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ipsen · 9 months

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Blank Canvas, Chapter 3

Some CW that you can, well, see: gore, blood

Read on AO3

Summary: Kaneki’s interview isn’t quite over yet.

Word count: 4362

Chapter 4 Chapter 2 Master Post

“Eyes, like tainted diamonds, cross the expanse. They pierce inky tendrils of hair, reaching out for something they will never have. Grasp, miss, grasp. Like children swiping at the ceiling. Delicate fingers dig into their master’s scalp, and they fabricate a mockery of reality with the blood. A third option to escape memories and reality both. ‘Foolish,’ they all think. ‘Meaningless. Worthless.’ Yet they do not stop. They reach out and fabricate and dream. Spilling wine can still be beautiful.”

— excerpt from Sen Takatsuki’s notebook

———

This world is…

Flashes of red and blue lit the dark alleyway. Glimpses of the scene were made plain for moments at a time.

A body, slumped against the wall.

Bloody hands.

A body, halfway in the dumpster. Broken. Stomach sliced open.

Guts, guts, guts, blood, torn, bleeding.

What had she done?

Whimpering noises. Trash, trash, trash. Fool.

Cuts. Bruises. Sobs. The overwhelming silence left behind when screams died.

“Papa…?”

Footsteps. Sirens.

“We have eyes on the target.”

“Papa, wake up! We— We have to go—”

“Hands up!!”

Too late.

“Are you deaf?! I said hands up!!!”

“But—!”

“We’ve got a teenager covered in blood at the scene. Taking into custody now.”

“Wait, no, y-you don’t understand—!”

“Hands. Up!!”

“I— Shit, I—!”

Hands stronger than hers gripped her wrists. Something pushed her against the wall and bruised her skull against the cold, wet surface. She begged, she screamed, and it only made it worse.

Blinding lights, shifting bars, glares that told her she was wrong. Her actions were wrong. Choosing to live was wrong. Choices were wrong. Everything about her was—

… wrong.

———

“Takatsuki, um…” Kaneki said carefully, trailing behind the green storm that was his companion. She had a surprisingly fast gait, now that he was actually walking with her for once; then again, Ayato, the late bloomer that he was, had been the same way.

“Yes, Haise?” She took a bit to glance behind at him.

“I don’t want to be rude, but where are you taking me?” Kaneki gestured behind him. “We passed by the terminal to Shoeisha a while ago…”

He had assumed that to be their destination after the park. That was what she meant by ‘ironing out the hiring process’, right? He’d finally meet Mr. Shiono, Takatsuki’s boss, and some other people, then they would get started, right? So where exactly—

“I know, and we will go there,” Takatsuki assured him with a smile. “But I have a friend I want you to meet first.”

‘Friend’? Well, he supposed it made sense; maybe it was a fellow author? A coworker? Takatsuki’s social life was a complete mystery, so it could be anyone, really. He just hoped it was someone he could get along with. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.

“I texted him ahead of time to let him know we were coming.” She marched ahead, leaving Kaneki to chase after her. “We have a reservation at White Blades, if that’s okay with you?”

He tilted his head. That… was a seafood restaurant in the 18th ward, if he remembered correctly. Highly reviewed, too, if a little niche. “I’ve, um, never been, actually,” he admitted. “So yes…?”

She beamed. “Great! Come on. They serve a mean lobster stew.”

He wet his lips at the prospect, and hoped he would agree; if her friend wasn’t the best, then at least the food would be good.

There was a bit more eagerness to his gait as she led him to their destination. He hadn’t had lobster in a while; it was way too expensive, usually, and he couldn’t tell Hide that he was craving it because then he’d just pay for it. Kaneki didn’t like the idea of someone else paying for his own meal.

Speaking of— “Takatsuki.”

“Hm?”

“Um, I’ll pay for my share of the meal.”

He expected some form of token resistance, but he didn’t expect her to laugh at him. “No, you won’t. You don’t seem like you go outside a lot, so I’d feel bad if you didn’t get a free meal out of being out all day.”

“B-But I—”

She turned on him and stuck her hand out. His chest bumped into it, making him stop. “You won’t,” she repeated. “Your friend, Hide, was kind enough to tell me about your financial situation. Not a single yen’s leaving that wallet of yours, got it?”

When had Hide gotten— He must have memorized the number last week when Kaneki handed him her card. He sighed, nodding in defeat. He was so useless compared to someone like her, huh? Can’t even pay for his own meals.

But before he could truly spiral, Takatsuki sighed too. “Alright, why don’t we make a deal?”

He tilted his head. “What kind of deal?”

She folded her arms and looked around, her body language shifting from that of a free bird to something a bit more caged. She took a deep breath, and didn’t reply immediately. Kaneki shuffled his feet, keenly aware of the unpopulated street they were on. He thumbed the strap of his satchel, as the distant sound of the train they would have taken to Shoeisha sounded its whistle.

“How about this,” she spoke slowly, way slower than he was used to, “once Shoeisha starts paying you…”

She trailed off. His brow furrowed as her hands steepled around her nose and mouth, hiding her expression. What kind of deal was— She suddenly balled up her fists and turned around.

“Actually, never mind!” she declared a little too loudly. “We’ll be late; my friend doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”

Before he could ask her anything else, she took off, forcing him to chase after.

—

The White Blades restaurant was the result of a merger between two local businesses, the White Suits and Triple Blades, following the untimely passing of the White Suits founder, Yakumo Oomori. His successor, Naki, and Miza Kusakari, the owner of the Triple Blades, fell in love, and the rest was history.

“Miza’s a good friend of mine,” Takatsuki explained as she opened the door. “And Naki’s a total sweetheart, if a little rough around the edges, so I can always snag a table even on their busiest days.”

It was getting close to dinner time, so the place was healthily packed. People from all walks of life gathered under the medium sized roof, crowding around bar set-ups, tables, and booths alike as their conversations bled into one another to create a melting pot of senseless noise. The day’s gossip, family troubles, tragedies, joys, secret outings, not-so-secret outings— the oscillating states of the world could always converge in a conflagration of colors around the one thing anyone could enjoy: food.

Kaneki felt cramped. He was never good with crowds, and even following Sen Takatsuki into this place didn’t change that fact. People were just so loud, and talkative, and they stared. Sometimes it was intentional, other times it wasn’t, but Kaneki despised it all the same. Being seen meant people expecting things of you, after all, and he often felt he could provide nothing.

He stayed close to Takatsuki, trying to fight those thoughts off for once, and scanned the tables with her. Near the back, there was a particularly tall, pale man in a white trench coat seated at one of the tables, with stark white hair, narrow eyes, and a scarlet face mask. It seemed like he was looking right at them, and Kaneki prayed to any god that would listen that the man was not Takatsuki’s friend.

Takatsuki shot her hand up in the air and waved. “Tatara! Hey!”

Well, to be fair, Kaneki had never been the religious type.

“Sen,” the man greeted in a deep voice when they approached. Great. “I assume that’s your artist?”

“Yes!” Her hand— it was softer than the last time. Was that lotion?— gripped Kaneki’s wrist and dragged him to her side. “This is Haise! Haise, this is Tatara!”

Tatara rose slowly from his seat, holding out his hand. “A pleasure,” he greeted, though his tone suggested anything but. It was like ice, if Kaneki was being honest; the way Tatara stared down at him with his rigid posture that made sure Kaneki knew that he was the shorter one told him a lot. Too much, if he wanted to be honest.

He just nodded and shook Tatara’s hand without a sound. He winced slightly at the force of the grip, but bore it while Takatsuki was there.

“Tatara and I go way back,” she explained to him. “He’s part of the Chì Shé Theater Company! He’s one of their lighting directors, so sometimes I’ll go to him to see if something of mine’s ‘visual’ enough.”

Kaneki had heard of Chì Shé. They were one of the bigger names in theater, but Kaneki wasn’t familiar enough with them, preferring the structure of books and comics to the ones offered by scripts.

“I-It’s an honor,” he managed, thinking it an apt statement. It wasn’t every day he met someone like this.

Tatara practically scoffed as he took his seat.

“Oh, I gotta use the bathroom,” Takatsuki said, palms pressed together in apology. “Tatara, get me the usual?”

‘Usual’? They came here together? And often? Alone— shut up, creep.

“Of course.” Tatara’s voice, which had been like ice against his skin until that point, suddenly became smooth velvet.

Ah. Well, then.

But, if Kaneki was right about this, then why did Takatsuki bring him along? This had to be related to work, right? Maybe a second opinion of him personality-wise? It had merit. Kaneki barely knew her, after all, and he knew Tatara even less. Given how far this meeting was going— He should just take a seat.

He set his bag down near his chair, making sure to entwine his leg with the strap so it wasn’t an easy grab. Glancing up at Tatara, Kaneki noticed his gaze lingering on Takatsuki as she weaved through the crowd toward the bathroom.

Ah.

That look reminded Kaneki of a time he’d rather forget. Hide would tease him all the time about how stupid he looked staring at that head of violet hair from afar. And Touka— Ugh, Touka was so terrible about it. She hadn’t yet experienced the hellhole that was college as a biology major, so in her attempt to dissuade him from persuading, she’d accidentally done the opposite. Then again, he was often caught up in his own mind and assumptions about others, as she would never tire of telling him. He shuddered to think where he might be without that revelation.

Tatara sat down, and the squeak of the leather brought Kaneki out of his thoughts.

“So, um—” Kaneki began. Maybe Tatara wasn’t as bad as his demeanor suggested; he certainly had a soft spot somewhere. Touka and Ayato hadn’t been very sociable, either, when they first met.

“You’re the twelfth one.” Tatara cut him off.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re the twelfth artist she’s brought,” he clarified, scowling. “Do you know what that means?”

Kaneki pursed his lips, looking anywhere except at Tatara; regardless of his answer, he was going to be told anyway. “Er…”

“Eleven artists that are better than you have failed.” Ah, so that’s how this was going to go. “Eleven artists with industry experience. Eleven artists with proper published work.”

A waiter— a large individual in the restaurant’s signature white suit— brought three glasses of water to them and menus. Tatara, as though a switch had been flipped, was kind and accommodating toward them, before going right back to glaring— squinting? No, no, he was definitely glaring— at Kaneki once they were gone.

“So, Haise Sasaki—” the way Tatara said it made it sound like an insult— “what makes you think you can compete with them? Actually, what makes you think you’re better than them? What do you have that they don’t?”

Kaneki looked down, unable to answer, because Tatara was right. What did separate him from actual, experienced professionals? His art was middling at best, and it wasn’t like his commissioners had large social media presences either. So what elevated him above others so that Sen Takatsuki wanted to work with him?

Tatara clicked his tongue in the silent noise. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, opening the menu. “Why’d you even come here?”

Kaneki froze. Him, not Tatara. Why did he, Ken Kaneki, come to this restaurant? Well, because Takatsuki asked him to— That wasn’t the question. This was Tatara, Takatsuki’s friend, here, talking about previous candidates, meaning he was informed about the situation. He was her accomplice in the search for an artist.

Kaneki was still being interviewed.

Tatara’s question was deeper than a simple ‘why’; he wanted to know the factors that led Kaneki to making the choices he did that put him in this moment. Why Kaneki thought that, however small the chance, he, of all people, could be a good fit to write a story alongside Sen Takatsuki. What sparked that feeling? What pushed him forward through the doors of that coffee shop?

What drove him?

His fingers brushed against his satchel, where the sketch of Takatsuki lay unseen by the rest of the world. They then tightened around the bag as he built his resolve for the hundredth time that week.

“I’ve always been inspired by her— Takatsuki, I mean,” he answered carefully and evenly. “I want to return her kindness for giving me the chance to make something with her, and I want to make sure that she doesn’t regret it. And, if someone like me can be inspired by her, I think about how many more people she has yet to inspire with this next work. If she thinks I’m the one to illustrate her story, then I have to believe it.”

Tatara’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly as he listened, but before he could respond, the large waiter from before came back and asked for their order. Kaneki scrambled to look at the menu while Tatara ordered first.

“A-And a lobster steak,” Kaneki said just in time. “Er, stew! Lobster stew, sorry.”

Tatara rolled his eyes while the waiter walked away. After a moment, he spoke. “What’s your handle?”

Kaneki tilted his head slightly. “You… mean online?”

“No, I mean—” He huffed, and took out a sleek black phone. “I want to see your work.”

“Oh, of course! My handle is—”

At least he hadn’t asked for Kaneki’s sketchbook; the satchel was kind of a dead giveaway. The last thing he needed was for Tatara to start asking why Takatsuki’s face from all angles was plastered all over the pages.

Where was she, anyway? Was she okay? He couldn’t exactly check, but hopefully it was just trouble with the bowels…

Kaneki glanced back at Tatara, who seemed to have found his online portfolio. He scrolled… a lot faster than Kaneki thought he would. Takatsuki had taken the time to admire his work while Tatara seemed to be skimming it at best. It must have been that business mindset, Kaneki thought: he wasn’t looking at quality or heart, but rather how eye-catching it could be, as well as how quickly it could be replicated.

Or maybe he was completely wrong and Tatara was just fast at analysis.

“I see.” Tatara put his phone away and folded his arms.

Kaneki pursed his lips, twiddling his thumbs. Okay… Was that it?

A few moments passed. Then some more. Someone in the back of the kitchen dropped something, and it shattered. Some heads turned, including Kaneki’s, but not Tatara. The moment passed.

“Um, Tatara?” Kaneki said, treading cautiously. “Have you… read Takatsuki’s works?”

Tatara raised a brow again. “I have…”

Okay, great, common ground! “W-Which one’s your favorite?”

“… Industrial.”

“Oh, her fourth work! I like that one too.” Kaneki gave his best smile. “I got into literature through mysteries myself, so I was ecstatic when she released one! My favorite one, though, is—”

He stopped, however, when he saw Takatsuki suddenly slide back into her seat, silent as a mouse. He noticed she’d undone her braid, and now her wavy green locks fell freely in a chaotic harmony of curls and tangles around her face. His breath hitched at the sight, and Tatara’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

She glanced between the pair, either unaware of or indifferent to the change in atmosphere brought by her presence.

“Well?” She settled on Kaneki, grinning. “Don’t leave him in suspense.”

“I-I—” he stammered. “I, um, well, you see, m-my—”

He was saved by the sound of footsteps and the smell of a freshly made lobster stew, and yet he didn’t feel saved, even as his mouth watered while he stirred the soup. He felt her still watching him as he did so, and only felt shame for his own embarrassment.

He screwed his eyes shut. “My favorite one is Dear Kafka.”

A knowing smile crossed Takatsuki’s face, hidden from Tatara. It was almost like a secret between her and Kaneki, and his stomach lurched at the prospect.

Tatara just hummed. “I see,” he uttered, squashing the conversation flat.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s always been like that,” she whispered to Kaneki conspiratorially, though probably loud enough for Tatara to hear. Not that he seemed to care. “He takes a lot in, but not a lot gets out, you know what I mean?”

A cursed memory of fleeting violet hair crossed Kaneki’s mind. “I know the type,” he replied just as low.

She giggled, delighted in his participation, and was about to say something else, but Tatara interrupted.

“Sen,” he said. “Wanna tell him why he’s here?”

Her eyes shut, and she slowly turned toward him, her expression unseen.

“Because this is another interview?” Kaneki blurted without thinking. He covered his mouth immediately. “Sorry…”

Takatsuki turned back to him, eyes shining with that implicit praise he was beginning to crave. “Oh, you figured it out?”

“I-It’s not that amazing…” He scratched his cheek. “Mr. Tatara was… very honest about his intentions.”

“We can drop the pretense, then,” Tatara spoke, drawing Kaneki’s attention again. “Yes, Sen wanted a second opinion on you, and I’m the one she goes to for such things. Shiono picks out the ones for Takatsuki to meet, and then she brings them to me for further evaluation beyond her own.”

Kaneki glanced at Takatsuki, who was unashamedly digging into her order of lobster stew. With her free hand, she picked up the instant ramen Tatara had gotten her for her side and plunged it into the soup. Kaneki quickly realized that Tatara hadn’t ordered a dish for himself; both plates had been for her.

Tatara continued as though she wasn’t there. “The work you’ll be illustrating has been ‘finished’ for the past two years, did you know that?” Kaneki was barely given an opportunity to shake his head. “Of course you didn’t. And yet she’s still looking for an artist to transform it into something beyond words on a page. Do you know what that means?”

Kaneki furrowed his brow, confused. “That… it’s important…?”

“That it’s important,” Tatara emphasized, as though Kaneki were completely clueless (which, arguably, he was). “The artist that illustrates the story will either make or break it. I’m here to make sure the former happens.”

Takatsuki stirred the noodles now that they were softened by the soup, humming an unfamiliar song. She’d also gotten a plate of miniature takoyaki that she was devouring like chips from a bag. Kaneki waited for her to say something whenever she swallowed, but no such thing came.

“If you’re chosen,” Tatara’s voice commanded Kaneki’s gaze once more, “you will be responsible for the enjoyment of tens of thousands of readers, old and new, for years to come. The first thing they will see will be your art next to Sen’s name.”

Kaneki thought about it. His art, never even printed except online, suddenly on a bookshelf in his local bookstore.

Almost a Masterpiece, Except for One Problem Written by: Sen Takatsuki, Best-selling Author Illustrated by: Haise Sasaki, Loser Nerd and the Problem

It certainly put things into perspective. Kaneki had been so focused on creating and the fact that it would be a job, he hadn’t even considered the prospect of selling. Would he have to draw extra art for marketing? Was there a marketing team he’d have to consult with? More people like Tatara? He seemed to know his way around a business, and given how this ‘conversation’ had been going for the past few minutes, Kaneki was disinclined to believe Tatara wanted to work with the likes of him.

And who would want to work with him? Taking a chance on a fresh face, especially when such a high-profile figure like Takatsuki was involved, was unrealistic because of the risk. The newbie had no experience, so training might be in order, and training meant time, and time was better spent making money. Time was money. Money was time.

His expression must have said a thousand damning words in his place, because Tatara stood up and fished around in one of his coat pockets. “Alright, I’ve said my piece.” He pulled out a wad of cash and set it on the table. “For dinner, Sen.”

Takatsuki gave a thumbs up in his general direction, too busy slurping her ramen to do anything else. Tatara waited for her to finish, but when she burped out loud, he just turned and left.

Kaneki stared at the tall white figure, a hole in his stomach. He completely blew it. Any minute now, Takatsuki was going to break the news: factoring in Tatara’s eye-opening questions, she could not, in fact, be seen in public with him ever again. A week of being strung along by strings fashioned of his hopes and dreams, only for the cruel scissors of fate to cut them down to his fingers.

He scooped up a spoonful of soup, then dropped it into the bowl as he sighed. He wasn’t that hungry anymore. He was better off starving anyway; justice demanded proper punishment for the sin of hubris.

Meanwhile, Takatsuki dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, having finished her meal. “I’m sorry about that, Haise,” she said, sighing. “Tatara’s a lot, as I’m sure you know by now.”

“N-No, it’s okay…” he mumbled back, shuffling in his seat and blinking back the tears pricking the corner of his eyes. “He made a lot of good points…”

“Is that what you think?” She paused to look at him.

“Well… I never even considered the business side of it.” He took a drink of water to reorient himself. “I let my excitement cloud my judgment, when I should have done something to try and circumvent it, see the bigger picture. Instead, I—”

“Haise.” Takatsuki put up her hand to stop him. “Tell me: why do you create art?”

Kaneki blinked, forcing down a kneejerk spark of hope.

“Is it because you want to sell your art?”

He shook his head. Hide had been the one to suggest opening commissions. And while the extra cash was nice, that wasn’t the reason Kaneki continued to keep slots open.

“Is it because you’re following a trend?”

He shook his head again. He didn’t even know what trends were going on at the moment. Even if he did, he wouldn’t dare follow them unless they were his own interests: a matter of coincidence.

Takatsuki’s eyes glinted with familiar curiosity as she put her chin between the valley of her knuckles. “Then why?”

He pursed his lips and answered honestly. “Because I want to.”

He wanted to put his feelings into his art. He wanted to tell a story through his art. He wanted to create. He wanted to get better. He wanted to work on bigger things not for the sake of money, but to challenge himself. Better himself. He wanted to keep moving forward with this useless, stupid career that he had a knack for. He wanted this.

Takatsuki grinned. “And that’s why I’m hiring you. You’re passionate, intelligent, and your art is stunning. I don’t want all that skill to go to waste without doing something about it.”

It was the highest praise he could receive. Kaneki didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or blush or all three. Just a week ago, he was practically nobody, and now Sen Takatsuki wanted to work with him.

But he had another question. “What about Tatara, though? He said—”

“Is Tatara the one writing the story?”

“No…”

“Then there we go. No problem.” She leaned back in her chair, hands tucked behind her head. “Shiono’s the one who technically hires you on paper, but you’re drawing my work, so it won’t be an issue.”

Kaneki imagined Shiono to be a much easier coworker than Tatara, based on that.

“Oh, and one more thing—” Takatsuki leaned forward to whisper to him— “that story Tatara mentioned being done? I’m scrapping it.”

Kaneki blinked. “What?! B-But— All that hard work—”

“Oh, I’ll keep it on the backburner probably, but for this graphic novel, I have a new story in mind.” She grinned. “You wanted to create something together, right? It’s hard to do that if you’re drawing something with only my words on the page.”

It was sound logic, but— “Why? I really don’t mind not working on the script…” It was an honor just working with her, let alone actually having any input at all.

She took off her glasses, folded them, and tucked them away into a case from her bag. Her eyes were even prettier beneath the lenses, Kaneki thought. They were more like jades than emeralds, now that he looked at them— a darker, deeper color, like lakes under the moon versus the sun.

She rested her cheek in her hand, head tilted so that her hair fell over her shoulders. Clumps and curls of varying, imperfect lengths. Natural chaos, he idly thought, truly like the storm of energy she already radiated. Something that swept through the area, scooping up the strays, all the while completely indifferent.

“I’ve been inspired,” she stated simply, with a smile as soft as velvet.

#tg #tokyo ghoul #fanfic #writing #blank canvas #etoken #ken kaneki #eto yoshimura #tatara #baby's first instance of writing big man in a red mask

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