<div class="floatright">(http://i127.photobucket.com/albums/p121/Mab_faerie/Elliquiy/Fatal%20Frame%20RP/84ff483c-a05f-4f5c-86d1-6e055251a06e_zps5e4795f7.jpg)</div><br/>"Well, I can hardly get mad at being left behind when I was the one who missed the train...<em>Ikeetan wa</em>, I slept a little on the way home.<em>Aa, tokoo da ima metcha omoroi mise shitten nen ya</em>! I never expected to find a store with so many antiques in Tokyo, but it was right where the note I found said it would be... Yes, of course I bought a few.. Three of them are early works written by Takamine Junsei-han... Haha,<em> ee honmari ya</em>! I know Dad will be interested to see them, too... No, I just got off the train. Kita-Senri station, right, and headed back to my apartment to sleep a bit before more research...<em>Ee ya</em>, take care at work,<em>Okahan</em>."<br/><br/>With a heartfelt sigh of relief, John swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone and ended the call. He loved his Mother dearly, but even he had to admit the woman could talk the ears off of a crow. It hadn't helped much when he moved out into his own apartment, merely resulting in daily phone calls to check up on him. He chuckled quietly to himself and smiled, at least he knew his parents cared for him and understood his need for his own space. In truth, he hadn't moved all that far away, really. He was still less than two kilometers from the main campus, and less than ten from his family's home. Moving out had been mostly for the sake of his own ego, if he was completely honest about it, to prove that he could take care of himself just fine. Granted, it also gave him a good bit more privacy and leeway when it came to the stacks and stacks of books which had accumulated in recent years once his shelves had been stuffed to bursting, something which his Father routinely got berated for at home as well.<br/><br/>When John finally made it up to his apartment, he felt suddenly exhausted almost the second he stepped into the entryway. Blinking rapidly and giving his head a shake, he muttered to himself as he kicked off his shoes, "Reading for the whole five hour trip might not have been the same as sleeping after all..." After stepping into his indoors slippers, he shuffled tiredly to the main room and set his messenger bag down by his low desk along one wall. The room, about fifteen by twenty feet, served as his living room and bedroom at the same time, which suited him just fine as being convenient. The only other rooms in the apartment were a small kitchen, a smaller bathroom, and a toilet not much bigger than a public stall. While somewhat less convenient, all still more than enough for him.<br/><br/>Out of habit, John grabbed his folded up futon and laid it out right beside his desk, lying down with every intention of getting some sleep. However, something kept nagging at the back of his mind, and after staring at his bag for what felt like an hour, he finally sat up and pulled out the stack of worn tomes to place them on his desk. He would sleep just as soon as he gave the books one more look over, just in case.<br/><br/>Flipping through the first revealed nothing more unusual than a few pages with wrinkled edges, and the next two followed suit. He was feeling more and more tired and annoyed with himself for being so foolish with each page in the nearly identical books, when he set one aside and found that the next book on the stack was one he did not recall picking out. Frowning slightly, he picked it up and turned it over a few times, examining it from every angle. It was bound in a silvery-blue material, almost the color of ray skin, and appeared to be some sort of old diary or journal, complete with a slightly dingy gray tassel, presumably intended as a place marker.<br/><br/>There were no markings on the outside that he could find, and it seemed to be in very good condition, but while it appeared almost new, John just could not help but think of it as rather old. Careful to keep his fingertips on the edge of the book, avoiding the risk of smudging potentially faded ink, he opened the book curiously. He raised an eyebrow at the blank pages, "At least I know it really is a journal now..." Muttering thoughtfully, he shut the book and opened it again from the other cover, wondering if it was actually written in the traditional format of right to left. What he saw then made his other eyebrow shoot up to join the first. The pages were blank as well, save for the topmost right corner where he saw his own name written, faded to brown as though in very old ink.<br/><br/>For a moment he wondered if the shop owner had slipped it in as an extra incentive to return, he had to admit that someone that clever and quick with books would keep his business for years to come. Then he noticed just<em>how</em>his name was written. A looping cursive letter "J" followed by his surname in kanji. The old man would have had no way of knowing that this was John's personal signature when he didn't have his Hanko available. That was... peculiar. He shut the book for a moment and looked over at his alarm clock. "No, I didn't drift off... how in the world did that get there, then?" He took another peek at the inside cover and sure enough, that was his signature staring back at him. John set the book down completely this time and pushed it to one side of his desk. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Just in case, though, he decided to check the rest of the books for anything odd before getting to bed, after all it was only just after ten in the evening.<br/><br/>With that decided, he gave a nod that was supposed to make him feel confident, but more or less failed miserably. Heaving yet another sigh, he picked up the next book in the stack, a much more weathered looking book with a worn and faded leather binding. It was the last of the volumes written by Takamine Junsei he had found. One of his older works, in fact, and starting with the first few pages John found handwritten notes which continued throughout the book. He was about to pass it up as the result of carelessly enthusiastic prior owners when an old Polaroid photograph fell out from the worn pages and landed on the desk beside the strange journal. He set aside the book and picked up the photograph, peering closely at it. It was a group of three young men posing for the camera in front of an old Torii gate with who appeared to be Junsei Takamine himself. The reverse side of the photo listed the apparent names of the subjects and a date. "Takamine-Sensei, Hinasaki-kun, Amakura-kun, Aso-kun. April 17, 1986... Well I know who Takamine-Sensei was, but the others... his assistants? They sound familiar..."<br/><br/>Curious all over again, John set aside the photo and picked the annotated book back up and began to read from the start. The notes appeared to be additions and corrections to the original information, possibly done by those three in the photo as they continued their Sensei's work after his disappearance? He couldn't say, but the drive to keep reading kept him up until just after midnight when John finally nodded off at his desk, knocking the journal to the floor in the process. As though guided by an invisible hand, the smaller book fell open perfectly to the first page, and slowly words began to appear in a mixture of English and Japanese, just as John often wrote his notes while thinking.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: anndale mono;"><strong><em>Do-okashii na</em>....was it really me who put my name in that journal....<em>ikan wa</em>....but how could it not have been me...<em>atoo de ta ee ya</em>....</strong></span><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Translation</div><div class="spoiler_body">ikeetan wa: I'm fine<br/>Aa, tokoo da i metcha omoroii mise shittenen ya: Yeah, in any case now I know of a very interesting shop.<br/>Ee, honmari wa: Yeah, that's true!<br/>Ee ya: alright<br/>Do-okashii na: Very strange<br/>Ikan wa: it can't/couldn't be<br/>Atoo de ta ee ya: There's time for that later</div></div>