Chronograph, noun.

An instrument used to record time with great accuracy.

---

You watch the old man on his bed, wheezing his last words quietly,

“Time is a terrible thing, my apprentice. The threads of time are transient, tumultuous, terrifying. You should abandon this pointless endeavour before you lose what precious time you have left.”

---

As a human, your time in the world is limited. Enough to stay your course or to change your ways. And as a human, your time will come, if not today, perhaps tomorrow. Maybe even later.

Such is the fragility of human life.

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This side story functions as a really long prolouge of explainations of a character that is going into ACiG. ACiG will take on two PoV's once this is completed.

-----Prologue: Reflection-----

“It is not about the weapons or the tactics. It is about The People and their ideals and their morals that came together with weapons and tactics at the precise moment to produce a True Cause.”

This journey has been a long one. In this journey you have changed greatly. You, but a teenager finally turning 15 in the next week, have experienced many things that the average teenager won’t face. Things that the average teenager should never have to face. You have spent your life training for war. You have survived the war. You may be 70 years into the future, but your home country, China, has come out as a strong nation after the war. And you too, have come out as a strong and independent teenager after the war. Here in Gensokyo, after this long journey may you finally settle down and take a rest. But you feel uncomfortable. As if though something was telling you that you are missing something dire in your past, in the swirling midsts of time. You feel like you are forgetting something. What has gotten you here?

-----Chapter 1: Early Childhood-----

“Stand up!” your father shouts into the pre-dawn sky. Well, your foster father. You never truly knew your blood father, for he gave you up to the government to be put in a foster home with a lineage of martial artists or swordsmen. And that, you foster father was. Every morning, before the sun rose, he woke you up to train with the blade. And of course that is what you did. You would keep at him until you would land a hit on him. You’d get knocked down again and again, but you’d focus on what fundamentals went wrong, and improve them. That is what you father taught you. The fundamentals. And that when life knocks you down, when a stronger nation bullies China, to stand back up and keep at it until you make them pay in blood. He told you that he’d teach you the advanced techniques after you mastered the fundamentals. Unfortunately, you only got to master the fundamentals before you left for the

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Finally. Although you knew what you wanted to do with your life long before you came of age, it certainly took you long enough after doing so to build up a decent nest egg for it. Your former boss didn't pay the best, but he was the only tailor that was hiring, and you needed to learn if you wanted to open a shop of your own. You're pretty sure he kept back a few tricks of the trade, but you know enough to make rough but serviceable clothing.

That's all behind you now, though, and you gaze at the village paperwork for opening a new shop in your hands. All you need to do is fill it out and wait for it to be processed, and the village will have a new clothing shop in the abandoned lot that's on the way to the Hakurei Shrine.

At least legally. As of yet, you haven't gotten a means of construction or done anything to make your store stand out, so if nothing changes, your shop will be dead in the water. Luckily, shops are approved for commerce just before harvest, which just passed, so you have about a year to advertise, learn more about tailoring, find new sources of materials, and get your shop built.

So why does the child of two farmers want to open a clothing shop? Well, it probably has something to do with your ability. When you are wearing a set of clothes related to a profession, you somehow gain the instincts of an expert in that profession. It seems to be related to how well-made the outfit is, although it's seemingly a bit different in the case of your casual wear. Also, you can instantly change outfits, though the magic only seems to work on clothing you yourself own.

Anyway, you propably should get to filling out those forms. Most of it is standard stuff like name, gender, purpose of shop, location of shop, although a few of the later questions suggest whoever was in charge of this was fooling around.

[x] Name:
[x] Gender:
[x]Purpose of Shop: Tailor
[x]Location of Shop: Road to Hakurei Shrine
[x]Power: Power of clothing

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Estabilishing connection...
...
...
...
DATA LINK estabilished
Accessing genetic memory databank...
...
WARNING
DATA STREAM DAMAGED
Commencing advanced decypheration processes
...
...
Starting visual transmission in
Three
Two
One
...


"Whew."
With a sigh, you put down the pen. Before you, an endless wall of mostly illegible characters spreads on the white, lined surface of multiple notebooks.
Math. Oh, how you hate math.

It's been 4 days since you have returned from Gensokyo. Altough the work that you found isn't too tiring (as long as there aren't too many people to teach), the stuff at University... Yeah, those few days of absence made you fall back in material pretty far. At some point, you even considered dropping out, but Renko's harsh lecture about the necessity of education made you reconsider working your ass off to catch up. Renko, Renko...

Leaning back in this messy room, you let your thoughts run loose.
Yeah, Renko. Ever since your return she's been a little bit... Distant. Kind of... Left out.
Your and Mary's continuous efforts to cheer her up and convince her to spent more time with you fell on barren earth. As if she was...
Maybe it's because you and Mary have become too close to each other? After that one 'incident' back at the Shrine, the two of you would sometimes hang out together. Maybe Renko feels the same as Mary did when she was left out?
Left out.
Yeah, that has to be it.
But... How to convince that stubborn girl to get closer to you?
"Argghhh!" Rolling around the floor in irritation, you scratch your head. "Complicated! Renko, you're complicated!"

Ding, ding.

A sound of doorbell interrupts your reverie.
... it's already dark outside, so who could that be...?

[ ] Answer the door
[ ] Nah, if it's urgent, they'll come in through the window

“Do you fear death?”

Now, here is a question I was asked once in life. Being naive and young, the answer I proclaimed was a resounding “Yes!”

I’ve since learned better.

So, the way I see it. Death is nothing to fear. Generally, it is not something to look forward to, but to fear it is meaningless. You will die one day, that is a fact. The reaper always collects his two gold coins. To live dreading your day of terminality means you have simply wasted your life in fruitless struggle. Most people simply live their lives with the thought buried deep in the backs of their minds. They are always aware of it, yet choose to consciously repress and ignore it. This is beneficial to them in the long run I presume to say, since they can then live their lives to the fullest potential.

I, on the other hand, cannot afford such luxury. My life has been lived, and my day has come and gone. I have paid my two gold coins. Without the need for such prose; I am dead.

How dead, you ask? Very. Take for instance, the wood that composes your floorboards. How long has it been there, you reckon? Ten years? Twenty? Now, think for a second that it all was once a tree. Or several trees, if your curiosity is more morbid than most. Remember now that trees are alive, and that the wood beneath your feet was once as well. It’s pretty dead now, isn’t it? I can say without fear of rebuke that I am far, far deader than some squeaky old floorboards.

But the dead don’t move, now do they?

Funny thing, that. I clearly remember being dead. Or dying to put it more accurately. And I have the faintest notion that I was at one point buried. Now, Gods-know-how-long later, I’m all dug up and moving around like it was yesteryear. It is a bit of a weird feeling, being essentially a walking corpse. Nobody really believes in zombies until they are one, that’s a damned fact.

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==


[X] “What was that? Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of your legs.”


Make amour, not war...

“—get your blasted hands off my—!”

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In an almost reflective action, I tried to contact the otherworldly magician.

…I forgot how to. My brain didn't want to cooperate fully. It felt fuzzy and swirly. I just ended up mumbling something. “...lovely.”

“So you will cooperate?” Alice mistook my mumble for assent.
“This has nothing to do with Marisa.” I slurred more than I wanted to. “Mai magic was a gift, alright? She's not my type and I definitely didn't do nothing with her, ok?” I rambled on a bit, seeing she didn't immediately say anything. “Look, you seem more serious about the magic thing,” I tried to look at her seriously, “But I'm not sided with anyone, so I have no allegiance to, uh, drop. So if it came down to between you and her...”

You thought you saw her raise an eyebrow.

“Wait. I don't even really know what you're talking about. 'Cooperate against her when the time comes'? What the hell... this better be about one of Suika's games.”
“This is not as petty as that.” She informed me dryly. “And you already know about it. If not,” She seemed to entertain an idea momentarily, “I pity you. That means she used you and did not even have the decency to explain. That would be a result of her warped personality, I suppose...”
“I already told you, I did nothing with her.”
“Indeed.” She said with a dry voice that indicated she believed otherwise.
“...Is this some kind of magician's feud? If you're going to fight, I want no part of it... I owe nothing to either of you, and I want no part of that.”
“We'll just how much you owe soon enough.”

Her words sounded like a bit of a threat, making me wonder if she was going to do something to me. I took that as my cue to just leave her. I thought to walk to the party, leave her alone.

“Look, I can't tell you about where I learned magic. It's just an awesome and powerful source, probably better than her.” I moved, turning away from her.
“We're not done here.” Alice reacted strongly to my attempt to end the conversation. As soon as my back was turned to her, I found myself pressed agains

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You weren't really on the high end of the oni pyramid. If you were placed anywhere, you were pretty sure you'd be on the bottom if it wasn't for your treasured possession shackled onto your right hand. Although, you always thought the parties got too wild sometimes. Taking a big sigh, you think to yourself. Why did you feel so bitter about it...? You didn't even like being with the others. You throw a stone down the underground bridge's pit. From the bottom, it responds with a small 'clink.' You feel a tap on your shoulders. A small oni with two protruding horns on her head gives you a wide smile. It's Suika, one of the Four Devas. She'd be on the top of your figurative pyramid. She boasts a strong winning percentage against the other oni - a whopping one hundred percent. Not to mention she parties. Hard.

“Whatcha doing here? It's awfully lonely to be here all by yourself!” Suika grins mischievously, a twinkle in her eyes. She can barely stand still, stumbling around a bit as she attempts to reach for your arm. With a fumbling tug, she latches on.

“But I-”

“Come on, let's get wasted!” Not waiting for the rest of your answer, she drags you out of your sitting position and moves you over to the oni bar. With a determined look in her eyes, she yells out, “Two of your strongest whatever you have, please!” A moment later, she passes you some clear, transparent alcohol. She chugs it in one go, slamming the empty glass on the table. “You next!”

Still unsure of the suspicious liquid, you contemplate drinking it or not. Not really caring, you decide to drink it anyways, gulping it down and burning your throat. But it feels good, and you think it's worth it to have a few more shots. You look over to the little oni. She wobbles from side to side, almost losing her balance.. You feel just a tad inebriated after drinking a few more cups of whatever the heck the clear stuff was, but you remain alert. In order to keep this treasure, you had to be.

Maintaining the facade of drunken cheeriness, you keep a good watch, particularly at one oni looking at you, sneering. Suika is a

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A new thread? Why, you may ask?

I think it's appropriate since it's the beginning of the true end.

---

...Well, it's been the better part of two months since you were last given a glimpse into my life, and it's pretty much winter now. It goes without saying that things have happened since then, but this story's gotta end sometime right? A lot happens in sixty days, sure, yet at the same time you'd probably get bored out of your skulls since Gensokyo's not exactly known for being exciting when there isn't anyone causing problems. For me, it's mostly been patching things up with Marine since I absolutely refuse to let her go, even when she's made it plain and clear that she wanted nothing to do with me.

The problem with that is the small fact that what she's saying is out of reaction rather than rational thought, so I had absolutely no issue with giving her some room to cool down before approaching her about the issue once more, this time with more sensitivity on my part. She was in turn more receptive to me which made it easier to talk to her. She was obviously hurt and upset, but at the same time she was acting more like her usual self by taking jabs at me while making some rather confused attempts to tease me about my choice in women. I admit she was a bit harsher than usual in that regard, but it'll pass. I know it will.

Naomi had more or less adjusted to how things have turned out, though I've had to rescue her from a Yakumo-style marshmallow hell more than once. I know Yukari thinks she's cute, but honestly, the artist needs to breathe. There's also the fact that she's having to understand that there are those I care about also care about her and would love nothing more than to get to know her in a romanitc way. Such is the way of Yukari Yakumo: Gather up all you love, then express your love for them until they're too tired to do anything other than lay in your arms. I was a bit peeved at her for expressing herself that way to Naomi without letting me know, but at the same time the gap youkai made a point of dating her first.

...I know I d

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[X] Sides aside – if they want to have a cat-fight, they can have it without you.

It was a very basic mistake you made there, you think.

Every bit as basic, perhaps, as the one where you forget to check whether there is a lift in the lift shaft before stepping in and falling head-first, screaming, several stories down, and smashing all your precious ossicles on the concrete slab at the bottom – and that is: never, ever, on your dear life scrape the swollen wounds of one of your girls when another is traipsing about in the vicinity, ready to sprinkle spices on each and every patch of exposed flesh she sets her eyes on – lest you will be heading for a fall.

Ignore the humble chance of surviving the slip – even if you do manage to beg a second chance out of any passing deity bored enough to listen, the lift itself is bound to come down after you sooner or later, and crush your hopes along with what remains of your once-handsome body into bloody bits – repeatedly… with its spike-covered underside… while the unsuspecting passengers wonder if they have just taken the first elevator in modern history to adopt a death metal track for its music.


“—filthy… filthy… fucking… argh!” the agitated shrine maiden apparently has problems deciding which of the many scarring afflictions her scowling rival would find the most offensive. “I can't—… are you KIDDING me?!” she settles for a rhetorical question instead. “ARE you FUCKING KIDDING me, Fujiwara?!”
“No,” says Mokou, who seems to believe 'rhetorical' just another ten-letter word starting with an 'r', “no, I'm not fucking kidding you, so shut your stupid gob and piss off, already.”
Reimu recoils, biting her lower lip so hard it's a miracle it hasn't cracked yet. “… you'll regret this,” she draws out, stepping forth for a change, swathing her arms tighter about her front. “I don't CARE if Keine tolerates your BULLSHIT or not, but I swear to fucking HEAVENS, Fujiwara, I will NOT let you insult me in MY fucking—!”

“One tick,” you edge in then, “if you will, er, p

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