Beyond the Trickster's Veil

Thank you for the swimsuit. I understand it’s common and popular in Japan outside, but for me, I’m reminded of the suits my sister and I scandalized Portorose in in our younger days. Ah, to be in my 80s again! I’d be happy to wear it on the beach getaway we keep talking about, along with the white sailor’s hat you’ve included with it.

As much as it hurts me to disappoint you, however, I must politely decline your suggestion that I dye my hair blonde.

With love, Patchouli

“Oh my, a curse. Has it been a century since the last one? A week, maybe? One tends to lose count after the hundredth or so. Now, what to do, what to do...”

Assumption, mother of misunderstandings, would have found soil most fertile on the weeks of absence that once anew had stolen the hermit to the attention of her savory peers. Now, as she took steps back to the lair she’d carved herself on the holy grounds of Senkai, the fruits of discord would have finally ripened enough, ready to be harvested by the claws of the Miraculous Witch’s indignation. How dare the hermit have chosen whichever whim had taken her on literal flights of fancy, over the gracious offerings that only a few souls among countless others were worthy of? The nonexistent director of this tragicomedy called life snickered, mere seconds separating it from the moment when Seiga would lay her eyes on the whithered, moldy result of her superficiality...

“Welcome back, Master...! I’ve almost finished disposing of aaaall this year’s gifts... there was even one that wasn’t poisoned...!”

"The blood of young virgin maidens and the tears of prepubescent acolytes, according to the latest rumors floating through the villagers' ears. If you thirst so longingly for anything more substantial than the fabrications of a couple scaredy peasants, on the other hand, you might want to take a peek in the right cabinet."

That is the kind of question - and manner of posing said question - that she won't even bother to give a proper answer to. Amidst the gray particles blown all over Daichi's face, however, he might recognize the faintest trace of that "pfffft" that so plagued the Writer a couple of posts ago.

*Prolonged and articulate hissing noises*

"There are so many reasons behind that, I would deplete Senkai's reserves of tea before explaining even half of them... not that you would be offered any, before you make assumptions about how welcome you truly are here."

You know what? I give up. Yes, this is an official forfeit on the Writer’s part. Because I dare, I thrice dare you, my dear readers, to try and tell me just how someone, anybody, could ever achieve the impossibly ridiculous feat of making such a base, primal sound as "pffffft" sound classy. Go on, the keyboard is right underneath your hands. I will be waiting for your contributions, while I go roll in a mixed pile of dictionaries and my own tears.

There are only so many ways to make a shrug appear overdone. To try and make it worth labeling as majestic is the sort of outrageously unnecessary behavior that Seiga had made into a standard, like she made sure to remind the intrusive reporter with a movement that, rather than being limited to her shoulders as it should have, expanded all the way to the very tip of her toes. It was a full body shrug, in a way that only she could have made sense of.

The words bounced back and forth among walls filled to the brim with unmistakable emptiness. They lingered around for as much time the strength behind their utterance let them, until finally the quiet atmosphere of the room overtook once anew. A brief respite: subtle at first, sound creeped its way inside with renown vitality, a faint hum slicing itself a spot within the silence not unlike the woman who'd done the same with part of the ground.