Already, it's time for another ferry full of newcomers, and Riku realizes with the sound of the foghorn that he isn't ready at all. Are any of them? They're still reeling from the incredible losses that came as a cost of connecting the lighthouse to the network.

Riku isn't a leader.

He's not a charismatic guy who can draw people to him, who can unite hearts like Sora can. He's not like Kairi, who can relate with almost anyone. Not like Daylight, who can light up a whole room with his effervescent personality. He isn't like Winters, with his calm, world-weary wisdom.

But he can plant himself on the end of the dock, can point newcomers to places like the Invincible, or the village over the bridge to find living quarters. He can show them where to get supplies in the General Store, or where the logbooks are kept, full of information people like them have written down about the place.

So there's this young man - certainly old enough to die for some countries, maybe not old enough to drink in them - giving directions and some curt advice, even some assistance with tablets for those struggling. Got a question? He's been here a while and seems helpful enough.

You know what? That "Yard Sard" isn't a bad idea.

It's not a decision easily come by, but every time he sees them - stacked up against the wall of the boat house, items requested and received, instead unused and neglected - Riku remembers their intended recipient. It knocks recklessly around in his heart, an angry bull in a china shop, and it's difficult enough to occupy a space that holds so many memories of people who aren't here anymore.

Mickey warned him. Remembering the ones you lost is good, until it becomes an obsession, a weight that drags a heart down into darkness, where it can't move forward and remains rooted in the regret of what's gone.

It's gotta go.

So he drops a moth-eaten blanket on a part of the square and puts each of these things there: a set of craft paints and brushes, three medium-sized painting canvases, a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle, as well as some other odds and ends, like an aluminum mess kit, canteen, canvas rucksack, and a hanging hammock.

Riku sits, he even tries his hand at practicing with the ocarina, his own is a blue one with a silver crescent moon and a star painted on its front (a garish hightlighter yellow one had caught his eye, but someone else claimed it first). One might find him gamely attempting to master a greeting, or the point at which he'd given up to nap, stretched out alongside the items up for the taking, his silver-haired head pillowed by his arms.

Not everything on the blanket is up for grabs or instantly visible. In his own backpack there are three sketchpads and an art supply kit. These are intended for a very special little girl, and one he owes an apology to.

And a hug or two, probably. Definitely at least one trip out to get one of the crab spirit's icy treats. Riku's not even the huggy type (on account of being so reserved, make no mistake, he's touch-starved and will take all the hugs she can give), and doesn't even have a sweet tooth.

But she'd probably like it.

Or at least a message. It arrives to her tablet, an invitation to meet up in Bonfire Square.

(nothing here that works for you? hit up my journal and we can work something out!)