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Click to hear their voice claims!
Music Video 4: Therefore, You and Me
YouTube Version
Text Transcripts
The video is set to an English cover by rolypolyphonic of the song "Therefore, You and Me" by TadanoCo and KTKT. The lyrics will be transcribed in brackets [ like this ] and precede a description of the scene that happens during them.
Scene transitions will be noted with an asterism, like this: ⁂
The video is fully coloured.
Content Warnings
- Flashing lights/bright colours
- Blood
- Abuse
- Animal death
A meatless curry's stored
What's the restriction for?
Saving room for a second course? ]
The scene opens with an illustration of a curry, beginning with the sketch and progressing into a fully-rendered painting. It then flashes into a two-toned illustration of black and blue.
A younger Bon and Bien are sat at the dining table. Bon is drinking a cup of hot tea while Bien, only a child here, watches them. The colours change randomly with each beat, before turning a saturated red, with the window in the background becoming cracked, eyes and a bird watching from outside.
A shoe without a pair
A clock without the hands
Partners without each other? ]
The growth of the Demons over the years is shown: from a twelve-year-old Bon, still the Herald, to their adult self, exasperated with their existence, reminders of their past found in the posters of their days as a celebrity. And then Bien, a child growing up in Exile before he realised what that means, his childhood filled with Memories of gifts and calm times with his father, folding origami birds and playing the piano, only to become more bitter as a barely-eighteen adult, his murderous tendencies becoming stronger.
The Marginals that presided over Bon's trial—the Curator, the Security, and the Media—are seen towering above the viewer, before transitioning into a silhoutte of themselves that reveal their right eyes, all with the appearance of clocks, and the Hands of Time behind them. In a split-second, we see the Media next to another version of himself, but with his clock-eye open, eyes watching them from above.
Bon holds Bien in their arms, their face hidden from view. Bien stares up at someone in childish innocence.
A bag full of refuse
Which one do you choose?
Do you refuse either? ]
Different snapshots of Bien's life growing up are shown: a child Bien sitting in the bathroom with a withdrawn and sulking Bon, the mirror behind them smashed and filled with the same eyes that always seem to be watching Bon; Bon holding a large trash bag dripping with blood, dragging a teenage Bien away from a crow he stabbed and mutilated; Bien holding a bottle of shampoo and a trash bag; and silhouttes of the two standing apart from each other, Bon looking irritated with Bien looking back at them with a more worried expression.
Summing up my avatar
You plus me are bound together,
Two souls for the price of one ]
The Media and the Curator bursts out of gilden golden frames, surrounded by Wires all around. The scene transitions into a recording of a younger "Bonnie" happily singing, before their figure becomes a red silhouette stained with black ink, their only feature being their sole Demonic eye. The background is filled with cryptic symbols.
A teenage Bon and an infant Bien are shown in similar frames, Bon lovingly watching their sleeping son. Their portraits transition into their older selves, Bon a miserable adult constantly feeling watched even under exile, and Bien a murderous teenager whose Demonic powers seem to be awakening. In the background are frames of Bien's first appearance from SIU.
Keep them close and don't let go
(In my eyes, you are
love itself!) ]
Bon hugs a teenage Bien, a sad expression on their face. Bien looks back at his guardian with a similarly dispirited look.
You and me, lovey-dovey
A result of love, as you see,
Of lost memories, as you see ]
The progression of Bien's life growing up is shown, each frame showing a stage of his life having a picture of Bon, now Scarecrow, in between. Scarecrow's face cannot be seen, and they are standing with one hand nervously rubbing at their arm, their large cape shielding most of their body.
A child Bien stands proudly holding sheets for piano lessons, surrounded by various gifts.
You and me, lovey-dovey
Of acquiring, as you see,
And of letting go, as you see ]
A teenage Bien looks shocked and concerned, holding the documents of his and his guardian's "permanent exile." In the background are the MargiBirds, some of them killed, and a splatter of blood and knives framing Bien like a halo.
You and me, lovey-dovey
Of acquiring, as you see,
And of letting go, as you see ]
Two Angels are enthusiastically trying to recruit Bien into the War, showing him an application form for the military. Both Angels have typical feminine humanoid forms, with one of the Angels having mechanical implants in her wings. The Angels wear large spectacles, matching uniforms and have triangular-shaped blush on their cheeks. One of the Angels alludes to the Undead.
You and me, lovey-dovey ]
Bien is dressed in a typical foot soldier's uniform, surrounded by guns and other weapons. He holds a photograph in his hand. The scene darkens and transition to his Undead form. Bien is covered in blood, his skeleton visible through his clothes and his Demon wings and tail sprouting out.
Ava talks to Bien through her radio. "From Start to Finish, the Story of a World exists through the recursion of four things: the Hands of Time, the Holding of Space, the Judgement of the Living, and the Voice of Reality."
In the background, the following text can be read:
Government-Mandated Text that Forces You to Pause Because It Flashes By Too Quickly Which is Now Considered a Trademark of the Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned Experience.
And now, an Intermission from our sponsor: It who Narrates all of Reality into Being, Some kind of personification of the Wires because the Media really likes gijinkas, Universal Anti-Viral Agent, the Voice of Reality.
Bien sits cross-legged on the floor of his bunker, surrounded by assorted merchandise of "Bonnie", staring apathetically at Ava, who continues lecturing him. "… To reiterate. Again. Repeatedly!
"What is 'Real' within this Universe is whatever this Universe Remembers to be Real, meaning the Present and Future are but what the Universe believes to be a logical continuation of its Past…
"Or well, what it believes to be its Past.
"Each Universe has its own sense of internal logic, that is to say its Infrastructure, that serves as a sort of "Law" for what the Universe is willing to believe about itself.
"Say, if you were to observe a Marginal from the Inside, you may believe the Objects within them are convoluted or even impossible, but as the Infrastructure of their own World dictates, as long as the Marginal believes it to be Real, it will be for their World.
"The manipulation of Reality is, put highly simplistically, done by convincing the world that what you are trying to fabricate has been Real all along. The Marginals have their own method of doing this for themselves.
"'Convincing' the Living World is far more complicated: as it is still Alive, it will attempt to re-check how much one's manipulations align with the Past it Remembers, and will rectify any 'plot holes' it detects."
"Huge if true," Bien comments.
Ava continues. "All these tasks we perform seem mundane and incomplete on a superficial level, but they will trigger a butterfly effect that will rewrite the Universe's Memories, and the Present and Future will "write" itself accordingly.
"Quite frankly, as this is a daunting task, before we start rewriting this World's Narrative for Real, I suppose we ought to conduct a beta test of sorts?"
Bien answers, "… I don't get it."
Bien types something on his laptop, Wires surrounding him. The colours shift to the same blue from the beginning of the video, zooming in on Bien. Bien blinks and looks to the side, his eye changing to a shade of magenta.
A magenta MargiBird bursts out of the blue bird from Chapter 6.
The colours shift to a bright magenta. It seems the timeline has shifted…
Bien awakens from a dream in a cold sweat.
| [ Chopstick without a match | All of the things we lack |
| A shoe without a pair | Short by a single hair |
| A clock without the hands | Without a point or plan |
| Partners without | each other? |
Portraits of the characters, each separated by a Wire, are shown. When the Wires shift from blue to magenta, alternate versions of everyone are shown, rendered in a sharper art style.
In this "shifted" timeline, Media looks more insidious. The crow on his cap has its eyes close and he wears a golden wedding band. Bon and Bien are rendered in their more "Human" form, wearing matching blue military-esque uniforms. Captain Bon's hair only goes up to her chest, styled as bubble braids. Meanwhile, Bien notably has robotic hands. Jacques has a timid expression, wearing his High Judge crown, a stringy ink-like ribbon and a ring that matches Media's, splatters of ink across him.
Charlotte, Bread, Anthony and Mirasol are then shown in their usual appearances. The "shift" shows their alternate forms. Charlotte, dressed in her celemarketer uniform, looks highly concerned at something on her phone. Bread's face is in shadow, showing only her right eye, a bright green and with a more intimidating expression. A crack on her face shows multiple eyes. The other Breadlings modify her body, as she steps forward kicking the "screen", a cracking effect all over it. Anthony has his eyes back, although only his right eye is visible from this angle, showing that his eye is brown. He has slightly shorter hair held back by a blue and white hairclip overlapping each other to form an X shape, and he wears a hoodie of the same colours. A MargiBird rests on his hand. Mirasol is nowhere to be seen.
Bien in his soldier uniform is rendered in blue. He swings his arm down…
And the "other" Bien, now in magenta, is seen with his hand chopped off, blood splattered on the wall. Media, his hand shape-shifted into a large scythe, grins at him nefariously.
Bien looks back at his "family": Bon, the "Captain", walks away, irritation on their face. Media looks back at her as he goes the other way, taking Jacques with him despite Jacques attempting to reach out to Captain.
Upright, you write a decision into light
As you see, your presence is illuminated here
Yet like a ghost, left unseen in the air ]
Bien enters a dark library. He takes a notebook from a shelf labelled "Marginal Notes", looking at it incredulously. Suddenly, the lights in the room flicker on as Captain enters, Bien jumping back in surprise.
Captain seems to berate Bien for entering the room, but leaves shortly after, Bien laughing nervously as he hides the notebook under his clothes. The scene briefly flickers to show Scarecrow in place of Captain. Bien watches as Captain leaves, his expression falling into sadness.
Don't gloss it's over, it's fine to finally shine a light
Onto all of these awful things and reveal the ghosts
You and I, two selfish ghosts ]
Bien leaves the room, passing by a portrait of the previous High Judge Anthony. The portrait's eyes turn to look at Bien, who carried the notebook out with him and retrieved it from his coat. He opens a random page and his eyes widen at what he finds inside…
Although the exact contents of the notebook aren't revealed, it seems to have something to do with Scarecrow, who is shown as a silhouette turned away from the camera, a MargiBird watching them as smoke flows out of their gun.
You and me, lovey-dovey
A result of trust, as you see
Of lost loyalty, as you see ]
The scenes progress through the "other" Bien's life, with each scene showing Captain in between. Captain is turned completely away from the camera, as if leaving.
Bien undertakes a "Livingisation" ceremony held by the Media and Jacques, similar to the one Bon went through when Project Maldevaran started.
You and me, lovey-dovey
Of simply "being", as you see
Of being left unseen, as you see ]
Bien walks through the city, his hands now robotic. His eyes dart around and a bead of sweat rolls down his cheek as he observes himself being surrounded by MargiBirds perched across the electrical posts of the streets.
Forever, lovey-dovey
Just so we can live, is that it?
Just so we can die, is that it? ]
Bien is studying in a library, frustrated with whatever he's reading.
Forever, lovey-dovey ]
Bien stands frozen in place, still poring through the notebook he stole. Blue Wires can be seen in the background.
You and me, lovey-dovey
Is there anything left to see?
Is there anything left for me? ]
Bon and Bien circle each other, shifting between the different "versions" of themselves, before the scene morphs into a MargiBird flying and disappearing.
The different scenes of Bien's childhood, from both timelines, overlap one another, a Demon's eye overlaying the final frame.
⁂Marginal Notes 1
An Angel has given me a few enchanted notebooks for the purpose of my research. I never got around to writing down any notes because living in the Court meant that whatever information it is I jot down gets distorted anyway. Having lived with the Marginals nearly all my life really makes it easy to forget that Reality outside is, well, consistent.
I guess I'm kinda disappointed. Sneaking out is dangerous and if one of the other Judges snitches I'm done for, but I was hoping the Angels would have better answers, working under the pretense the immortals actually remember the Grand Beginning, the Big Bang, the Vast Tweet, whatever it is.
Turns out Angels on Earth can't remember anything about Heaven.
Well, context for posterity jotted down, I'm going to start with a basic outline. While I probably shouldn't waste magic paper, in my defence I have never actually written anything outside Trial reports before and we don't get credit for brevity or clearness.
1. There are three immortal species: The Angels are the oldest, and the Demons are either the same age as Marginals or somewhat older.
- Owed to the fact that the first Marginals (Marginal?) are different enough from the current ones to potentially count as a different… "species" (?). Not sure to what extent evolution applies to immortals the way it does to the living.
2. The Marginals, while having their own set "identities" per "World", are all interconnected to the "First Marginal," of which "the Media" is the current (version/iteration/descendant).
3. While the First Marginal/s was likely to be "born" naturally, their "evolution" into the current state of the species is facilitated by artificial methods: specifically, the use of technology and a "symbiotic" relationship with the living.
- As the Marginals are all connected through a "network" (?) of sorts, "maintenance" of their species is done collectively. So any problems with one Marginal are dealt with immediately to avoid spreading and any positive development for one can easily be passed on to the others. While the details of how they do this are vague, it seems the High Judge is made aware of the specifics?
* I have talked to Renaia Parisille only once, and she mentioned in passing the use of a "robot voice," although I didn't get any more helpful information before the Media got in the way.
- The Marginals are made of "Mindstuff" (?) and use Memories as their "food," but apparently are unable to make "new" things on their own. Their goal in "development of the Living" is to make new Memories here in our world.
* It seems they have a particular liking for things that we can loosely define as "creations": that is, art, literature, music, recipes, inventions, etc. It makes sense if we presume events can only happen in their worlds if they're copying a memory, although they have an extreme aversion to actually getting involved in things themselves here on earth, and almost always keep themselves isolated.
I figured it would make more sense for them to want to "immerse" themselves in "living" experiences considering how much they want to copy us, so I have yet to get this contradiction (?)
Oh wait, I just remembered a thought about the Judges. This outline is going to get out of order but who gives a fuck.
Marginals are collectivist as a species due to the "network" I mentioned earlier and it seems they're intent on projecting their own sense of ethics on us at least partially. I first discredited the idea as kinda shallow, in the sense that I didn't think the Marginals cared about what we did as long as we made art and shit for them, although after observation it seems they really are just… like that.
In hindsight, it's actually consistent with their "culture" because they really act like obnoxious religious fundamentalists even worse than those insurance-selling feathered freaks.
The Judges are separated from the communities for this reason.
We're mostly made to do mundane tasks ("Trials") like looking at and analysing various works of media (ain't sure where they get it from, as apparently it's not from… the rest of the world outside the Court?), memorising "Codes" and boring chores like housework, gardening, errands, etc… although we're officially "politicians," we don't actually do any… politicianing.
I have a hunch that despite how they say Trials are essential for the development of the Living, I think they just keep us here as fancy pets? Like, we have to abide to their ethics and culture because they get off of it, I guess. What more can one expect from the alien overlords. We've seen the movies.
Only reason they can't enforce it over the rest of the living is that they're gonna need somebody to make the Arts for them or they'll start to… not-death.
Still, even then they don't interact with us directly too much so it sill leaves the question of why they want to copy living experiences but not fraternise with the Living?
Like, maybe as the "superior" species they just look down on us and refuse to see us as friends, but they do seem to hold the living in high regard so it wouldn't be too consistent of them?
I mean, I've considered the possibility that they're lying and they just hold our hands and spread feel-goodsy All the Living are Loved propaganda so we keep working for them, but their convoluted "Sense of Ethics" is always making a point about what is "Real" and what is not, and blurring the boundary of fantasy and reality and spreading any form of dishonesty seems to be one of the more taboo things in their culture, for both moral and pragmatic reasons.
I mean, they already have the cult-y undertones to make it sound plausible that their ethics are just inconsistent and that they're hypocrites, although the Angels did tell me that while the Marginals are "ireedeemably Evil Viruses to Reality" they abide pretty strongly to their own Laws not just out of a sense of pride but because it's essential for the stability of their species.
I'll get back to the outline later I need to lay down a few simple tenets for a potential future plan. Well, all plans are potential, and for the future, if you think about it, although having "future" vision that is at least partially retroactive makes that dubious, but I digress: it seems controlling Reality, or specifically manipulating Time, is contingent on the Marginals themselves, and the closest thing to "killing" one is getting them to break their own Laws. If I want to get rid of all my horrendous visions then I
"… Bien?
"Bon said you were in our study."
Bien looks back from the notebook to see the person who spoke, to find Jacques standing by the door.
He looks worried. "I know it must be difficult to be left out all of these… secrets, but you really shouldn't be prying around the M—"
Before Jacques can finish speaking, the Media approaches from behind.
A shoe without a pair
A clock without the hands
Partners without each other? ]
The video ends with a static shot of Ava.
mfw when the birds
"Yeah, yeah, funny future business, all of matter starts occupying the same space, all of time collapses into itself, all the Dead Heralds return to seize the women and children. I've heard enough crazy conspiracy theories from you lot, now can you let me get back to work, Mister… Anthony, was it?"
The Angel adjusts her shades and returns to her phone, tap-tap-tapping away with the same sharp manicured nails used to harvest Souls. Her face scrunches in disappointment at the statistics on the screen: only sixteen insurance policies sold this month. Not going to reach her quota.
And she was so looking forward to that raise, saving up for her sixth summer home. Time is of the essence.
"Well, I saw that the Demons of yore would come back, not necessarily that they would seize the women and children," the Judge utters with the clinical detachment all prophecies must be uttered with. The volume of his voice wavers as he looks around him, all the streets-busy lights-flashy people-talky of the Outside World, his own nails bitten to the nub scratching at the skin of his hands. Although he presented all his visions to the rest of the Court with the unbridled confidence of any mediocre man in the middle of his twenties and his "not like other fortune-tellers" phase, only now that a supranatural creature of the Heavens has rebuffed his theories that it sinks into him how distinctly… out-of-place it is for a Judge (of his… calibre, no less) to be here, the Outside, in Public Living Space, with the Public Living Peoples.
"Is there, like, something I can give you to get you to consider my questions seriously?" his eyes scuttle around him in anticipation of something only he'll be able to see, something he can use as evidence. He hears a soft ticking in his head. "It's kinda important, considering I snuck out without permission and I'm already in bad blood with the rest of the Neofrenian Court for. Reasons. They'll have my head for this. This is my only chance."
The Angel shrugs and lets out a sigh, too exasperated to even make a real display of condescension, "Looksee, babyface, us Angels only care about two things: our credits and Souls. Only the higher-ups have the means to pay us, and Judge Souls are pocket lint. I ain't picking yours until we're desperate, and the Marginals have given a guesstimate of at least a few more hundred years before this place ups and goes poolside."
"What?"
"Dies."
"Oh." A few hundred years. Shit. You've read once (from a book that was definitely Illegal for you to possess) that the average Human lifespan was only around 70 or 80, to get to 100 was a rare occurrence. That was from before the Marginals took over though. Now you'll be lucky if you even Die before the Apocalypse rears its ugly, potentially-seizing head.
"Even if I wanted to help you, I'm just a celemarketer," the Angel continues, "and us celemarketers don't have any Memories of Heaven, or the Margins, or whatever it was that went between them. And we're not allowed to pry. All we know is that the Marginals owe us something, but we can't get rid of them because we owe them something back."
Anthony opens his mouth to respond but is immediately shushed with a finger to the lips and a dismissive eye roll. "Ain't wanna listen to your words, future-boy. You gotta accept you're just insane because living near the Marginals is liquifying your head."
He shoves the hand away and is mildly surprised at how small it is. Human-sized. Part of him was expecting the Angels to be… titanic. Or at least tall. No time to mull over baseless preconceptions now. Now is the time to mull over baseless foreconceptions in an effort to keep her preoccupied until he can present a point of intrigue. "For the other guys, at least. I've had my visions since birth."
She raises an eyebrow and lowers her orange-tinted glasses just a tad, trying to commit the intrusive weirdo's visage to Memory. "So? You've been crazy since birth. Crazy can be genetic."
Click, click, caw. The croon of clairvoyance clatters by quietly enough to almost miss: to anybody else, it would feel like a Memory, but the Judge has had two decades of practice of sifting the visions apart from everything else, and he clasps at it with clarity. "It's going to rain."
"What?"
"In one minute."
The Angel crosses her arms, phone held in a manner Anthony notes as… precarious, and taps her foot in a display of impatience but makes no attempt to leave. He takes this as a positive sign. "You could have seen that on the telly."
"To the minute even, huh? That sound realistic? A murder of crows is going to stalk me while it rains. Does the news predict that, too?"
The Angel scoffs but spawns an umbrella anyway. A very positive sign. They stand next to each other in silence, waiting for the forecast to come to be.
The one minute lasted a whole lifetime, as he took to observing the surroundings around him. When was the last occasion he'd ever been Outside? The idea of the Outside had been brewing a romanticized, sparkling river of sublimity inside his head (what isolation does to a child, Judge Syndrome, a tendency for "creative thinking," call it what you want), but standing here now in the Here and the Now of it all, it was… Well, it was surely full, he could say that much. Colours blurred into crystalline obfuscation, and noises overlapped one another in a spectrum of spikes. He had expected from himself a more starry-eyed reaction but experiencing it in the flesh just made him feel… annoyed.
Guess he did inherit a few quirks from the Marginals.
It starts out as modest drops at first, then it cascades, the liminal space between "shower" and "rain" lost in his Memory to the sound of a crow perched on a power line overhead. As the downpour grows heavier, as the colour and noise of the Living subside in place of cold and concrete and rooftop and grey, the more of those infernal creatures come to gawk at them, unperturbed by the gravity of water, their eyes fixated only on the fool who called himself a prophet.
The Angel considers arguing, bringing up Ye Old Reliable of Logic, but decides against it. The rain's strong enough to drown such a small creature that any ordinary avian would be deterred, and while some leniency could be given to a few stupid birds, an entire posse of stupid birds who watch stupid soothsayers is a bit too much. And honest to Heaven? Those birds look intimidating as Hell, their gaze an intensity one would not associate with any mortal creature, much less the humble bird, and it might just be the rain and the loco-in-the-coco guy next to her that's setting the mood, but she's setting her mood to I am not paid enough to fuck with the sky rats.
Anthony doesn't even realise how long he's been staring back at the flock in a daze until the Angel tap-tap-taps him on the shoulder, click, click, caw, I kinda have to go back to work.
She shrugs again, more nervous habit now than anything, and hands him the umbrella. Before he can question her any further, he's given a few red notebooks, each one only in the tens of pages long.
"Yeah, well, future vision. Rain, murder, traumatic memories and all. Sounds, uh, funky," she says, tone losing all its previous bite. "Like I said, I'm a celemarketer. Not really my jurisdiction, ya know? But uh, I'll let a higher-up know. In the meanwhile, you can do your… Marginal research or whatever with these. I know it's not a lot of paper, but hey, making these things are hard. They're warp-proof. Like, even around the Marginals, what you write in it won't just… shift."
"Oh. Thanks." Anthony takes the notebooks and places them into the satchel he brought with him (also Illegal to own), taking care not to crease any of them. Despite himself, he can't help but feel… unpleasant at the thought of accepting a gift. But accept it he does, and the Angel sprouts her wings, tap-tap-taps her toes on the ground for extra measure, before hovering off the surface.
"Well, if your ‘visions' are of any interest to my bosses then uh, they'll get in touch."
"The Marginals probably won't like that."
"Like we're going to let that talking stamp pad get in our way again."
