It is bitter, tasteless salt on his tongue that leaves the blond frowning at such innocent words dripping from the female’s mouth. "You’d be surprised how many PuuRin models are actually out there." Though he must add, it is unfortunate for you to miss out on one who just left not too long ago. He wishes not to announce an unnecessary fact. After all, it is unfair for Len to accuse of someone he technically never met before in his life. Like every other Rin Kagamine, every other Len Kagamine, to a new face he encounters, he is to treat them as normal upon first impression, despite whatever negative feelings dwell from within his
"Isn’t it mandatory to know every deviation of Kagamine Rin? Knowledge is but another update, an installment waiting to be downloaded.” He will not admit that the first time meeting a PuuRin model left him guessing, clueless, really.
He will not make that mistake, again.
"Your existence is only a given piece of information. To save in another’s head." Why? Why does he feel so cold?
It hurt, didn’t it? He cannot bear to look at her.
If only good morals would permit, he would break out of his cool facade and allow his rage, his fury to embrace all that he has come to spit at. Again, it is unfair. The lack of interest, the emptiness that hollows the female’s cerulean optics is only an obvious reminder that she is but another PuuRin android not to be taken cheerfully with. Lifeless. Putin’s models were all so lifeless.
And he wonders how on earth he was able to befriend the first one—
“That’s nonsense. I was a custom order.” Specifically designed to be an asset to Putin, the man her entire existence revolves around. All the words that leave her lips, all the movements her hands make, all the passing thoughts that cross her mind are for his sake, every single one. How can there be another? She is not a replacement. Surely if there were multiples, duplicates of her, they would band together to crush the American dream beneath laced up boots, once and for all? Disgusting, it is, leaving behind a bitter flavor on her tongue.
His next statement leaves her speechless. “I…suppose. I receive no such database additions. Rather, my updates usually revolve around things relevant to my work…” Ah, has she said too much? Though if he knows of her, he might be familiar with her occupation already. It is a touchy subject, especially considering the school she attends prohibits students from having any jobs, part time or otherwise. It would be quite a scandal if her loyal followers and promoters learned of her true nature.
But it wouldn’t matter, in the end.
“You certainly have a romantic view of things.” A wry smile. “Yes, we are data. We are not human, and we may carry out our specific functions without a hitch, but that does not mean we cannot feel. That does not mean our lives, such as they are, have no meaning.”
Where do such uplifting words come from…?
Roses lock with cerulean, and her breath catches.
A blue that reflects, but never to refract. A blue innocent disguised guilty. A blue devoid of all but the joyous shine of light that berates her.
So bobs the gold framed face dripping with raw nostalgia, her attire an alternate, history and compositions a supposed different. And yet, every knife that dares to touch her stalks scars and shadows of scars into the porcelain veins of her skin, whispering “Rin.” And in those wounds devoted to burning up her flesh, irony bubbles up in the nerves— it is a name that haunts and a name that hurts.
The hanging silence betrays her and laughs at the reoccurring mistake.
And the cycle does not end.
Sharp eyes blink, and lips part in slight surprise. This figure, lavender locks rippling and draping down, is wholly unfamiliar to her. She has never glanced upon such a person in her existence. So why is it that she is apparently familiar with her model type? She doesn’t recall ever giving the other her name. Indeed, they have only just met. Finding this repeated recognition rather disconcerting, fingers raise to brush blonde strands out of her eyes. A rather troublesome habit.
"Is my status that renown? Everyone I approach seems to know my name before I even say a word to them. Who are you?"
steam of putrid stenches pollute these lungs,
the wailing cries of lost souls call.
i cannot breathe, anymore.
there is no happy end.
Bitter anger leaks onto the other side, beyond life.
laughing consistently in order to bring yourself back.
tell me— for what reason!?
repetitively turning fate into a reality,
a dream into a true ending.
f i n
r e d
why have you returned?
My memories are scattering from you.
Another PuuRin model? He finds it interesting because to come across them are quite rare. Only two are currently active and walking on this earth.
…oh, wait a minute. There used to be two. One of them had properly deactivated themselves not too long ago. The other lived somewhere far off in Russia, speaking a native tongue that holds no comprehensible English or Japanese. A pity.
"PuuRin, right?" This time for sure he will be quite knowledgeable in her field of purpose. "Didn’t know they were still manufacturing your kind." He and his aura is bitter because he cannot let go of everything he had witnessed. It is clear that he denies certainty that this woman held any resemblance to his previous relation to another clone like her.
Suppose Len is trained to act mutually indifferent to each android he meets. He meets thousands of his own face, and others like his friends all the same. But as it similars to looking at a normal CV02 Rin model, he cannot let this encounter smooth by comfortably.
Those memories are still there. And he can never forget them.
Breaths leak out in chilled puffs of steam. It is growing colder as the days near to winter, so beloved to her. It’s as if she had been created to embrace the cold. But for what purpose? Surely ignoring her quirks, she is a perfectly normal 鏡音リン model, right? Going by the name of PuuRin, in reference to her beloved Putin, but structurally the same. Even a custom built
act1 model such as herself is still of the same breed as the others.
A form catches her eye, appearing rather like her counterpart. Is it him, returning from his last escapade? The good-for-nothing is always running off in search of something or other, or just out of pressure. His place is not with her, evidently, but she still feels an obligation to help him change his ways. She is student council president, after all. Is it not her job to keep everyone in order?
Though his voice reaches her ears, and indeed, it is not the voice of her own pair. It is lower, and more refined. Perhaps it is another 鏡音レン model, then. One who, apparently, is familiar with herself. How peculiar!
"Excuse me, but what do you mean, my kind? There is only one of me.” If there are others, she doesn’t know of them. And she is a custom model, is she not? Specially ordered from the factory for her uploader, though she rarely glances him now. “Furthermore, how do you know my name?”
"Christmas no yoru wa, kimi wa atashi dake no Santa Claus…" A familiar tune.