.