Damn, coulda made Adamas a motorcycle instead.
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And now the waifu-constructs have appeared. woooo
Against the strike of a hero at the apex of Fenian Cycle, even Gawain's prized steed could not win out. Lesser men would have dismissed such a blow as a wasteful impossibility, the differences in mass and stability too much to overcome, but Diarmuid was certainly no lesser being. The red-eared charger lurched forward, its front legs swept, and for a moment, Gawain looked as if he'd be unhorsed as well.
But Gringolet too, was no lesser steed.
Kicking up with his back legs, legs that could leap over impossible traverses at the behest of the ambitious boy-knight, the horse front-flipped, sailing high in the air. Gawain remained mounted the entire time, thighs locked tight against the sides of his mount as he swung a second time whilst upside down. Whistling of death, the polished longsword swung for Diarmuid's head in a very familiar fashion.
Cheeky. Very cheeky. Gawain's grin certainly could be described as 'shit-eating.'
Gringolet landed moments after that exchange, hooves crushing the pavement before immediately springing up, another charge in motion.
@Reflection
Late Noon///Floor 3
He had the angle again.
Shallow breaths, steady heart. He was an archer, a sniper. Had no reason to approach, no reason to be brave. His worth was in his accuracy. Speed, power, penetrating force, all that laid in his equipment. He aimed.
Only have one job, Varanense.
And fired.
A heavy bolt, fired from a massive crossbow, shot across the room, over the hole, and right towards the lizard's left eye. Monstrous or not, the eyes were a common weakpoint, after all. He just hoped everyone else would follow up afterwards, so the massive creature didn't aggro on him.
"Hey, Dahlia, you will jump in if things get terribad, yeah?"
The third floor…now, that was interesting. Her curiosity was definitely stoked by the blackened area. Was it forbidden? Was it merely unexplored? Was it a special private residence? But exploration right now wasn’t something Cecilia was wholly down for, and she’d rather work up a healthy sweat instead. Tire herself out enough that she could fall right the hell to sleep.
“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout not me not being able to find anyone,” the lavender-haired lady spoke, winking, “Us girls know how to make do.”
With that, Cecilia turned to the rest of the people who had gathered there. Some of them looked more worn-down than the others, but most of them were sane, most of them weren’t in a rush. The night was getting late, after all, and unlike a certain fluffy-haired mechanic, none of them had energy that bordered frenetic. She took a deep breath, recalled the vocal lessons she had before, pictured herself as the perfect Firestarter: bright and bold, a smile like the sun, with the charisma to draw everyone in with words alone. She was already a woman of uncommon beauty, and she knew it. If she couldn’t draw the eyes of every player in this room, what future did she have as an actress?
None, that’s what.
Standing with the stormy sea as her backdrop, Cecilia spoke loudly and brightly, gaze focused enough to give the impression that she was looking at every person individually. “Good evening, fellow adventurers! I am Cecilia Tonitrus, of Last Genesis, and honestly? After all the crazy stuff that had just happened, I’m definitely not going to be able to get any sleep at all, and I’m sure you all share the same sentiment. But we have new actions and spells to try out and new equipment to break in, and a brand new Arena to make our home! This, then, is what I propose. Let’s set up a round robin tournament! Every participant pays 100 Renn to form a prize pool, and the person who walks out with the most wins also walks out with the most money.”
A smile, blindingly confident with an undercurrent of competitiveness. “Have fun, get good, and maybe earn a whole buncha money. Can’t see any better way to cap off the night, to be honest. So, what do you all think? Wanna fight me?”
Siwon, Ettamri, Katya, Argen, Renault - Departure
With their trajectory set, even the appearance of the mysterious, foul object within the otherwise clear waters was insufficient to dissuading Ettamri from continuing on. Prepared to continue their journey, the group of adventurers traveled down the river, Argen given the privilege of leading the horses. It was somewhat difficult for the silver-eyed man to start with, his own swift steps out of tempo with the plodding nature of the wagon, but practice made competent, and soon enough, they were all traveling at a decent pace. In terms of distance made, it was looking less and less likely that they would be meeting their goal, but at the very least, they could go down to the frozen swamps with relatively light hearts; Argen's vigilance during the scouting mission ensured that the (merry) band could now travel without fear that they'd be immediately jumped. Katya was sitting in the back of the wagon again, singing that annoying song that never had an end, and none of them had lunch yet, but movement suppressed their hunger pangs.
Soon enough, they would settle down for the night, and when their appetite awakened then? Oh boy, even dried crackers would taste delicious.
As the gray skies above turned bluer and bluer, the temperature fell as well, cold, dry winds slicing into exposed skin. The small priest had hopped off the wagon at this point, walking with the rest of the group to encourage some warmth through movement, but even then, the novelty of winter traveling had worn thin, especially when the remaining party wasn't inclined to make conversation at all. Perhaps Oscar would have something to say. Perhaps Muu would start up shit. It was cold and it was boring, and soon enough, it was snowing as well. Fluffy flakes fell lightly at first, enough to stoke some excitement from Katya; the young girl tried catching them on the tip of her tongue, blinking furiously when they got in her eyes instead. But then it began to snow harder. And harder. And harder.
Furs gained a second, white layer, while the tracks that they left behind were swiftly becoming less and less distinct. How long had it been since they had crossed over the shallow streambeds in the swamp, following the example of the wagon tracks Argen and Renault found? How many landscapes were there, and were the tracks still there as well? Even if they left extra landmarks now, an upright stick or whatnot, could that truly be seen in the worsening visibility? The skies darkened further, the winds growing colder, the snow falling harder. Around them, it was becoming harder to see what laid ahead. By the time night truly fell, it may be too late to build a shelter, but if they pressed on, doubling their pace, perhaps they'd get into the lightly wooded areas that Ettamri's map indicated, and thus, actually have materials to work with.
Oscar and Muu - Returning to Nothing
The camp was empty by the time the two returned, only snowmelt and scattered ashes indicating that the wagon had once been there. Ettamri hadn't waited for them after all. It was disheartening, but, if Muu were to be believed, also perfectly normal for the heartless warrior. Nevermind that though, the tracks left behind were clear enough. Oscar wasn't even needed to follow the clear footprints left in the snow, deep trails left by heavy wagon wheels. So the two set off, down the stream, following the tracks further and further down.
Everything was still going well, everything was still going smoothly. Shadowing the wagon's trail meant that they would be avoiding any possible traps set up in the snow as well, and if push came to shove, it was much easier for two lightly-equipped adventurers to go into hiding compared to a whole wagon, horses, and a big ass rude knight. Setting a good pace, the Bladedancer and the Ranger traveled smoothly down, noted how the iced over mud formed a more solid foothold than snow, enjoyed the sight of the river spreading out into dozens of silver streams, like an unraveling rope. Snow was beginning to fall at this point, soft flakes beginning to obscure the tracks, but now Oscar could shine; his eyes were much keener than Muu's when it came to finding irregularities in the wilderness, and though light faded further as the sun fell behind the mountains, everything was still fine. They would catch up soon enough. The wagon crew would have to stop before nightfall in order to set up camp, while the two adventurers could continue to travel and catch up. This was fine.
Snow fell more. They crossed the spread-out waters, following the trail. Visibility grew poorer. One had to shield their eyes from icy flakes now, but discomfort was an old, belligerent friend to all but the newest members of the Silver Moon Army. Oscar lead the way, Muu served as a second set of eyes. There was nothing to be concerned about, nothing to be afraid of.
Until, of course, Oscar picked up two separate wagon tracks, splitting off in different directions, both accompanied by footprints that were quickly disappearing in the snowfall. It was getting colder now. They couldn't afford to explore both branches, but the swamp afforded little in terms of natural shelter as well. Visibility was worsening; even if the advance party could stoke a fire in such weather, could the two of them spot it through the heavy snow? What other choices do they have though? Life and death may be decided in what was essentially a coin flip.
But then again, the threat of death too, was simply an old, belligerent friend.
It was time to decide. What would they do?
With their trajectory set, even the appearance of the mysterious, foul object within the otherwise clear waters was insufficient to dissuading Ettamri from continuing on. Prepared to continue their journey, the group of adventurers traveled down the river, Argen given the privilege of leading the horses. It was somewhat difficult for the silver-eyed man to start with, his own swift steps out of tempo with the plodding nature of the wagon, but practice made competent, and soon enough, they were all traveling at a decent pace. In terms of distance made, it was looking less and less likely that they would be meeting their goal, but at the very least, they could go down to the frozen swamps with relatively light hearts; Argen's vigilance during the scouting mission ensured that the (merry) band could now travel without fear that they'd be immediately jumped. Katya was sitting in the back of the wagon again, singing that annoying song that never had an end, and none of them had lunch yet, but movement suppressed their hunger pangs.
Soon enough, they would settle down for the night, and when their appetite awakened then? Oh boy, even dried crackers would taste delicious.
As the gray skies above turned bluer and bluer, the temperature fell as well, cold, dry winds slicing into exposed skin. The small priest had hopped off the wagon at this point, walking with the rest of the group to encourage some warmth through movement, but even then, the novelty of winter traveling had worn thin, especially when the remaining party wasn't inclined to make conversation at all. Perhaps Oscar would have something to say. Perhaps Muu would start up shit. It was cold and it was boring, and soon enough, it was snowing as well. Fluffy flakes fell lightly at first, enough to stoke some excitement from Katya; the young girl tried catching them on the tip of her tongue, blinking furiously when they got in her eyes instead. But then it began to snow harder. And harder. And harder.
Furs gained a second, white layer, while the tracks that they left behind were swiftly becoming less and less distinct. How long had it been since they had crossed over the shallow streambeds in the swamp, following the example of the wagon tracks Argen and Renault found? How many landscapes were there, and were the tracks still there as well? Even if they left extra landmarks now, an upright stick or whatnot, could that truly be seen in the worsening visibility? The skies darkened further, the winds growing colder, the snow falling harder. Around them, it was becoming harder to see what laid ahead. By the time night truly fell, it may be too late to build a shelter, but if they pressed on, doubling their pace, perhaps they'd get into the lightly wooded areas that Ettamri's map indicated, and thus, actually have materials to work with.
Oscar and Muu - Returning to Nothing
The camp was empty by the time the two returned, only snowmelt and scattered ashes indicating that the wagon had once been there. Ettamri hadn't waited for them after all. It was disheartening, but, if Muu were to be believed, also perfectly normal for the heartless warrior. Nevermind that though, the tracks left behind were clear enough. Oscar wasn't even needed to follow the clear footprints left in the snow, deep trails left by heavy wagon wheels. So the two set off, down the stream, following the tracks further and further down.
Everything was still going well, everything was still going smoothly. Shadowing the wagon's trail meant that they would be avoiding any possible traps set up in the snow as well, and if push came to shove, it was much easier for two lightly-equipped adventurers to go into hiding compared to a whole wagon, horses, and a big ass rude knight. Setting a good pace, the Bladedancer and the Ranger traveled smoothly down, noted how the iced over mud formed a more solid foothold than snow, enjoyed the sight of the river spreading out into dozens of silver streams, like an unraveling rope. Snow was beginning to fall at this point, soft flakes beginning to obscure the tracks, but now Oscar could shine; his eyes were much keener than Muu's when it came to finding irregularities in the wilderness, and though light faded further as the sun fell behind the mountains, everything was still fine. They would catch up soon enough. The wagon crew would have to stop before nightfall in order to set up camp, while the two adventurers could continue to travel and catch up. This was fine.
Snow fell more. They crossed the spread-out waters, following the trail. Visibility grew poorer. One had to shield their eyes from icy flakes now, but discomfort was an old, belligerent friend to all but the newest members of the Silver Moon Army. Oscar lead the way, Muu served as a second set of eyes. There was nothing to be concerned about, nothing to be afraid of.
Until, of course, Oscar picked up two separate wagon tracks, splitting off in different directions, both accompanied by footprints that were quickly disappearing in the snowfall. It was getting colder now. They couldn't afford to explore both branches, but the swamp afforded little in terms of natural shelter as well. Visibility was worsening; even if the advance party could stoke a fire in such weather, could the two of them spot it through the heavy snow? What other choices do they have though? Life and death may be decided in what was essentially a coin flip.
But then again, the threat of death too, was simply an old, belligerent friend.
It was time to decide. What would they do?
Knight of Fionn? Diarmuid was selling himself short if he was unwilling to place 'greatest' within his title. The words that he shared, of Fuyuki and separation, meant little to Gawain, but the intention was enough. The time for words was over. Now, it was time to learn of each other through crossing blades. Power surged in his own body, his heart pounding like a wardrum before this mighty foe. Beneath, Gringolet snorted, hot breath gushing out as his muscles rippled underneath the armor.
There was no trick of light; Gawain was smiling with all he had, fierce and proud before the man who called him 'formidable.' Their pedigree was different, their statures night and day, one in the prime of their life, another in the apex of their ambition. But Fate had allowed them to cross paths, and there was no gift greater than that. He may have been still a child, his aspirations having yet to meet his legend, but he certainly didn't need an observer to tell him that.
"You don't need to tell me that!"
As Diarmuid charged, so did Gawain, a flick of his reins propelling Gringolet forwards. A mass of muscle surged up as the charger leapt, and with a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, their blades rang. Sparks scattered like a meteor shower, and the Knight of the Surcoat felt the impact resound through his entire body. Powerful and swift, all contained within a human body. It sent shivers in his spine and made his heart roar with further anticipation. Driven back down, fractures burst as Gringolet's hooves collided against the pavement, the charger neighing in indignation. But it was only the first clash. It was only their first exchange. The pressure that pushed down upon the duo could not be ignored, but the pressure to overcome this wall was a far greater agitator.
With a warcry (that may have been a little more high-pitched than he'd have liked), the mounted Gawain charged down upon the landed Diarmuid, sword striking down in a vertical arc to prevent aerial escape.
@Reflection
A Bounded Field? A Reality Marble? A Noble Phantasm? Gawain knew not the specifics of the trickery that had befallen him, but at least it gave him reason to not be too disheartened about failing to gain any ground on someone who was on foot. As the world around him looped faster and faster, the space he traversed shortening evermore, the pale knight drew a sharp breath. He wasn't trapped in here. He wasn't trapped in here. He wasn't trapped in here!
CRACK.
And he wasn't alone.
What panic managed to claw into his heart was quelled by the presence of the blade that swept for his neck. With a snap of his reins, Gawain bid Gringolet to slide down, the powerful charger's side grazing against the pavement as the sash-wearing swordsman flew overhead. His ambush worth only a few strands of Gawain's hair, and it was his words that lingered longer. After danger had passed by, Gringolet found his feet again, and Gawain found his sword, the polished steel bright in the light of the streetlamps. For a moment, the adrenaline urged him to rush the man down, to engage in a proper duel after that miserable 'chase' and that insulting ambush. But though Gawain could not recall all that much, there was one thing that he was certain of.
The Director of Chaldea, the Order he now served, was female. That was like, double the reason not to immediately take this Saber's head. Time to talk like people, rather than...non-people. Thank God the man wasn't a Berserker, really.
"If you're gonna apologize, do so before you try beheading me, bud," Gawain spoke, irritated but not all too put off. "Honestly though, maybe if you explained the circumstances, I can head back and inform the ladies of the situation? I'd rather the world not be destroyed either, so, hey. Speak up. What on Earth's going on here? Name too, yeah?"
Unless he was totally reading this wrong, and Fastleg Ambusher was actually totally down for destroying the world. Gawain's grip on his sword tightened slightly.
"I'm Gawain, by the by. Not yet that Gawain, if you catch my drift, but pretty close, I'd say."
@Reflection
@banjoanjo@OwO@AdmrlStalfos19@Savo@Asuras
Short little segment of time. Feel free to @ me if there's anything collab-y you wanna do. Otherwise, I'mma gonna chill.
Short little segment of time. Feel free to @ me if there's anything collab-y you wanna do. Otherwise, I'mma gonna chill.
Everywhere and Nowhere
In a kinder world, the boy would have said something, would have given any indication that he had heard her words. But he did nothing but bleed, becoming grayer and grayer, the blood from the back of his head soaking into her jeans. Eventually, paramedics arrived, prying Miyane away from him, their actions speaking enough. Fingers against the wrist, a shake of the head, and they turned their attention to Daehyun instead, the one who could be saved.
If she had been smarter, more capable, perhaps this conversation would have been the breakthrough. Maybe the conclusion would be to gently support the truant child. Maybe the conclusion would be to stubbornly approach her family unit in search for answers. There were myriads of possible solutions, but they were useless if Tsurushi did not come to any of them by herself. Her psychiatrist wasn’t here to aid her with professional development, after all. She could say ‘yes, you are making excuses, but no, you don’t need to apologize for them’ or she could say ‘no, you’re not making excuses, some schools certainly do just try to ignore their troublemakers’, but Tsurushi was the teacher, not Hisui. And in the end, there were no answers, only a somewhat pleasant sensation left behind by being able to put her problems out there, by being able to make someone else understand them.
In a more just world, she wouldn’t have to run at all, her enemies tried and found guilty, the gravity of the crimes enough to sentence them to death. Wouldn’t have to do it herself, wouldn’t have to taste viscera as it seeped into her throat, while the rest of the world saw that boy as only a boy, and her as the monster. But that was fine. The world was shit, and only those willing to get knee-deep into it would go anywhere. They broke into a car, jumpstarted it, and were off, tinted windows hiding their crimson countenances. Neither of them had licenses, but then again. What was one more crime, at this point?
If she had been sharper, more astute, perhaps she could have put the pieces together more easily, could have leveraged her connections more effectively. But the questions posed raised suspicions again, brown eyes narrowing, a nervous twitchiness entering Kiwa’s stance once more. Only non-committal, vague responses followed. She only knew that her ‘stalker’ rode motorbikes, and she suggested that Mana avoid them as well. She only knew that Ahmya was going through a rough patch in life, and she suggested that Mana help her out if she asks, but not get involved otherwise. She apologized again and, with the abruptness of someone who didn’t know how to end a conversation but had to anyways, left, clutching her bag against her chest. And, like that, Mana was alone.
In a warmer world, he would’ve gotten a proper response, an answer, a question, something that he’d be able to latch onto. But he was half-foreigner, and the kid before him was simply...a kid. Seeing him approach, the teenager immediately pocketed his phone, stammered out a response, and left quickly, running out of the livehouse. Soon after, the police had come, armed with harmless smiles and notepads. There was no escape now, especially not for someone personally involved.
In a gray world where sunshine only emerged in infrequent patches, the day passed on into night.
If she had been smarter, more capable, perhaps this conversation would have been the breakthrough. Maybe the conclusion would be to gently support the truant child. Maybe the conclusion would be to stubbornly approach her family unit in search for answers. There were myriads of possible solutions, but they were useless if Tsurushi did not come to any of them by herself. Her psychiatrist wasn’t here to aid her with professional development, after all. She could say ‘yes, you are making excuses, but no, you don’t need to apologize for them’ or she could say ‘no, you’re not making excuses, some schools certainly do just try to ignore their troublemakers’, but Tsurushi was the teacher, not Hisui. And in the end, there were no answers, only a somewhat pleasant sensation left behind by being able to put her problems out there, by being able to make someone else understand them.
In a more just world, she wouldn’t have to run at all, her enemies tried and found guilty, the gravity of the crimes enough to sentence them to death. Wouldn’t have to do it herself, wouldn’t have to taste viscera as it seeped into her throat, while the rest of the world saw that boy as only a boy, and her as the monster. But that was fine. The world was shit, and only those willing to get knee-deep into it would go anywhere. They broke into a car, jumpstarted it, and were off, tinted windows hiding their crimson countenances. Neither of them had licenses, but then again. What was one more crime, at this point?
If she had been sharper, more astute, perhaps she could have put the pieces together more easily, could have leveraged her connections more effectively. But the questions posed raised suspicions again, brown eyes narrowing, a nervous twitchiness entering Kiwa’s stance once more. Only non-committal, vague responses followed. She only knew that her ‘stalker’ rode motorbikes, and she suggested that Mana avoid them as well. She only knew that Ahmya was going through a rough patch in life, and she suggested that Mana help her out if she asks, but not get involved otherwise. She apologized again and, with the abruptness of someone who didn’t know how to end a conversation but had to anyways, left, clutching her bag against her chest. And, like that, Mana was alone.
In a warmer world, he would’ve gotten a proper response, an answer, a question, something that he’d be able to latch onto. But he was half-foreigner, and the kid before him was simply...a kid. Seeing him approach, the teenager immediately pocketed his phone, stammered out a response, and left quickly, running out of the livehouse. Soon after, the police had come, armed with harmless smiles and notepads. There was no escape now, especially not for someone personally involved.
In a gray world where sunshine only emerged in infrequent patches, the day passed on into night.
Northern District
There was no smell of microwaved food waiting for Tsurushi when she came back. Nor was there the sound of Zaketa’s constant chattering on stream. In the absence of both, she could have expected a chirpy ‘welcome back’ from her young lover, but that too wasn’t present. More alarming though, was just how clean their hotel room was. There were no socks lying on the carpeted floor, for one, and no scattered wires and empty packages, for another.
There was none of that coziness that accompanied a disorderly room, only two large suitcases, bulging from the amount of stuff in it. Zaketa was crouched before the third, not so much placing clothes in as she was tossing them in. There was an angry decisiveness in her motions, paused only briefly when she noticed Tsurushi standing there. For a moment, she stopped, regret flickering through her eyes.
But she recovered soon enough. She always did. Her mouth set a hard line, and she got back to work.
“We’re leaving this place,” Zaketa said. “Help me pack, Tsu.”
There was none of that coziness that accompanied a disorderly room, only two large suitcases, bulging from the amount of stuff in it. Zaketa was crouched before the third, not so much placing clothes in as she was tossing them in. There was an angry decisiveness in her motions, paused only briefly when she noticed Tsurushi standing there. For a moment, she stopped, regret flickering through her eyes.
But she recovered soon enough. She always did. Her mouth set a hard line, and she got back to work.
“We’re leaving this place,” Zaketa said. “Help me pack, Tsu.”
Eastern District
Construction in Tenoroshi continued, but Niimura Street, winding and chock full of barely-legal stores selling everything from knock-off figurines with melted faces to ground-up bear penis meant to encourage youthful excess, never changed. Years ago, Mana’d probably have been hanging in those dimly lit streets as well, puffing away a cigarette as her friends talked about nothing and shared a lighter. Now, other, newer wannabe-delinquents filled the place instead, burning away the last hours of Sunday as they vaped sweet-smelling clouds through their noses, obnoxiously loud foreign music bursting out of their wireless earphones.
Only the inhabitants were different. She had no need to pass by this time, not when no one she recognized were taking up space on the streets.
But there was something that did give her pause. Long enough for her to stop and really look. Two men, their long white coats trailing the ground, were talking to the locals there, their voices loud but largely incoherent. Aggressive posturing, gesticulations with a piece of paper, all drew nothing from the mute storekeeper, who was trying to peddle them a couple of kendama toys instead, and in the end, neither side got what they wanted. Another rude word, and the men mounted their bikes, their mufflers amplified thricefold in the narrow acoustics of the streets, before roaring off.
Sorta stupid, how their rides were so loud even when they rode so slow.
Only the inhabitants were different. She had no need to pass by this time, not when no one she recognized were taking up space on the streets.
But there was something that did give her pause. Long enough for her to stop and really look. Two men, their long white coats trailing the ground, were talking to the locals there, their voices loud but largely incoherent. Aggressive posturing, gesticulations with a piece of paper, all drew nothing from the mute storekeeper, who was trying to peddle them a couple of kendama toys instead, and in the end, neither side got what they wanted. Another rude word, and the men mounted their bikes, their mufflers amplified thricefold in the narrow acoustics of the streets, before roaring off.
Sorta stupid, how their rides were so loud even when they rode so slow.
Central District
Tenoroshi General Hospital had an uncommonly busy night, but the isolated metropolis was never occupied enough that people with grievous injuries had to wait long to be admitted. In that aspect, perhaps, Daehyun was lucky.
And it was lucky for Miyane too, that visiting hours stretched so late into the night.
The sterile, deafeningly quiet environment was painful, eerie. Fluorescent lighting cast bright, pearly light against the linoleum floor, and the walls were painted pastel colors. Occasionally, a patient would be pushed past by a man or woman in scrubs, and occasionally, a couple would be supporting their elderly parent as they shakily strode down the hall, but that was it. No one in beds, being pushed to surgery. Tranquility all around, unoccupied halls occasionally broken by people with cough masks sleeping in padded chairs. Third floor, eastern hallway, fourth door to the left had been the instructions the bespectacled receptionist had left with her, and when she opened the door, that strange ‘empty’ smell became greater than before. It wasn’t a private room, three other beds laying empty, but it was private enough, curtains sectioning them off.
As she approached, Daehyun turned to face her. His arm was in a cast, his complexion was sickly, his lips chaffed and dry, but, as she expected, it was the mass of gauzes and bandages around his eye that caught her attention. Bits of blood had soaked through, but evidently not enough to cause the doctors any concern, and if nothing else, he still had enough energy to smile when she appeared.
“Brought the Sichuan Chicken, Miyane?”
That was wrong. He didn’t have any energy at all in the smile.
And it was lucky for Miyane too, that visiting hours stretched so late into the night.
The sterile, deafeningly quiet environment was painful, eerie. Fluorescent lighting cast bright, pearly light against the linoleum floor, and the walls were painted pastel colors. Occasionally, a patient would be pushed past by a man or woman in scrubs, and occasionally, a couple would be supporting their elderly parent as they shakily strode down the hall, but that was it. No one in beds, being pushed to surgery. Tranquility all around, unoccupied halls occasionally broken by people with cough masks sleeping in padded chairs. Third floor, eastern hallway, fourth door to the left had been the instructions the bespectacled receptionist had left with her, and when she opened the door, that strange ‘empty’ smell became greater than before. It wasn’t a private room, three other beds laying empty, but it was private enough, curtains sectioning them off.
As she approached, Daehyun turned to face her. His arm was in a cast, his complexion was sickly, his lips chaffed and dry, but, as she expected, it was the mass of gauzes and bandages around his eye that caught her attention. Bits of blood had soaked through, but evidently not enough to cause the doctors any concern, and if nothing else, he still had enough energy to smile when she appeared.
“Brought the Sichuan Chicken, Miyane?”
That was wrong. He didn’t have any energy at all in the smile.
Southwestern District
Sakura Mansion was a place where people could live without fear of intruding eyes reporting them to the authorities, but that didn’t mean one could get away with everything. Especially not a yakiniku party, if the many muffled ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP’s of their neighbors were anything to take into consideration. Yasuo had lost count of the amount of heavy banging he heard from the thin walls, but the youth didn’t particularly care either. It was time to hard party, after all, time to celebrate and clear out all the frozen meat in Marina’s fridge. With more six-packs of beers than either of them should drink, and a steadily growing pile of greased paper towels used to clean the grill, it was certainly a wild time. Everything smelled of meat, even the crisp vegetables as palate cleansers.
Was it healthy? Hell no. Was it hel-fun? Hell yes.
Toasting once more to macabre things that had no right to be celebrated, Yasuo sipped his brew once more, leaning back. The clouds had admirably cleared up in the night, at least, and stars were twinkling up above, faint but still present. Those same stars would be witnesses to all sorts of shady shit down in the slummier parts of Tenoroshi, no doubt, but still. Pleasant sights, pleasant nights.
All came to an end though.
“Oof, lookit the time,” Yasuo said, hopping up onto his feet (and almost tripping over an empty can in the process), “Think Imma pop home now, ‘less pops goes bald.”
Was it healthy? Hell no. Was it hel-fun? Hell yes.
Toasting once more to macabre things that had no right to be celebrated, Yasuo sipped his brew once more, leaning back. The clouds had admirably cleared up in the night, at least, and stars were twinkling up above, faint but still present. Those same stars would be witnesses to all sorts of shady shit down in the slummier parts of Tenoroshi, no doubt, but still. Pleasant sights, pleasant nights.
All came to an end though.
“Oof, lookit the time,” Yasuo said, hopping up onto his feet (and almost tripping over an empty can in the process), “Think Imma pop home now, ‘less pops goes bald.”
Western District
The stars were faint, but the western district was the oldest part of Tenoroshi. The neon of the downtown core had yet to encroach upon this hilly area of town, leaving a soothing darkness behind. Well, such things were hard to appreciate though, when one’s eyes were drawn to the shine of their phone instead. Sitting atop Tengu’s Villa, legs hanging off the side, Marc had plenty of things to think about as the day turned to a close. With Daehyun being as big as he was, local news outlets immediately picked up on the incident, articles still being updated as new information, some fraudulent, spilling in. The greatest boon to the media was the video that had been captured and then sent, all the juicy violence caught in the process. The quality was bad, the dimness of the live house making everything grainy, and the initial blows weren’t captured either, but it was enough to cause a stir nonetheless. Some were calling it a publicity stunt to drum up more interest in the movies, others were pouring out love and support for Daehyun, still more condemned the owner of Galaxy for having no security measures in place to stop a random attack like that, but the focus was clear; the tragedy was in the injury of the beloved Korean superstar, not of the death of a teenaged boy.
Unpleasant, was what it was, but it wasn’t as if Minds, Mayhem, and Mystery had much to offer that day either. They were focused on the event as well, after all. Maybe the kid who died was actually connected to the ‘dark side’ of Tenoroshi, and this was a particularly savage hitwoman. Maybe the entire thing was falsified, an experiment by the Overmind to see how much influence over reality their media-infiltrating pawns had before they executed their plans of world domination. Maybe the blonde was, considering her apparent method of attack, literally a vampire. And of course, that followed with comments about how hot she was and whether or not she was a succubus too.
Amongst the torrent of stupid shit, the other story of the day, the mysterious fire seen in one of the buildings of Tamagakahara, which had spontaneously emerged but left no traces on the building’s exterior afterwards, drew hardly any attention at all.
Unpleasant, was what it was, but it wasn’t as if Minds, Mayhem, and Mystery had much to offer that day either. They were focused on the event as well, after all. Maybe the kid who died was actually connected to the ‘dark side’ of Tenoroshi, and this was a particularly savage hitwoman. Maybe the entire thing was falsified, an experiment by the Overmind to see how much influence over reality their media-infiltrating pawns had before they executed their plans of world domination. Maybe the blonde was, considering her apparent method of attack, literally a vampire. And of course, that followed with comments about how hot she was and whether or not she was a succubus too.
Amongst the torrent of stupid shit, the other story of the day, the mysterious fire seen in one of the buildings of Tamagakahara, which had spontaneously emerged but left no traces on the building’s exterior afterwards, drew hardly any attention at all.
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