[ Hannibal Lector would probably be one of the few humans who could wander over and then be amused if he ate pork at the bath house. For her part, mistaken would be a good word, but retrospect wouldn't have her saying she regrets the experience. It'd been difficult. She lived through it, relied on friends and was reliable for them, and she'd not given up. Like Haku had said that first night, it was up to her to do anything about her parents and getting back home, and she faces this situation with that same kernel of truth. Not herself alone, because people aren't alone regardless of "what" they are: spirit, human, god, or whatever else. Herself as responsible for what she does and how she reacts and handles the situation. Not expecting someone else to take care of it all for her.
Sure, it was easier last week when she could whine and let someone else handle dealing with things, but that was no longer the kind of young woman she chose to be. ]
I don't think we're supposed to, but sometimes we do anyway. [ A pause as she thinks, shaking her head after a moment. ] When I was really little, the spirit of a river I fell into pushed me to shore when I would have drowned. I didn't remember that, not until years later, when I met him again.
[ Zeniba had been wise in telling her that people don't truly forget; even if you can't remember. (Or had to borrow someone else's memory to fill in your own.) She shrugs, looking happy for a beat; she's resolutely not going to wonder what being here means for everyone she knew on both sides of the world back home. Thus her parents are just waiting, Kohaku has his name back, and his freedom, and everyone at the bath house can live their life in the way they choose to, for reasons of their own. Maybe even regaining their names, too. ]
Even then, I was remembering what my mom had told me. It comes back, though. What we don't remember isn't forgotten, it's just what we haven't remembered yet.
[ ... that said, she's got more pep in her step as her chin lifts up and her eyes brighten and she's ready to move back into the bigger hall and find a real exit. Which is good, because even as she's doing that, and Kashuu is stepping away from the portrait...
... a dripping wet, grey skinned, taloned hand shoots out of the portrait (from the television, of course) and tries to grab at Chihiro. She ducks down with a surprised shriek, scrambling backward to escape the hand of the wide staring eyed unhappy spirit of the portrait-television-in-snow. ]
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Hannibal Lector would probably be one of the few humans who could wander over and then be amused if he ate pork at the bath house.For her part, mistaken would be a good word, but retrospect wouldn't have her saying she regrets the experience. It'd been difficult. She lived through it, relied on friends and was reliable for them, and she'd not given up. Like Haku had said that first night, it was up to her to do anything about her parents and getting back home, and she faces this situation with that same kernel of truth. Not herself alone, because people aren't alone regardless of "what" they are: spirit, human, god, or whatever else. Herself as responsible for what she does and how she reacts and handles the situation. Not expecting someone else to take care of it all for her.Sure, it was easier last week when she could whine and let someone else handle dealing with things, but that was no longer the kind of young woman she chose to be. ]
I don't think we're supposed to, but sometimes we do anyway. [ A pause as she thinks, shaking her head after a moment. ] When I was really little, the spirit of a river I fell into pushed me to shore when I would have drowned. I didn't remember that, not until years later, when I met him again.
[ Zeniba had been wise in telling her that people don't truly forget; even if you can't remember. (Or had to borrow someone else's memory to fill in your own.) She shrugs, looking happy for a beat; she's resolutely not going to wonder what being here means for everyone she knew on both sides of the world back home. Thus her parents are just waiting, Kohaku has his name back, and his freedom, and everyone at the bath house can live their life in the way they choose to, for reasons of their own. Maybe even regaining their names, too. ]
Even then, I was remembering what my mom had told me. It comes back, though. What we don't remember isn't forgotten, it's just what we haven't remembered yet.
[ ... that said, she's got more pep in her step as her chin lifts up and her eyes brighten and she's ready to move back into the bigger hall and find a real exit. Which is good, because even as she's doing that, and Kashuu is stepping away from the portrait...
... a dripping wet, grey skinned, taloned hand shoots out of the portrait (from the television, of course) and tries to grab at Chihiro. She ducks down with a surprised shriek, scrambling backward to escape the hand of the wide staring eyed unhappy spirit of the portrait-television-in-snow. ]