i had no idea what it meant

itp: i'm not creative with corporate names but old men swords are hot in suits

Fri, 06 Mar 2015 07:25:20 GMT

Posted by: bloodcrane

[ it's probably an overused cliché, but nowadays, he wakes up cold and clammy with dreams of the past.

sometimes, it's fire, which isn't so bad in the grand scheme of things. other times, there are battlefields and people that he cuts down with a white blade in hand, images that are overwhelming with the reek of sweat, smoke and the irony scent of blood, which inevitably leaves him retching under the stark white light of his bathroom. the ones that are worse still, however, are the dreams of faces and names that he has no real recollection of, that if pressed, he would say were the faces of strangers except for the lovelorn, heart-breaking nostalgia he feels whenever he sees their smiles, their frowns, their tears. to be honest, none of this would have unsettled him so much if it weren't for a quick google search that had turned up a wikipedia page on the battle of sekigahara, and the cold chill down his spine when he realizes he knew the names of the dead even before he skimmed a single paragraph.

(his most chilling dreams come in three parts, however. first, he is in a grave, and crying, pleading, begging for the ground above to seal itself up and for the hand to not take him away from his dead lord and his resting place. second, he is in a shrine, and the passing glance of a sword connoisseur destroys the peace he had only begun to enjoy. third, he is dyed red and white on the ground, staring up hazily at robes of black and blue and screams in the background that are hardly his. three surprises, all of them too bitter to swallow, but he's known for how hard he tries. 'tsurumaru kuninaga' he hears his name, just before everything goes black in flames.)

it takes him a while to get over the fact that he'd been a sword in a past life, and learn how not to be surprised by these strange memories, but ultimately, he learns to live with it. he has a business empire to run, after all -- crane entertainment inc., the largest owner of amusement parks across japan, soon to be expanding into the department store and on-call entertainment market sectors -- there's a lot to do, a lot of unexpected surprises to be had, a whole life to live, and if there's anything that he's learned from just a little shy away from three decades of living (or a thousand years of living), it's that unexpected surprises are something to admire, not fear. but still, he catches himself every now and then looking into crowds for flashes of familiar eyes. the names of his old comrades, if he can call them that, are always at the back of his mind like an absent mantra: kashuu kiyomitsu, yamanbagiri kunihiro, hotarumaru, kogitsunemaru, gokotai, souza samonji, taroutachi,

mikazuki munechika.

the last of which he finds, to his surprise, staring back at him during a business meeting with another corporate giant, that same nostalgic flash of golden crescent moons amongst blue where he would have never expected it.

(really, every time he thinks that life has tossed enough surprises at him, it comes back around with another. from the first to this last, he can only let himself be surprised and delighted, because otherwise he'd have been torn apart a long time ago by bitterness and grief. he feels old. maybe he isn't ready to be thirty yet.)

it's a wednesday night, on the dot after work hours, and the bar is already packed with salarymen who ostensibly are hell-bent on getting drunk from the first hour to the last. he likes this bar, partially because they have a delightfully varied schedule for entertainment (last week, they'd invited a jpop group in to perform cutesy girl-group songs, and the week before, there was a traditional artist on stage, painting rapid portraits of the bar's most regular clients -- the variety is entertaining, the delight in waiting to see what they will come up with this week a tame sort of way to fulfill his desires for novelty), and partially because of its up-scale back-rooms, quiet, private, with serving staff known for their efficiency and discretion. he has a room booked tonight and makes his way there, waving his greetings at the manager who knows him by face.

like always, it's a different person who takes his white suit jacket (cunningly cut, gold trim, expensive as all hell) and hangs it up by the door neatly, and like always, he chooses a bottle of wine from the roulette on a whim. it's a well-aged bottle of sake, its brand well-known for its strong taste, which he thinks is fitting for this meeting that he had been discreetly pushing for.

mikazuki munechika. it's a lie to say that his nerves don't jump at the mere memory of the name, one of the many in his jumble of past memories that stand out and cling to him like the smoke from ancient flames. the walls of the private room are decorated with mimicries of famous pieces of japanese art, and as his eyes wander the room, he's pleasantly surprised by a painting of a golden crane standing on a blue, crescent moon.

surprise, surprise, happy coincidences abound. it's like his life has been several, often jarring coincidences lined up against one another, but now, relaxing on the leather couch at the back of a busy bar, he feels like perhaps this was meant to happen sooner or later.

putting his feet up on the expensive coffee table without any sense of decorum or desire to maintain reputation, 'tsurumaru kuninaga' waits for his guest to arrive. ]

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because the toast is never not funny

Sun, 22 Feb 2015 03:35:11 GMT

Posted by: whizzbang

[ the mansion's very quiet.

par for the course when everyone worth nothing makes a mass exodus for a day's worth of hunt in the nearby woods, but shinya finds this novel enough to bear noting as he finishes up a cup of tea with a leisurely sigh. he'd begged off the hunt this morning, citing a headache, and had eventually placated his wife enough that she'd finally set off with the other women on their picnic by the lake. it's adorable, how she believes his little lies so much when it's well-known by any person who isn't a total dolt in this kingdom that a hiiragi should never be trusted. but that's what he likes about her, he guesses. she's so very easy to talk to, and you just don't get that kind of comfort anywhere anymore.

still, he hadn't been in a mood to join anyone on an outing today, and time that he could spent alone have becoming increasingly scarce as of late, and so when he realized that he could at least take the day for himself, he did so without regrets. having dismissed most of the household staff after he's sure the main family was already half-way down the ravine, he takes his tea alone in a night robe and with a second spoonful of self-indulgent sugar without any care to his appearance. there is power to not being seen, to not having watching eyes on him for the first time in months, and by the time he's half-way through his tea, he finally has enough time to start admitting a few things to himself: the first and foremost issue being that of glen ichinose.

talk between them has been... awkward, lately, he begins to admit himself. the court etiquette that's kept his back ramrod straight even until now begins to lax as he props his chin on the back of his hand the way his tutors hated so much. to be honest, he should've seen it coming, with all the play-pretend house that he's been doing with his wife -- sweet girl that she was -- that in his attempt to snub the main family, he might've snubbed someone else along with them. while glen is liable to be glen no matter what time of the day of the week and he himself remains unchanged (he thinks, he mostly believes), it's undeniable that something has changed between them for the past little while, and there's a huge part of shinya that can't seem to find it in him to acknowledge it. his shoulders slump. tensions are at an all-time high between their families and the royal family, just the way they'd planned -- it should be exhilarating, seeing a plan of theirs to come to near fruition, but at the same time, there's something unsatisfying about it, like he's bitten into a lemon tart to find a lemon seed. and that's... the awkwardness that he can't quite place, and part of the reason why he'd begged off the rest of his extended family today is that he woke up exhausted this morning, despite having had a good night's rest, and he's still not sure why.

it's likely glen's fault, he thinks, a little uncharitably, and dumps another spoonful of sugar into his tea. they talk, they plot, they scheme, glen charges ahead and gets things done, he cleans up after glen's messes and keeps the royal family pleased, and then glen looks at him, really looks, and somewhere in the back of shinya's head he's thinking 'ah, that's not a look anyone should be giving to a married man', and the awkwardness comes back in full-tilt. they plotted this, when mahiru died, this was their thing. so then, why this?

his mouth is unbearably sweet, even for him, by the time he finishes his tea. pushing back the tray with a sigh, he grabs a slice of toast to get rid of the sugary taste in his mouth, and rolls his shoulders back, too tired to continue to be annoyed. well, whatever. glen's probably out hunting with the rest of them, good riddance to that pack of foxes. he has the mansion to himself today, and he intends to make the best of it. wander around the mansion, maybe. break into a few rooms, see what people have in their sock drawers. there has to be something scandalous to amuse himself, and anyone who airs their dirty laundry so easily deserves the humiliation anyway.

therefore, he leaves his room and saunters towards the staircase. and this is how shinya, in a night robe and with a slice of toast in his mouth, descends the staircase to find, suddenly, that he's not alone in the mansion after all. the moment he looks down the landing, the little voice at the back of his head goes damn.

chewing his toast slowly, he finishes off the bread as he descends down the staircase, this time with measured steps and half-quirk to his mouth, only a bit forced. ]

Glen.

[ ahaha awkward, awkward. no awkward. ]

I didn't know you'd stayed behind.

comments

i guess this is a tales of the abyss au now lmao

Sat, 21 Feb 2015 18:31:24 GMT

Posted by: whizzbang

[ war's in the air.

though shinya favours flowery analogies whenever he can get away with not taking things seriously, this isn't one of them. there is literally war in the air-- the smell of iron welding, of chimney billows going off day and night, of steel being polished, weapons being exchanged hands, the faintest scent of dirty money being laundered left, right and above-- all that contributes to the stench known as war hanging over the city when he leaves at nightfall. the roads to a nearby border town are strangely safer than ever nowadays, owing to the fact that bandits were either rounded up and executed or pressed into service as a part of the war act: kimlasca has no time or patience for in-fighting when there's a bigger threat right across the border. he leaves town unmolested, waving to the sentries who know to ignore him because he has a reputation for being laid-back, eccentric and beloved by the people, and settles into a brisk trot.

the bordertown is only a few dozen miles away, and he makes good time. the town isn't known for its strategic importance, despite the location, and most of the citizens had already been evacuated to bigger fortresses deeper within his country's borders. this means there are few people on the streets, and dodging patrolmen is child's play when all of them have eyes riveted across the border at malkuth (sloppy, however, if someone had infiltrated the lines just now, this area would fall within minutes. they might as well abandon the area so that they can better fortify the neighbouring base-- but that's not happening because kaitzur is an important symbol for the kimlascan empire, and if it falls, so would morale. reinforcements will come by morning. he'll have to make do with what he has). nobody watches him settle his horse at the stables, and nobody notices when he slips into a two-story house, ostensibly mundane and one-a-plenty in this small, tension-filled town.

it's easy for him, of course. this is home territory, and his family owns this house (it had once been a rendezvous for his older brother and one of his secret lovers, though shinya's taken over once it had been abandoned several years ago, making renovations for his own purposes). for someone across the border, perhaps the border patrol would pose more of a threat and the journey to the quiet street the house is situated on a more tense affair, but shinya doesn't really think much of it. really, this would be nothing for him, too.

he hasn't been here recently, so the house has gone cold and a bit musty. downstairs he stirs the flames to get some heating going. there were very few neighbours in the area, and if there were lights on at this time of night, they'd likely only thing that someone was squatting-- but it never hurts to be too careful, and so a quick fonic spell to mask the light of the house comes next. he does, however, air out the kitchen and then absently activates the fonic water boiler. there's a bit of dust covering the furniture but that doesn't bother him. upstairs, he does remove the dust-cover from the bed, and then, with a wry twitch of his lips, he brings out a bottle of rosé wine and two wine glasses, setting them on a small table that he wipes down.

satisfied, finally, and pleased that the fireplace is doing its job quite well, letting warmth seep in enough that he can remove his cloak and drape it over the back of his chair, he turns on a low light in the bedroom and takes out a book.

that's where jade curtiss will find shinya hiiragi, sitting at a table with a cup of wine and a paperback. ]

[ au info ]

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finally i can make use of my useless psych major university knowledge: the au

Sat, 21 Feb 2015 18:06:58 GMT

Posted by: whizzbang

[ the problem with teaching a course on abnormal behavioural psychology for the third year in a row, shinya muses, is that you only encounter two types of students: the serious, idealistic ones that are studying to become clinical psychologists and the ones who are taking this class as an elective because psychology is ~*~interesting~*~ and only show up in class the day before the midterm whining about how unscientific psychology really is. the former is boring at best, and the latter weren't amusing even if they crawled ass-forward into a giant paper bag. for a class on abnormal behavioural psychology, his students were really just too normal. while shinya signed up for the job because throughout his own university career he found that he rather liked teaching people and that he rather liked research and overseeing interesting projects that had interesting outcomes, he hadn't been prepared for how boring university students were liable to be.

well, he corrects himself a little smugly, only most students.

still, three years ago, he hadn't been prepared for just how few students would actually attend his office hours, and had spent an entire term with his face against his desk waiting for someone to put him out of his bored misery. the term after, he learned to run his little research empire from his desk, during said office hours, and found all sorts of excuses to cancel them so that he could go on extended coffee breaks whenever the hell he pleased, because hey, he has tenure now, student evaluations really aren't his problem any more. more recently, however, he's found far more interesting ways to spend his time-- it almost makes him wish he'd started this sort of thing earlier. who knew that out of all the boring university students who filed into class like clockwork every term, he'd discover one that makes office hours worthwhile?

it makes him wonder, absently, if he's coming in today. there's no set schedule, of course-- that would make it entirely too predictable, and anyway, shinya has to get work done sometimes. but he does find himself thinking as he clears his inbox, one message at a time. a few research directives here, a grad student of his needs approval for the ethics committee, a honours thesis student finally mailed in their proposal. he prints that off, and lets the whirr of the printer fill the empty office. it's a paper about military sociopathy. at least that promises to be somewhat interesting.

putting on a pair of reading glasses, he leans back and begins reading, making neat notes in the margins as he goes along. ]

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the bad life choices adventures of prince & thief: the saga

Fri, 20 Feb 2015 19:36:00 GMT

Posted by: sereins

[ eithri wakes up relieved.

the relief isn't due to the fact that he is still alive, though he supposes that any normal person would have been relieved upon waking up to discover that they were still breathing after being carved like a turkey. no, he is relieved, instead, because this means this marriage stint had been a bad idea after all, and he won't regret it now that he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he can place his own selfish desires over the needs of his country. his back still stings like something fierce and the bruises of a man's hands at his throat still linger like ghosts, but all in all, his mind is remarkably clear as he tears a strip of cloth from a burlap rag to tie back his hair, still wet and filthy from being dunked this morning into a pool that smelled faintly of dead rat.

torture is par for the course for someone who grew up in a position of power. being alive is better than not when he has to go back to his kingdom and prevent a war. he wraps himself up in whatever rags he can find, need triumphing over whatever distaste he had over the matter, and sets to work, examining the small cell he'd been kept in all over and wherever his thin arms could reach.

escaping from solitary confinement in enemy territory isn't eithri's forte, however. he's able to determine that he's high up, wherever he was-- the sole slit of a window on the wall showed that the ground below was several hundred feet away -- and that the heavy door that blocked his escape was made of wood, nor metal, with only a small slot the bottom for food. there's nothing he can use to bludgeon the door, and there's something in this castle that prevented him from summoning the rain or his sword, which left him without options. but the thing about eithri is that he's never been known to give up, if only because he's never been afforded the luxury to even consider the idea (if you succeeded, it's as it should be, but if you fail, then you should at least die a martyr; he's been taught this since the day he was old enough to understand words, and ingrained habits are hard to break).

his lips pursed into a stern line, eithri scours the cell again, picking at each and every brick in the wall for anything -- anything -- that could give him a chance at freedom. ]

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tokyo ghoul au?!

Sat, 14 Feb 2015 04:11:22 GMT

Posted by: honore

[ obligatory backstory time: so when elliot was an itty bitty sheltered thing that still relied on his parents and older brothers and sister to hunt and feed for him, he'd been told (somewhat jokingly, but how was he supposed to have known, he was six and everything his family said to him were like the words of God) that humans honestly didn't mind getting hunted down and reduced to livestock meat -- in fact, they should be grateful to the ghouls for culling their numbers because otherwise they would overpopulate the world and eat themselves to extinction. growing up, he had very little reason to doubt his brothers' words, staunchly believing their words. even more warped had been his noblesse oblige way of thinking: humans are livestock, but that means they need to be protected. the livestock in the nightray's territory should be protected by the nightrays. he grew up believing that this was chivalry. he only started challenging that way of thinking when he made human friends at his human school, and saw them laugh and cry as much as any ghoul. but he hadn't challenged that way of thinking soon enough.

because then, the doves came.

bearing their white coats, he'd watched his family get slaughtered before his eyes by humans who made it their life's goal to protect other humans from the ghouls. their crime, apparently, was treating humans like livestock when they wanted to be treated like humans. he remembers watching their house burn just as he gets pushed into the canal by his sister, and suddenly the sight of his family in pieces is drowned by a deluge of water that is both clear and bitter. when he emerged from that water, he changed his mind, and bitterly so. neither the ghouls nor the humans were right, and neither could coexist with one another. but if he had to toss his lot in with someone, it'd be with the ghouls, who ate to survive, and not the murderers. he would never help a human again.

that being said, as with the past, his resolves only work well on paper. he finds himself watching humans in the night anyway, and in the territory that he would eventually claim and stake as his own, he'd only kill the ones that harmed others-- thieves, rapists, murderers, the ones who (even by human standards) didn't deserve to live. he'd scare off the humans that innocently wander about in the dark (though he'd let them go because he wasn't hungry, not because he's looking out for them), he'd chase off the would-be criminals in the night (not because he's showing them mercy, but because they annoyed him so much that he didn't feel like eating them), and then he'd go back to his flat and nurse his anger at the dove-coats who murdered his family and found it fun.

and then, he meets leo.

half-way through the night, he scares off a bunch of would-be thugs from a mousey-looking guy with a bunch of books down a shady part of town. the next night, he does so again, this time a bunch of would-be murderers, and the the next night with a group of would-be thieves. annoyed beyond words that the guy hadn't learned because what kind of a fucktard doesn't get the hint on wandering around for no reason whatsoever in the middle of the night is a really friggin bad idea three times over, he whirls on him intending to put him in his place, when he suddenly realizes that the calm and placid guy standing there isn't afraid of him.

the day after, at the public library, he sees that moptop between the shelves, and turns around and walks right back out again. but the second time, there's this book that he really, really wanted to read, and the third time--

the third time is the charm, they say. elliot nightray doesn't believe in charms, nor does he believe in terminally stupid idiots, but he really wants the next volume of Holy Knight and at least he believes in that. and so with an aggrieved sigh, he passes the messy mop by and brusquely goes for the the row of books between them. ]

You again.

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the beginning of that one gigantic sprawling world-hopping au psl.

Sat, 14 Feb 2015 03:35:19 GMT

Posted by: effacer

[ sometimes, escape is as easy as just walking out. a lady with pinned-up red hair and the ostensibly immaculate lab coats that count for clothing around here leaves the door to his fish-bowl room open on her way out to check on a disturbance down the hall. he simply walks out and down the other way, and he is free.

that being said, freedom in a tightly controlled maze-like sequence of hallways leading into place with clinically ominous labels and windowed fish-bowl rooms designated for experimental purposes is the same as having freedom in a museum when you're one of the stuffed animals on display. nobody has hopped out and around the corner with a clipboard to stop him yet, but he thinks it's probably because there are cameras everywhere and they're probably as curious as he is as to how far he can get before numb uncertainty takes hold and he returns to his own room on his own accord.

obligatory and somewhat dramatic digression: what he doesn't like about the corridors leading to freedom is that the tiled floor is cold against his bare feet and the ventilation is tough on his paper-thin hospital-issue clothes. that, and maybe freedom itself, because he's never really thought about it and never really expected to come face-to-face with it. it's enough for him to go off on another philosophical tangent in his head, which is invariably where most of his thoughts end up (nowadays they let him read whatever he wants so long as he stops trying to make conversation with them, which he doesn't know if it's really a fair trade-off seeing as he has no concept of fairness, but at least this means that the dialogues in his head only grow more complex and varied and manage to keep him occupied through the new emotion batches that come in like clockwork daily). if he doesn't get far enough down the corridor to the outside world, he thinks a little wryly, at least he'll have something new to mull over when he gets back in the chair with the straps.

after taking a few wrong turns and a few right ones, he ends up in front of the elevators. they stand like stainless steel appliances carved into the walls, their doors surgically shut. from the elevators, he knows from reading the emergency exit plans, you can go directly out the front doors. if there's anywhere he's going to be stopped and escorted firmly back, it'd be down in the lobby, where he's in full view of all the wandering electronic eyes. he almost wants to do it, actually, just so he can save the trouble of finding the way back himself.

but-- and it might seem silly to mention it again, but the floor... really is very cold.

ultimately, this is what causes celandine to turn away from the elevator doors and take the first, quiet steps back to to his own fish-bowl. ]

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latest ever weeps.

Sat, 31 Jan 2015 04:04:42 GMT

Posted by: stillbeating

[ the thing about investigating mysterious murders in a small village in the middle of nowhere is that a) you are in the middle of nowhere, b) there are people dying, and c) the person who stands out the most is immediately the most suspect. usually signe is pretty good about this sort of thing; he has a myriad of disguises to fall back on, a few fake names, faker IDs, and when all else fails, a gun and enough forced menace in his voice to make people think that he really would drop them off a bridge if they asked any more about his identity. unfortunately, it all falls flat when the very first of his line of defences fail-- it had to be a child, of all people, who, as they pulled at his hair, came off with a fistful of black wig.

predictably, everything goes to shit from there. after enduring some horrible shouting, some blind threats and some other fanciful suspicions, a few people had banded together and dragged him into what passed off as a makeshift jail in the midst of the sleepy, bog-mired fishing village.

what nobody had mentioned to him, however, is that the make-shift jail also happened to sport a hole in the ground filled with foul-tasting water, and, to his disgust, bloated corpses of dead rats. struggling to keep his head aloft, he can feel the chill of the briny water all the way down to his bones, and thinks, a little uncharitably, that if these people did this to anyone who walked around with a wig and make-up then they maybe deserved whatever curse the gods put on them. the thought soon falls away when the chill of the thought that perhaps the young child he'd met this morning could be the next in the series of murders that've plagued the area for weeks now-- and he frantically kicks off the bottom of the cesspool.

after all, they've clearly left him to drown. this is a problem, because he's unfortunately not capable of dying.

however, the bottom of the pool is just a bit too far down, just a bit too muddy for him to push off, and with his arms tied behind him, keeping his head aloft becomes less of a chore and more of an impossibility. sardonically, he wonders just how many times he's going to have to drown in here (and revive, always with the revival, this is why he hates water, hates any body of water, why did it always have to be water?) before he gets out--

when suddenly, the sound of footsteps can be heard, disrupting his concentration and causing him to dip back down. bobbing up like a half-drowned buoy, he gulps in a breath, and lets out a small, breathy, panicked laugh. as usual, this wasn't the way he envisioned his day would go when he woke up this morning.

yes, well, it just goes to show that his children were right-- he has no imagination. ]

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[ test-drive ]

Sun, 01 Jun 2014 19:17:38 GMT

Posted by: respite

[ throughout camp this morning, individuals might notice a mini-loli trudging around in oversized cdc gear, her small wings fluttering nervously as she drags large duffel bags through the snow.

at rover #xx, there is a small but steady pile of duffel bags growing. she's piled them outside of her rover, by the door, carefully arranging them to the best of her ability so that they won't be in anyone's way. however, with the nature of a large pile of uneven duffel bags, a few of them have tumbled from the pile, and she's been fluttering nervously as she rushes over to fix them.

inside each duffel bag is dirty laundry that she's collected, with permission, from people around camp. on each bag, there are badly-made name-tags scribbled in nill's juvenile and childish handwriting. she adds the latest duffel to the pile, and huffs a little, her breath painting the cold air white.

that's the last one. ono9 and now... where was her shovel? ]

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i stole a meme but got bored half-way

Fri, 27 Dec 2013 04:23:22 GMT

Posted by: commiserates

WINTER WONDERLAND MEME

① fuck the police, this is the best time for a walk. hope you've got a nice thick coat on.

② stranded in the buttcrack of nowheresville? weren't you watching the time? now you've gone and missed that last bus out of there. or maybe you're lost, somehow. what do?

③ literally chilling, in this weather, is quite easy to do. sitting around relaxing in it is a wee more difficult, but sometimes much more enjoyable, especially if shelter can be found. the snow is beautiful to watch, after all.

④ the weather's not going to stop you. your snow fort's packed full of ammo and ready to go. those aren't snow angels over there; they mark where the poor souls you've downed have fallen. be careful with that snowman's head!!

⑤ you're about fifty miles from civilization but there's a roof over your head, so never mind the chilly draught, right? right. you mightn't be the only one lucky enough to stumble upon this little shelter, though. remember to share the blanket.

⑥ everyone stuck outside should be jelly. you've got a fireplace and hot cocoa and damn if it isn't awesome. a heater's not quite so romantic, but it'd do. there'd better be a backup generator in case the power trips.

⑦ basically we're doing what we want 99 PROBLEMS ALL OF THEM THESE TWO‧

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TESTING A TOTALLY MATURE POST

Sat, 29 Jun 2013 01:30:33 GMT

Posted by: reddour

[ the classic: video turns on, screen suddenly filled with a beamish face thing. ‘ ^ ‘ and of course, as per all over-excited video broadcasts, the accompanying voice is shrill and loud. ]

Hey, everyone!!!!! Rommy and I are gonna have a scavenger race!!

[ and then, from off-screen comes another voice: ]

Give me that! Stop hogging the screen!

[ suddenly, the camera is jostled, as someone grabs it away from lily—namely one zohra rom, whose face is now on the screen, staring at a now no longer visible beamish face thing. ]

And my name’s Zohra, not Rommy! Geez, get it right, you stupid brat!

[ off-screen-- a mantra of ] I’M LILY, NOT A BRAT-- [ can be heard.

and ignoring her mantra is zohra, who looks at the screen now and continues.]

Anyway, you heard her. We’re doing a scavenger race, ‘cause the brat insists that she’s great at finding things or whatever. Being such a nice and generous guy, I’m gonna give her a chance to prove herself! So that’s where you guys come in.

[ pointing at the screen ZOHRA WANTS YOU (tm)— ]

We can’t have a scavenger race without stuff to scavenge! So we need things. Things to find, you know? Not that there’s a whole lot to find in a place like this, but—but we’re creative! Yeah, that’s right. So give us stuff to find, got it!?

[ suddenly, there is a shrieking war-cry, followed by a little girl whirling on-screen and bodily slamming into zohra. in the ensuring struggling, a small, grubby hand gets ahold of the device, and the beamish face is back again, lily’s eyes wide with excitement. ]

I’m gonna win, you know?! So you’d better give us fun things to find!! Give us a lot of things! A whole really big bunch of things!!

-- What the hell was that for!?

Rommy was being a total hog! I wanna say things too!

You got the opening line! That was enough!

Why did you get to say more things than me, then?! I’m so much better at saying things--

Because I’m an adult, and you’re still a little kid—h-hey, what are you doing!? Get off!

[ the maturity level of the ensuing struggle would have made a six-year-old shake their head in disappointment... or perhaps prompt them to join into the merry fray. the feed gets kicked into a tree soon thereafter, ending this impromptu display... ]

[ ooc: so zohra “rommy” rom and lily “brat” baskerville are racing each other in a scavenger hunt, and they need your character to give them things to find. things can range from ‘a can of pasta sauce’ to ‘morgan’s toothbrush’ to ‘a rock the shape of zohra’s big toe’ to ‘something as ridiculously orange as lily’s hair’. listing just one thing, or two things, or ten things (or an infinite number of things because they’re stupid) is totally fine, man. so long as these things can be theoretically found in haven.

we’ll toss up a log later with a compiled list of things they’re looking for, so characters can watch them be stupid and help/hinder/troll them as they embark on the quest to be the scavenger master... ]

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APP TEST

Fri, 10 May 2013 21:37:18 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

( WHOOOOOOP )

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WE'RE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING DUMB TO DO

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 20:28:04 GMT

Posted by: inexistence

[ and nobody is getting married, but that's just another fact of life. instead, it's the usual scene: a bunch of high school students milling around in their respective domains, back for yet another eight hours of the daily grind.

presently, you have a delinquent. you know that he is a delinquent by the way he is lounging on the roof of the school building. you know that only delinquents lounge around on the roof of the school building because lounging around on a school rooftop is a part of the job description for a high school delinquent. those who do not lounge around on a school rooftop have no right to be called a true delinquent, and those who are delinquents are more or less expected to lounge on school rooftops.

and this delinquent has made lounging around on a school rooftop into an artform. behold, the way he casually leans against the fence that marks as the boundary between his delinquent self and the terrifying fall that separates the lines between life and death. behold, the way he rests his chin on his leveled arms, his glasses just barely slipping from their usual place on the bridge of his english nose. behold, the paper airplane in his hand, dangling carelessly from between two thin, pianist fingers.

a paper airplane that may or may not have been constructed from a chemistry assignment sheet, meant to be shared between him and his partner. a chemistry assignment that may or may not account for a lot of marks, and which he was supposed to have been working on this period with his partner.

a partner which surely must be looking for him by now, fifteen minutes into a period that he's definitely supposed to be attending.

but instead, celandine harvick lounges on the school rooftop, overlooking the street, shirt untucked beneath his blazer and a paper airplane dangling from his fingertips.

it's just another day. ]

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call me out on a trauma conga line.

Mon, 01 Oct 2012 03:07:06 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

▎the « CALL ME OUT » meme ▎

a role-play meme to inspire muses (tm)

▬ above are active muses! ocs are listed here
▬ also feel free to call for a muse that's not on the above list. I'm lazy
▬ call a muse out! do so by putting their name on the subject line
▬ anything goooooes: setting, no setting, plot, no plot, random conversation in hyperspace YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT
▬ feel free to make the setting first, or you can wait to see how things will go. we coo
▬ #yolo

meme code.

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video. | action if in the area!

Wed, 15 Aug 2012 21:28:05 GMT

Posted by: requisite

-no such thing as a 'murder magnet', Kaito-niichan. You're just making stuff up!

[The video feed is elevated, looking down on Conan's head from above and slightly behind. The pseudo-seven year old may not be aware he's being filmed, but the childish persona is in full force -- cute, slightly petulant tone of voice, and his forensic unit paperwork and notebooks out of sight in his brightly coloured school bag. Unaware of the scrutiny being directed at the top of his head, Conan continues his complaint.]

Anyway, Uncle's a detective, so it's not surprising that in the line of work, we'd encounter cases!

[Cases, he says… You know, the last time he checked, Japan’s crime rate was supposed to be low. The teenager’s fiddling with his bracelet causes the sound to oscillate for a moment. His tone, however, maintains steadily unimpressed, and perhaps just a little incredulous. ]

Uh… huh. And you wanna tell me how you manage to just happen to stumble on these ‘cases’ wherever you go? It just tells me that if I wanna get to the bottom of all this weirdness lately, I’d better start with the center of it all. Who is, naturally, the most suspicious guy.

[The look that Conan gives Kaito is baleful -- not helped as he takes in the bracelet, realises that he is being recorded.]

You make it sound like I'm responsible! I'm investigating!

So am I! I’m in the process of documenting the natural properties of detective-brats and their ability to somehow self-sustain their professions. Seriously, you attract weirdness. And dead people. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if cosmic karma was all ‘oh, hey, it’s that brat again, let’s make him trip over some dead people’.

[Conan rolls his eyes as Kaito's monologue continues, quickly becoming distracted by something he's spotted off camera. He stops walking; caught up in his speech, Kaito doesn't immediately notice.]

-- and if I can reverse-engineer that, I’ll be a millionaire. I mean, seriously. [Beat] Oi, detective-brat, you listening?

[Turning as Kaito does, the feed swings round to show Conan opening the door of a shed that opens the street. As the door swings open, a man is revealed. His posture, his unnatural lack of colour, the fact that without the shed door holding him in place he falls to land flat in front of Conan -- it is immediately obvious that they've found a dead body.

There's a moment when neither of them react, and then Kaito swallows audibly.]

I repeat -- murder magnet.

Turn that off.

[ ooc: this is a joint post between Conan Edogawa holmes_fanatic and Kaito Kuroba requisite! they will both be replying to this post! double the fun, yes. ]

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but the night wears on

Sat, 04 Aug 2012 13:35:35 GMT

Posted by: reagissant

[ hi, shinya, guess who left a dead rabbit on your doorstep...

okay, kdslfjasl so he hasn't died yet. but rien looks pretty battered and bloody, and probably looks really incongruent, standing on your doorstep like this nervously while casting glances around, because he doesn't want to disturb your neighbours.

he also doesn't want to knock, because he's terrified of getting bloodstains on your door. but at this rate, he's going to drip all over your doorstep, and that kind of terrifies him even more. so, trying his best to knock without... getting any blood on your door.

... if you don't answer it, he's probably going to stand there on your doorstep awkwardly forever. ]

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we may never find peace

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 11:52:13 GMT

Posted by: encage

[ he appears because it was never preordained that he wouldn't.

with careful steps, his feet touch the ground; first, his toes, and then the balls of his feet, and lastly, his heels leave mere traces on the ground. around the soles of his feet, a yellow mountain rose sprouts, then a lily, white as the driven snow, dew dripping from its pliant petals. slowly, a small garden begins to take shape.

he breathes life.

this world is empty.

he spreads his arms. coyly, his green eyes turn to the only other being. ]

This isn't that young bird's handiwork.

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[ app ] afuro terumi ▸ holyrelic

Tue, 08 May 2012 15:41:18 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

( aphrodi to holyrelic )

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[ app ] lily baskerville ▸ somarium

Thu, 03 May 2012 00:29:11 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

( lily baskerville to somarium )

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and the queen of hearts came to chop off his head

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 19:04:06 GMT

Posted by: reagissant

[ it's not the first time he's ended up in a weird place. it's just that he's never really been in a rose garden before. wandering through the maze of hedges, he stumbles across a particularly striking blue rose that stands out amongst the sea of red and white.

staring at it.

... he never knew a rose could be blue. ]

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( code testing. )

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 03:04:41 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

( TESTING STUFF )

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[ app ] miharu rokujou ▸ caligo

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 04:19:44 GMT

Posted by: apprivoiser

( miharu rokujou to caligo )

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and they breathe again.

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 05:30:16 GMT

Posted by: remercier

[ a cafe. quaint, white, pristine, yet somehow homely.

you probably found yourself wandering in for whatever the reason. it looks just like any other cafe, after all. the sign is wrought in light blue letters, the curves of its cursive touching the sky. 'the memory of the wind.' a bit of a wordy sign-- a strange corner cafe that probably wasn't here before (and probably won't be there again).

the minute you walk in, you'll probably take a seat nearest to the piano, because it's the most well-lit part of the cafe. no matter what the weather was like outside when you walked in, there is light shining in through the windows, bathing everything in a light, golden glow. there are several other diners sitting at other tables, sipping their drinks. you'll probably sit alone.

if you wave your hand over the metallic centerpiece on your table, a menu will pop up. the girl at the counter smiles your way as she dries a dish. piano music begins to waft.

it's like breathing in peace. ]

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this also never happened.

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 06:17:31 GMT

Posted by: reprimands

[ because he's sitting in the dojo and half the wall is gone.

y e p.

what did you do to the wall, masamune. ]

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den den densha.

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 06:03:09 GMT

Posted by: recurs

[ they wake up on a train.

it's not the first time they've woken up on a train. in fact, they seem to make it their business to wake up on a train. and this train, miharu thinks, is no different from other trains.

because as he looks out the window, he knows that he doesn't know where they're going.

just like every other train.

he glances over to the side, and silently adjusts yoite's blanket, so that it draws up to his chin.

outside, the night passes on. ]

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