[F4-SP] Blowing Away the Dust, Shaking Off the Rust

[Emerath 0]

A cloud enveloped the man like a fine mist. He hadn't been home in a long time, and it almost seemed as if the more he tried to clear away the dust, the more he tried to brush away the cobwebs, the dirtier everything seemed to get. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, as a now decidedly more peppered white figure in the corner gave a concerned whistle. But he would not be deterred. He straightened his tie, and tried again. A deep breath in, and a large puff escaped his lips as he bent over the table, as if it were his birthday. But the only thing caked on here was the dust. Another cloud, followed by a heavy cough. Too much. It was too bad that vacuum cleaners didn't exist in the game. How convenient it would have been. It was clear that his breath wouldn't be enough. No, it had been too long for that.

[Emerath 0]

Emerath snapped his fingers, and pointed to the cupboard. He had hoped that the dust hadn't managed to settle on the rags there. A creak, and he had the rag in his hand. A little dusty, but nothing like the table. It would have to do. A hard shake, and another smaller cloud. He wasn't going to go out just to buy a rag. That would just be nonsense. The small white figure hopped behind him, continuing to whistle. A yellow kernel flew through the air, and the owl seemed satisfied with that, though only slightly. Emerath didn't have time for that though. He had to clean the table. Mist would just have to wait.

He spread the rag across his palm, and then ran it across the table. A visible streak remained, and the rag was already done, covered in a thick black powder shaped vaguely like Emerath's hand. Another hard shake, another small cloud. Finally the dust began to settle on the floor. That would be enough.

[Emerath 0]

It took some time, but eventually the table was as clean as it was going to get. The dust deposited on the floor. Sweeping would come later, as would all the rest. But he needed the table now. Emerath deposited the rag on the floor with the dust. He would probably have to get a new rag anyway. The poor thing was absolutely covered in the grimy substance. Emerath was just thankful that Mist had gotten the message and had settled on her perch rather than the floor. Not that her perch wasn't also covered in dust. He had been out travelling for so long. Though that was better than sitting around doing nothing, he supposed.

Letting this small philosophical debate roll around in his head, Emerath pulled a small bag around his shoulder and began to deposit rolled papers on the table. There was something about carrying things around despite having a handy dandy inventory system that just made things feel a bit more real. That feeling was all he had left of reality. He held onto that with an iron grip.

[Emerath 0]

The scrolls piled up on the table. A good variety, large and small. Some were tied with ribbon, others with simple string. Depended on where he got it, who gave it to him. How much they cared about presentation. But they were all just as important, regardless of how they looked. Slowly, he began to pull at the ribbons, the string, and unfurl them. He unrolled them on top of each other, the order not mattering in the slightest. 23 large sheets, drawn by hand. Some other sheets, written out with details. Maps, names, descriptions of locations. Emerath had spent a considerable amount of time exploring, drawing these to pass the time. Drawing them to make Aincrad more real. More real than his UI could show. The feeling of a page in his hand. The sounds of graphite scratching across the page, creating something tangible. Something he had made, and could hold. Something that wasn't as simple as smacking a hammer on some metal to make something instant. No, these had taken time.

[Emerath 0]

The truth was, Emerath had gone downhill over all the time he had been stuck in the game. It was no secret, once everyone had left him alone. He had spent so long alone, collecting as much dust as the furniture around him. An unmoving fixture of the shop that had once been so vibrant and full of life. Soon enough his brother cared enough to intrude upon his life once again, and they had adventured together for a time, but as was usual for Endilix, distraction ensued. Off on another adventure he went, and Emerath was left with the check. The payment was his sanity. It had finally come due. But, rather than come back home, sit and wait for the game to end. He had decided to try to remember what the real world was like. Sure, Aincrad felt real enough, but the UI, the maps, the player diamonds and health bars, monster health, everything, reminded he was stuck in this game. This facade for the real world.

[Emerath 0]

As Emerath's eyes scanned the map for Floor 23, he thought back to when he first started drawing. He couldn't remember exactly what did it, but he remembered how calm he felt, as he sketched the circle that made up the floor. Every floor. The disc that encompassed the entire slice of the world he had come to be forced to call home. The circle was easy. Filling the details was always the hard part. But that was the challenge, that was what made it fun. It hadn't taken long before Emerath had begun hiking up mountains to get a better view. Climbing buildings and statues to see the world around him.

The more he had wandered, the more Aincrad felt more real. More like living on another planet, rather than being trapped in a prison. So much to explore, so much to see. Strangely, so much to enjoy. And of course, so much to draw.

[Emerath 0]

Though, it hadn't just been the maps of course. There had been so many foods, so many intricate crafted items. And of course, there were the people. So many others had settled, had made homes. Built businesses. Sure, they used the game mechanics, something Emerath seemed to consistently drift away from as time passed on his journey, but that didn't matter. Other people were living life as if it were real. Another planet, another world. The additional papers described some of this. Notable people he might visit again, notable villages, player or NPC made. Notable foods or interesting attractions. It had been like traveling from country to country on the shortest flight possible. Even if it was only a slice. A small circular biome, seemingly kept within a dome. It had still felt more real than it had ever felt before. Emerath felt alive, for the first time. He felt more alive in a video game than he had in real life.

[Emerath 0]

Perhaps that was the real insanity. Would he miss SAO after they were finally free? Emerath would have to go back to the modern world. Back to being a straight laced, straight A student. Back to taking care of his brother who could barely take care of himself. Back to an endless grind until he was in his late 60's, when maybe, just maybe he could be free from hard work, and just live out his golden years. When he could travel the real world like he had this one. But why? Earning money was so much easier here, and lasted so much longer. He could make enough to live off of for a week just from one night of monster slaying. The rest of his time could be spent exploring. That was the crux of it all. Emerath had gone crazy wishing to go home, and now he was going crazy wishing to stay here.

[Emerath 0]

More pages spilled from his bag. These were layered thin paper, with markings. He laid one over Floor 23's map. Locations of hunting spots. Caves, treasures, quests. Stuff he had yet to actually get to. But he had spent so much time exploring. Finding all the nooks and crannies. Not all of them had been seen with his own eyes, but he would show the map to a shopkeep, a bartender, or a group of guild members or parties, and once they got over laughing at his archaic method of notekeeping, they would point out a tip or two. Emerath would simply smile, mark it down, and with another jest from his helpful new friend, he would be on his way again. Sometimes he would investigate the tip immediately, but most often there were too many. The world was too vast to be explored by one man alone. Often they would just sit and wait. Someday, Emerath told himself, his fingers running over a treasure mark.

[Emerath 0]

Emerath wondered where to begin, now that he had come back home. There were so many options. So much of the wide world left to explore, to find. And 77 more Floors to open. But perhaps the world had seen enough of Emerath for now. Perhaps home needed a little TLC. Mists' cage certainly needed it at least. That wouldn't be able to be put off. Slowly, Emerath pushed himself away from the table covered in maps and papers, and moved to the snowy owl. He gave her a pat, and then extended a hand to her. She cocked her head, and slowly hopped onto his arm, before quickly making her way up to his shoulder. A happy hoot escaped the animal, and Emerath smiled, before moving to grab a new rag from the creaky cabinets and making his best attempt to scrub the cage of dust. Just as quickly, the poor thing was disgusting. It couldn't be helped. Emerath really had been gone too long.

[Emerath 0]

The birdcage, the counter tops, the shelves, the bookcases, everything. Slowly Emerath dusted them all, leaving behind nothing but piles of the grime on the floor, but at least it had only begun to gather there. Once Emerath was certain that he had gotten everything else spotless, including the feathers that Mist was dropping all over the place, whether in worry or just because she had been traveling for so long that pruning hadn't been as much an option. Maybe a bit of both, in truth. Into the dustpan it all went, and into the trash from there. Perhaps it was boring work, but it was still satisfying. A part of Emerath was always a little upset that everything was simply destroyed into pixels. Yet another thing that the game took away from making the world feel real. But Emerath had found his own little way around that too. It was oddly satisfying.

[Emerath 0]

Once finished with the dusting, it was time to see about firing up some of the old equipment he had collected for his Alchemy studies. As dusty as it was, it wouldn't be surprising if it had simply stopped working, though Emerath figured that wouldn't be the case, as the item most likely would have just disappeared in a flash of pixels were that the case. Things that were broken in Aincrad simply didn't last. So, perhaps that would be enough to give him hope that it wouldn't do so after he tried to get it all working again. Slowly, he turned the knob to a burner. He could hear the gas coming out. Time to try the flint and steel. Click, click, flash, and the flame was lit. It worked just fine it seemed. That was all the reassurance Emerath needed. Perhaps it would do him some good to make stuff again. To really cook the chemicals and herbs and learn how the world worked, rather than letting the UI do it for him. Rather than putting a bunch of junk together and hoping it didn't explode in his face.

[Emerath 0]

Remembering something, Emerath slowly began to push some of his equipment to the side, carefully revealing a small set of drawers on the desk, a small set of drawers that Emerath had here since he had bought the storefront he made his home and business. Emerath reached out to grasp the handle of the top drawer, and found that his hand was shaking. He took a breath, and gave his hand a curious look. Why would he be hesitant to look inside? It was just notes. That's all it was.

Despite telling himself this, it took a moment for him to steel himself enough to grab the handle and pull it open. In reality, his notes were more like a diary, telling a story of his time in SAO. A story that would never leave the game, but would last as a reminder of his life, until he died, or this game did.

[Emerath 0]

Perhaps the game wouldn't be destroyed, and the notes would persist. Perhaps some game archaeologist out in the real world would dig the journal out of some game files, and read it as if it were written by some ancient cave man. The odds of that were astronomically low though, even if the game did survive. Even if they survived. No, this was for Emerath, and it was one of the few things that reminded him that even if this were just a game, he was living as if it were real life. Surviving as if it were real life. He wondered if anyone else in the game kept journals. He hadn't known those close to him to do so. Though in all fairness, he had never expected to himself. As he flipped through the pages, he could see the progression in his words. Slowly converting from a childish excitement about the new world around him, to a slow creeping dread.

[Emerath 0]

Slowly, the words became less about how this plant mixed with this root to make this potion, and more about how this player died, or this monster killed this person. How this friend betrayed this person, or how this friend protected another. There were many mundane points and days in the pages, but the highlights were what made up the meat and potatoes of it all. Stories of Endilix, Teion, and Flints. Stories of love, hope, and betrayal. The story of finding Mist, one that brought a smile to the man's lips as he read the words in his head. A reminder of a life lived in a prison nobody asked for. But that too was a part of life. One could walk outside and get struck by lightning, or have a plane crash on a routine flight. It was a small chance, certainly, but still possible. Emerath was one of only 10,000 people trapped in this game. Considering the billions in the world, it may as well have been lightning.

[Emerath 0]

Emerath was a bit surprised, as he read through the pages, to find that he had stuck bits of odds and ends in between them. Mementos to add to the memories written on the pages. Like the journal itself, it had started off innocently enough, with science in mind. he had pressed flowers and kept small clear bottles of samples in order to remember what each recipe referred to. It made a lot more sense than simply referring to his notes of "purple flowers" and "brown roots". But soon it too had shifted. A drawing of a jackalope, a feather from Mist, the fateful wedding invitation that seemed to change the entire course of his SAO life. A part of him could feel the emotions contained within the items. The rest of him just wanted to throw them in the still burning Bunsen burner. But with a heavy sigh, Emerath wondered, just what good would that do?

[Emerath 0]

Slowly Emerath gathered up the pages that he had scattered across the desk. He had spent quite a bit of time simply standing here and reading his past. But there was such a large gap. So much time he had spent away from his shop and home. The people he described in his journals were either long gone or simply moved on. And yet Emerath stood here living in the past. Was it so bad though? He remembered the good and the bad, and he continued to remember that. To respect his victories and his failures. Anyone who mocked him really had no right to, for Emerath was alive. In part because of what he learned, from the events and from the pages that recorded them. Emerath had no intention of dying now, not ever. Not until his body wasted away completely in the real world and he found himself unable to continue in the game. He would continue to survive.

[Emerath 0]

At the very least, Emerath tried his best to keep it all in order. It was difficult, as some of the events ran together, and Emerath never dated any of these. They were just supposed to be scientific notes after all. Notes didn't need dates. He supposed a journal did, but to actually convince Emerath to truly accept that's what it was would take a lot more than simple nostalgia. He made sure to organize the actual scientific notes on top, for use of when he started to prepare potions again. No sense in putting those in with the more personal pages. Only a few pages went up in flames, after all was said and done. Primarily ones that were unreadable anyway, due to soot or grime, and the occasional chemical or potion spill. He had burned one page that met none of that criteria. It was one that didn't really need to be remembered in writing.

[Emerath 0]

The page had appeared to be covered in small water droplets, and it wasn't a particularly fond memory. It was about the time when Emerath had killed the Avalanche with Flints and a man named Tristan. Everything had gone rather downhill from there. It was the first time Emerath had cried in SAO. Arguably, there were plenty of pages that were just as painful and earth shattering, if not more so. But for some reason Emerath didn't feel that this one needed to ever see the light of day again. The Avalanche, the party, and the events that transpired, were probably best left forgotten. The game archaeologists would just have to wonder if they even cared or noticed that there was a small gap in the story. He doubted they would. He doubted it would ever turn out to be important to anyone but him. Sometimes the memories of our downfall are worse than the actual moment of hitting rock bottom. The what ifs, the coulda shoulda wouldas. Now gone up in smoke. A chance to learn from those mistakes.

[Emerath 0]

With the papers, Emerath decided to get rid of the Snowfrost as well. If he was going to destroy the memory, may as well destroy the memento as well. He poured the salve into a beaker, and then set it on top of the Bunsen burner. He watched as the concoction, presumably something he should have actually used at some point, slowly going up in smoke. Slowly turning into a black char as he left it to rot inside of the glass container. Much like burning the pages, it felt satisfying to let it go. Freeing, almost. Before Emerath knew it, minutes had passed and the lab smelt of burnt oil, and a thin smoke hung in the air. Perhaps he had left it on for too long, but he had to be thorough. He couldn't let himself feel the need to salvage it. He couldn't the page, so he couldn't the item. It was that simple.