On A Certain Express

Aren't things progressing too quickly?
More like, oi, Sir Omnipotence, what the hell do you have in store for us?
Yelling slurs at some invisible, unlikely Benzaiten isn't exactly the most productive use of my time, so I'll yell them at something tangible.
Oi, me, how did you let yourself get dragged along with this?
No, that I perfectly understand, more like, what made you think that roping yourself into this was going to be beneficial in any way whatsoever?
Humanitarianism? Sympathy? Being a good person?
Did I really believe that somehow I could contribute in a way that achieves those kinds of ideals?
Next to me, that little girl, no, that thin, doll-like lady, who was surprisingly well behaved with her dainty hands in her lap, small crimson beads of eyes entranced by the rooftops flittering behind the windows. For a while, while we were waiting in line, scanning our tickets, buying lunch, she had been pretty restless, so it was nice to see, for her sake too, that she was able to relax a little now.
From the moment we had entered the stations, taken a handful of steps down into the organs of the city, that washing over of shadow and damp, contrasting coolness to the sizzling sunlight above us both excited and aggravated that girl. Something about that kind of atmosphere pricked her in the slightly wrong way, just like the night before, where on shutting off the lamp in the living room dangling over the head of the couch, she had begun clawing at me and refusing to allow its dusty bulb to dim into darkness once more.
It might have something to do with her birth, something that I couldn't really tell if she found traumatic, or simply natural and therefore not worth thinking about, but even if that was the case, her reactions made me believe that, even unconsciously, that birth had had some kind of deep effect on her. 
What would remembering your birth so clearly, as being so recent that you can remember most of the sensations, that some of the fluids were still clinging to your skin, do to a person?
None of us are able to remember that moment, but all of us are reminded that we were crying, faces scrunched up in terror or discomfort, flushed and bursting at the lips with wails, so for this girl, what would remembering that deep fear at being thrust out to the open world feel like?
But, it's not like she would discuss it, anyway.
She just wasn't that kind of person.
Even knowing her for such a short amount of time, I knew that much.
Even being around only for a small amount of time, she had already grown into that kind of person.
Although, growing is probably the wrong way of putting it.
I guess we've at least done some good for the scientific community in proving that monster children are products of nature rather than nurture all the way.
But that may also be a little off the mark.
Putting her in the care of Char might have rubbed off on her.
Rather, being around that woman for such an extensive period, and so close a period to her birth, may have caused her to reflect bits and pieces of her personality, like a sped-up case of nurture.
Char was only a few seats in front of us, but her big hairdo was visible from back here, popping out over the scarlet seats, plunging down every now and then like a snorkel when its wearer plunges under a large wave.
She had been the one to take this girl in her strong, clenched grip, leading her down the stairs, illuminated faintly by the ceiling lights, and through the still pretty busy subway, only being a little after peak morning hours, where the bizarre rows upon rows of stores, stalls, restaurants, and anything else you could find on the surface but wedged into little compartments bustling with people.
All those different sights and smells seemed to drift up that doll-girl's nose, gripping her as tight as Char, and shaking her from that dazed trepidation she had felt on entering. 
There was a pervasive atmosphere of excitement, like everybody was on a day off, mulling around stores on an itinerary they had planned for months in advance.
Gyarus that reminded me of a certain someone, high skirts and tanned faces, eyelashes that sparkled underneath the skylights and dazzled surrounded by the glittering lights of every store they filtered in and out of.
Certainly, this kind of fashion style was at the brink of extinction, right up on the cliff's edge, but the turn taken by history propelled it back into use from all corners of the country.
Sure, there were definitely still avid fans who dressed in that sparkling fashion, but for everybody else, it was a niche that drew them in closer once they realised that their lives were heading towards mediocrity and solemness. 
That is, certain world events transpired that caused humans to do the one thing they find almost impossible - think about the future.
Not a lot of people found anything sparkling at the end of that tunnel.
So, things like Gyaru fashion and VIsual-Kei, outlets that allowed people to become their own person again in the face of overwhelming national hegemony of homogeny.
Winds passed through the leaves, as they always do, and nothing major came about for most of these people, but nevertheless, the kind of loyalty you pour into and receive from subcultures isn't something easily slipped away from, there's not much motivation there for even trying.
So, nestled in the subway, clustered in special districts, and waltzing the streets regularly enough to not illicit any wonder or surprise, these kinds of people were flowering in this city.
Of course, to somebody that, I assumed, didn't know much about human culture, that doll-like girl was immediately in awe of all that makeup and glamour.
"Hey, what's up with these people all almond-coloured? Their eyelashes are way too flashy to be practical, why would they wear that?"
"Oh, that's simply because they're expressing themselves, dear."
All snug in a standard office lady's outfit of pale shades and tight buttons, Char was getting way too into that big-sister role.
Her square-framed, black glasses she had purchased from some designer store along the sidewalk between our apartment and the station were perpetually glued to her finger, and she tipped them up and down constantly.
"Well I understand that much, but why so dramatically? I see most people have keychains or badges of some kind on their rucksacks, but otherwise, everybody else seems to be expressing themselves in a modest fashion."
Rucksack? How old was this girl? Was monster knowledge really that outdated?
"I believe this will suit my needs well."
From my side, Sorrow had wandered off into a small store with an open layout, appraising a pale white stand for holding rectangular objects, judging the size with a notebook he had picked up from a side shelf, and testing different angles on its small silver axis.
Really, we didn't come here for shopping.
No no, really, what kind of stunt are you pulling, getting so serious over something like this?
Since when were you the Zura kind of character whose serious tone never fluctuates but the seriousness of his character is perpetually in limbo?
More like, even Zura took a couple of arcs to become comedy relief!
At least slow your pace a little!
Is this some awful omen?
Are we getting axed soon down the line!
"Yes yes, I understand, but really, how can you not be ashamed of walking around with so much powder on your face?"
I guess they were still muttering about other people's fashion choices.
Leaving the sight of Sorrow's character-switch like it was a crime scene I didn't want to be responsible for, I approached the tall figure of Char, who was doing her own bit of shopping, picking up a set of incense and pressing it to her nose.
Huh, that's weird.
I swear I heard that doll-girl talking, but Char seemed to be completely oblivious to her noise.
Rather, why was she still going on as if Char was answering her nonsense?
...
I turned around.
Looking like somebody had just plucked each and every eyelash from her, which she almost mentally had, a girl not too much older looking than the doll-like one was being berated by that exact doll.
That is, it was none other but an avid, genuine Gyaru that the girl was insulting, right to her face.
Surely this time, she could fend for herself, right?
It wasn't a real danger, right?
But with both Sorrow and Char distracted, who's going to step in if things escalate, on either end?
More like, who's going to teach this girl how to behave correctly?
If her behaviours are really being shaped by her current environment, then wasn't it my responsibility to act in accordance with morals and virtue?
Well, putting aside the frailness of those kinds of things, I would only be imposing my values on her, so it's not like it's any more righteous than leaving her to fend for herself.
No, for something as simple as insulting a girl to her face, I had to teach her it was wrong.
I'm not the kind of person who worries over universal truths or human-made morals anyway.
There are things that are wrong, and things that are right, and for me, that's all that matters.