BLOODY RABBIT.

event time baby! i’ve decided to throw up a little bit of information for oz here.

for the time being oz isn’t going to be trusting either side, though his personality means that he’ll naturally try to help defenseless people if and when he sees them.  that said, he hugely aware of how powerless he is right now. all he has going for him is his wooden scythe, his regeneration and his wit. additionally, while he isn’t the type to be afraid of monsters or villains, he isn’t enjoying the natural disasters, particularly earthquakes. they only give him bad memories, so he might be somewhat distracted. 

          ❛ Aha, are you okay?  ❜

         the concept of go-karting was new. 

          oz had never heard the term before, nor had he known what a ‘go-kart’ was before coming to this track. regardless, the idea of driving around at high speeds in a competition to see who could go the fastest instantly appealed to the boy. he had never been allowed steer a carriage back home, let alone drive a vehicle ( for fear he would crash it into something   — and to be fair to those who stopped him, he probably would have ), so when told that those under a certain age or height had to go in pairs, he immediately turns to the boy next to him, eyes shining.

          ❛ This... isn’t working.  ❜

@abysscut​

“so what? we were taken all the way out here just to plant some trees? i don’t even know where’s a good place to plant one…” probably in the soil? did it matter where?

ϟ » starter call! » excuse me, @abysscut​—

        Thinking back on it, the Mokke kind of resemble rabbits, don’t they?

        The thought arises from nowhere as Kou scuffs his shoe on the tile, waiting in a long line for a simple order. The longer he waits, the antsier he gets, and the further his mind wanders away.

        Maybe that’s why he’s started thinking about the Mokke. It’s been over a month since he last saw one ( chalk the recency up to Kamome and his sister, both with a Mokke in one hand or hallway at all times, ) so he doesn’t really have an excuse to start thinking about them now, but he doesn’t have much else to do in this line. He could text Mitsuba—it wouldn’t be hard, and he’s sure it’d pass the time—

        but, no, no, his brain is definitely forcing him to focus on the Mokke for the next two minutes. He can’t even fathom why he’s thinking about them or how similar they look to rabbits; after all, there isn’t—

        …

        Okay, well, there is a stuffed rabbit head peeking out of the person’s bag in front of him, but that totally isn’t the reason why. ( It probably is. )

        It doesn’t take long for his mind to connect the dots. Because Nene certainly adores the Mokke, and the Mokke look like rabbits, and there is definitely a rabbit plush right in front of him. So…

        Kou taps on the person’s shoulder in front of him, adding a small wave before he starts. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking… Where did you get that toy from?”

        Is it weird to be asking this? Kou’s really hoping it isn’t. “I just have a friend that really likes them! I was thinking I’d get one for her.”

          it was unexpected to be spoken to while waiting in the queue for a drink, but the noble was never one to discourage a friendly face. it was a welcome change when most people in this city were somewhat closed off, thoughts hard to discern from a mere glance and expressions dark. not that he could blame them. in this place, maintaining some degree of caution was completely understandable  — not that would change oz’s own desire to speak to people his own age. 

          if anything, it made him all the more eager. 

          sure, most of his upbeat energy was a front. that wouldn’t change, not when he had always been acting in some way. but his desire to make friends was a genuine one, his insatiable urge to spend time with others a constant. especially so in a city where he was without gilbert, alice and any of the other members of pandora. break had always called him a creepy kid for being so adaptable to the most precarious of changes in his life   — doing the same in this place wasn’t much of a challenge. 

           ❛ Well, this particular rabbit was handmade by someone I know. It’d be pretty hard to get an exact replica when she only ever made two of them, I’m afraid. ❜ even if lacie was in this city, as strange as that still was to acknowledge, oz doubted she’d really enter the business of making rabbit plushies on demand. 

“Why do you have something of your friend’s if she’s not here!?”

Mitsuba hadn’t gotten anything related to anyone of his friends; in fact, he’d been here for days before any of them had even showed up, and there had been a chance that some of them might not have ever shown up to begin with. The thought of some kid having some random thing that should’ve belonged to a friend–

–well, at the time, he hadn’t even really… even after everything they’d been through, Mitsuba would have still doubted that any of them were really his friends, right? Not… not to that great of an extent, anyway. If anyone had been given any important items of theirs, it probably wouldn’t have been him, so… maybe this boy wasn’t lying?

          (Or, well… nah.)

“Don’tcha think that’s weird to be parading it around like you own it if it’s your ‘friend’s’!? Shouldn’t you be keeping it safe at home? Weirdo! Keeping it with you! Pervert!–”

… r-report him to the…

“… huh?”

Wh-why was he looking at Mitsuba like that? What was that smile for?

“Th-there’s nothing weird about looking in windows! It’s a store! I-I was window shopping! What’re you gonna tell the police, ‘oh, that cute little boy wasn’t doing anything wrong but he was looking at goods and merchandise from outside and I think that’s prettttyyy creepy!’ Go to Hell!”

“Uwahh…”

He hadn’t even been window shopping, of course, but that was a much nicer excuse than ‘oh, was just reminiscing about mirrors, you know’. Boy, Mitsuba didn’t like this kid, though! He didn’t like him at all! The sooner he could get out of here the better, but that creepy smile didn’t exactly have him wanting to risk budging from where he stood. Maybe if he, um, didn’t move at all, he wouldn’t get eaten up or whatever this kid was planning to do?

Normal kids absolutely didn’t smile like that.

          oz’s glare becomes less mocking and more so frustrated, lips pressing together to keep himself from actually snapping at the boy as his arms fold. deep breaths, vessalius, deep breaths. it wasn’t as if this boy would understand the importance alice held to him, and therefore the importance of anything alice held dear. it helped that this particular rabbit held a huge deal of significance to him as well, even if he no longer had any genuine connection to it beyond memories. no, the rabbit itself was empty  — his soul was in this body now, and the chances of returning to the plush once more were slim at best. either way, there was no point in trying to explain it. it would be nothing more than a waste of breath. 

          wait, was he - why did this kid look like he was about to cry?

          the anger in oz’s own expression dissipates to one of confusion, then quickly to realization. in seconds of being somewhat threatened, the kid had frozen up and taken on an expression akin to a fearful bunny ( and this was coming from the b. rabbit himself ). if anything, his change in body language reminded oz of a younger gilbert  — they were similar in a lot of ways, the stranger’s resounding self-confidence in his appearance aside ( not that oz could fault that when he himself had been known to brag on occasion as well ). 

          ❛ ... You’re not very good at talking to people, are you? ❜  he says bluntly, but oz truthfully doesn’t know another way to breach the subject. to crumble so meekly in the face of what had been an otherwise terrible ( and obviously false ) threat — oz couldn’t muster the motivation to prod further at his cowardice.  ❛ You shouldn’t immediately snap at someone who annoys you, as easy as that is, unless you want to start trouble like this. Otherwise, someday you might annoy someone whose miles more dangerous than me. That is to say, an actual weirdo. ❜  to quote the boy’s words against him.

      it really was childish.

 people so easily judged others for what they saw, making assumptions and acting on them without a care if it was true or not. behaving like idiots all because they found joy in making fun of someone and seeing them upset. she really couldn’t stand to see such things nor could she just stand idly by as a passive witness. for all their supposed bravado and ‘badass’ attitude, they really were nothing more than all bark and no bite to be so easily chased off.

    Ritsuka kneels down, picking up a rabbit plush that had been scattered in the almost confrontation she readily disturbed. fingers gently dust off any dirt that may have gotten on it, inspecting it to make sure there were no rips or tears. satisfied at seeing it fine, she turns on her heels, approaching the boy on the ground, back against the wall. he had been the unfortunate target of the punks but…he looked to be okay. no visible cuts or scrapes, no blood or bruises. that was good.

     “ Here.” a gentle smile, hand extending out for him to grab to help him up, the plush clutched in her other arm. “ Are you okay? “

@abysscut​ – starter call.

           ❛ I’m alright. Thank you for your help. ❜

          there was some bruising beneath his shirt, but he could already feel his regenerative powers at work. it might not be as fast as it had once been, and it definitely couldn’t repair his body to the level it used to be capable of, but being smacked around a little was nothing of concern. nothing to worry about, nor to make others worry about on his behalf either ( finding a kind soul in a city of strangers was a nice change of pace all the same ). so, with a smile, he takes the hand offered to him. once standing, he brushes off the leg of his pants and huffs, expression akin to a pout.  

          ❛ Some people have no manners! I’m glad nothing was torn, at least. ❜  it wasn’t as if oz didn’t have the smarts to avoid a confrontation. rather, he was known to instigate irritation in others   — or he had once upon a time, back when he had been somewhat innocent to the reality of his own history   — and promptly shut them up with a few choice words. people were easily manipulated, and even easier still was frightening them by prodding at the weak points in their will ( inflated egos were easy to burst ). 

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨  &.  𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭.    suburban  july.  scraped  knees. bruised  knuckles. blood  in  your  teeth. bare  feet  on  hot  concrete.  restlessness.  your  high  school’s  empty  parking lot. love  poems  in  your  diary.  a  window  open  to  coax  in  the  breeze.  burning  inside.  an  ill - fitting  party  dress. a  t - shirt  you  cut  up  yourself.  the  time  you  tried  to  give yourself  bangs. biking  to  your  friends  house. bubble  gum. gas station  ice.  the  feeling  that  you’ve  met  before. rebellion. a  car  radio  playing  down  the  street.  cheap  fireworks. a  heart  drawn  on  the  inside  of  your  wrist  with  a  sharpie.  switchblades.  red  solo  cups. dancing  in  your  bedroom. screaming  yourself  hoarse.  running  out  of  options.  the  forlorn  looking  basketball  hoop  at  the  end  of  a  cul - de - sac. climbing  onto  your  roof  at  night  while  your  parents  are asleep. flip - flops. a  eulogy  written  on  loose - leaf.  the  merciless  noontime  sun.

𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐞𝐭.   speaking  in  a  whisper.   holding  your  breath. a  browning  garden. a  half  remembered  story.  furniture  covered  with  sheets. fog  at  dawn,  mist  at  twilight.  losing  touch. the  ethereal  space  between  winter  and  spring.  the  soft  skin  at  your  temple.  the  crack  in  the  hallway  mirror. things  you’d  say  if  you  knew  the  words. uncombed  hair.  books  with  writing  in  the  margins. books  with  cracked  spines.  books  with  lines  scratched  out. prayers  on  all  souls’  day.  a  chipped  ceramic  bathtub. a  cold stone  floor. the  uncomfortable  awareness  of  your  own  heartbeat. the  sparrow  that  got  in  your  house. shadows. the  creek  you played  in  as  a  child.  a  dirty  night  gown.  an oversized  t - shirt. a  collection  of  your  favorite  words.  soil beneath  your  nails. ghost  stories. the  strangeness  of  your  own name  in  your  mouth. deep  silence.  exhaustion. a  cliff  with  a  long,  long  drop  down.

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐭𝐡  𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.   wicker  deck  furniture.  new  england  summer.  large  sunglasses  and  a blonde  bob. a  storm  over  the  ocean.  patio  umbrellas  flapping in  the  wind.  the  smell  of  chlorine. muffled  laughter.  sarcasm. starched  cuffs.  day  drinking.  bay  windows. the  idea  of  love.   love  for  the  idea  of  love.  love  for  love’s  sake. hangovers. wandering  over  the  sand  dunes.  a  vagabond  with  a guitar. fishermen  with  tattoos.  a  pretty boy  with  a  slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing  too  close. boat shoes. feeling  yourself  change. big,  floppy  sunhats. double - speak. a  song  you  keep  listening to.  turning  red  under  their  gaze.  margaritas  drank  on  an inflatable  pool  lounger.  string  lights  on  a  balmy  night.  sleepy  june  days. fights  you’re  unprepared  for. hope  you  weren’t  expecting.  pranks  that  go  too  far.  bad  poetry.  pining.  becoming  less  of  a  stranger.

𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡.   the  space  where  your  grief  used  to  be.  a  bird  that’s  lost  an  eye. old  blood  stains.  heavy  blinds.  the  smell  of  sweat.  the  stillness  after  a  battle.  a  fake  smile. a  curse.  the  taste  of  metal  at  the  back  of  your  tongue. your  house,  unfamiliar  in  the  dark. a  dusty  crib.  the  smell  of  sulfur.  an  orange  pill  bottle.  streaks  in  the  sink.  a  black  cocktail  dress. your  hand  on  the  doorknob,  shaking. a  chilly  breeze.  crunching  from  the  gravel  driveway  on  a  moonless  night. clenched  hands.  a  rusty  swing  set.  a  flashing  digital  clock  stuck  on  12 : 00.  a  snake  that crosses your  path. an  owl  that  watches  you. a dog  that  runs when  you approach. red  smoke, dark  clouds.  cool  steel. tile  floors. footsteps  in  the  hallway  late  at  night. a  baggy  suit  that  used  to  fit  before.  visions. insomnia. headaches. nursery  rhymes.  being  too  far  in  to  go  back  now.

𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡  𝐚𝐝𝐨  𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭  𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.   the  high  drama  of  small  towns. a  pickup  truck.  military  supply duffel  bags  in  the  hall,  hugs  all  around. tulip  bulbs. a wraparound  porch.  a  pitcher  of  iced  tea.  a  rubber  halloween mask.  someone  on  your  level.  ill - timed  proclamations. stomach clenching  laughter. rushing  in. not  minding  your  business. crepe  paper.  white  lies.  secrets  written  down  and  thrown  away. southern  hospitality.  homemade  curtains  in  the  kitchen.  a  sink  full  of  roses.  hiding  in  the  bushes. old  friends.  the wedding  dress  your  grandma  wore,  and  her  mama  before her. a dog - eared  rhyming  dictionary. chamomile  with  honey.  the intimacy  of  big  parties.  lawn  flamingos.  gossip.  a  crowded  church. friendly  rivalries. unfriendly  rivalries.  stuff getting  real. love  at  five  hundredth  sight.  not  realizing  you’re  home  until you’re  there.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫.   cement  block  buildings.  power  lines  that  birds  never  perch  on. the  end  of  the  world.  useless  words. rainless  thunder,  heat  lighting,  a  too  big  sky.  arthritic  knuckles.  broken  glass.  chalk  cliffs.  the  pulsing  red - black  behind  closed  eyes.  something  you  learned  too  late.  wet  mud  that  sucks  up  your  shoes  while  you  walk. a  cold  stare. empty  picture  frames. empty  prayers.  the  obscenity  of  seeing  your  parents  cry. a  treeless  landscape.  bloody  rags.  grappling  in  the  dark  with  reaching  hands. the sharpness  at  the  the  tips  of  your  teeth. the  blown  out windows  of  a  skeletal  house. decay.  jokes  that  aren’t  jokes. biting  your  tongue.  prophecies.  aching  muscles,  tired  feet. stinging  rain. invoking  the  gods.  wondering  if  the  gods  are  listening. worrying  that  the  gods  are  dead. white  noise. shivers.  numbness.  the  unequivocal  feeling  of  ending.

𝐚  𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫  𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬  𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦.   the  smell  of  wet  soil  and  dead  leaves. listening  to  music  on  headphones  with  your  eyes  closed. wildflowers.  the  distant  sparkle  of  lightning  bugs.  fear  that turns  into excitement. excitement  that  turns  to  frenzy.  mossy  tree  trunks. a  pair  of  yellow  eyes  in  the  darkness. night  swimming.  moonlight  through  the  leaves. a  bass  beat  in  your  chest.  a  butterfly  landing  on  your  nose.  a  kiss  from  a  stranger. a  dark  hallow  in  an  old  tree.  glow  in  the  dark  paint. drinking  on  an  empty  stomach. a  twig  breaking  behind  you. spinning  until  you’re  dizzy.  finding  glitter  on  your  body  and  not  remembering  where  it  came  from.  an  overgrown  path  through  the  woods.  cool  dew  on  your  skin. a  dream  that  fades  with  waking.  moths  drawn  to  the  light.  giving  yourself  over,  completely. afterglow.  the  long,  loving,  velvety  night.

            Children fending for themselves was not an unfamiliar sight to the Eternal, and that was an unfortunate fact in itself. They always have that hardened look in their eyes, just a bit sharper beyond their years. This kid’s good at hiding it, but Siete could see it just peeking through. You just need to know where to look. It’s why he knew off the bat he won’t be looking for any parents soon – chances are he wouldn’t find any looking.

            Were this be his world Siete would immediately direct the kid to Stardust Town, but things weren’t as convenient here. Still, he couldn’t just find himself to leave this alone. Not having the strength worthy of his title was no excuse to leave things as they are, after all. He kneeled down, looking as friendly as he could, in order to see the other blonde at an equal eye level.

            “That’s a nice stuffed rabbit.” It wasn’t the most extravagant of stitchwork, but it look well-kept regardless.  “Does it have a name?”

@abysscut​ / starter call!

          ❛ We have the same name, actually. It’s Oz. ❜

          at this point, oz was not surprised that the small rabbit was catching the eyes of others. it was unusual for a boy his age to be seen carrying one around, he was sure. most children in their mid-teens would have abandoned such childish indulgences for the sake of appearing more mature, left behind their plush companions to move on to more ‘adult’ activities. even so, oz did not want to leave behind the stuffed toy, even if it did bring more attention than he would have liked. it was a part of him once, and now that he had been reunited with his old body, it felt strange to leave it behind. it would be safer with him anyway. ❛ He belongs to... my friend. But, well, it doesn’t look like she’s here. In this city, that is. ❜ probably for the better. he wouldn’t want alice to be trapped in such a place. 

              ❛   Heh — it’s okay !  Never a bad time to show her off… And you’re totally right to be amazed,   ❜   RUBY   replies with mirrored enthusiasm — in fact, she might be even more enthusiastic than he is. Despite Crescent Rose’s weight, he handles it pretty well… So naturally, she wasn’t surprised to learn they share a weapon. She was, however, totally ecstatic. 

              ❛   I know that feeling — Crescent Rose was all wooden and stuff when I first got here. But she got better !  So go easy on yours, it’s probably trying its best… I still wouldn’t mind getting to see it !   ❜   It’s a natural matter of pride, after all, a show-and-tell for champs !  She twirls her weapon several times length-wise before sliding it into place on her back; honestly she’s not sure how she’ll cope when she gets Crescent Rose’s gun mode back — it’s done wonders for her posture to lug a giant scythe around. But more importantly — 

              ❛   Oh— !  Heh, forgot to introduce myself too !  Ruby Rose. … Oh, and… Not to braaag, but… I could totally take a look at your weapon for you whenever it’s back to normal !  I helped make mine, after all — and gave some suggestions for upgrades last month. … They didn’t go with any of ‘em — but now I have ideas !   ❜

           ❛ Sure! You seem way better at weapon maintenance than I am. The only thing I’m good for is swinging one around - I’d probably be smarter not to tinker with it too much, whenever I do get it back. I’d probably endanger people if I fooled around with tools. ❜  it wouldn’t hurt to let the girl - ruby, he notes, now that he knows her name - try. especially if she was experienced. what she would make of a chain’s weapon - what she would be able to discover - oz was rather interested to see. even if it would take some time before he regained his scythe ( he could always listen to her speak more of her own in the meantime ). 

          but while still on the topic of her weapon, he gestures towards it, intrigued at one of the things she had said moments prior. ❛ You gave your scythe a name. Is there a story behind it? ❜  crescent rose, she had said. they shared the same last name, weapon and wielder. a coincidence, or something more significant? oz couldn’t help the curiosity that overcame him. his smile remained bright as he inquired further. ❛ I know people are in the habit of naming weapons, but I’ve never done it myself. It’s always made me wonder how exactly they go about it. ❜  a ceremonial blade or two, involved in formal ceremonies of nobility and bestowed their names many years before they were placed in his hands, were the only named weapons he had personally wielded. his own scythe was nameless, simply an extension of himself. 

             ❛   Yes — speed and accuracy are key here. Too much speed and the dish will fail; too little accuracy and it won’t cook properly. This device is picky, though, I think — it only registers this… wand part of the time.   ❜

        SHE   isn’t sure why this boy is watching, but she’s far too invested in making the dish to shoo him away. TAP-TAP-TAP — each progressive hit of the stylus against the handheld’s screen grows louder in tandem with her intensity. Did this sauce take so long to simmer in the last round, or does it merely feel longer because there’s a second pair of eyes ?

             ❛   As for why a rat is working in a restaurant… Your guess is as good as mine.   ❜

@abysscut​ ——————— S.C.

           ❛ Huh... I see. ❜

          how it had come to this, his own head peeking over the stranger’s shoulder as she played a game, oz was not sure. still, it was rather captivating to watch her tap-tap-tap on the screen of the device, his own emerald gaze following the rat as it scurried from one part of the kitchen to the other. what a talented fellow. if he could ever see gilbert again, maybe oz would tell him about this strange game. but in watching her for several minutes, the woman’s expression turning from irritated to genuinely frustrated during certain parts of this ‘level’, as she had called it, a question came to the boy that he had to ask.  ❛ Is it even any fun? ❜

           ❛ … I suppose. ❜

          as if prompted by her words, he recalls a memory, a time spent in the company of gilbert and ada. they had been sharing stories, whispering among themselves about the legendary ‘abyss’ - a place where only the most heinous and terrible of condemned criminals would be sent. a pit so large none could ever escape it, or so the tale went. ‘nothing more than a scary story’, he had told his quivering sister when her tears had begun to fall, nothing to be truly afraid of. or so the young noble had believed. 

          oz supposed he had forgotten a great many things to alleviate his fears. in his desire to escape the perpetual fear - the accursed guilt that consumed him - he had forgotten sablier, he had forgotten jack, he had forgotten alice. and so he had lived peacefully, without any knowledge of his sin. but even so —