Investigations and Chapter 2
âInvestigationâ is a noun.
Investigations in Twisted Wonderland as made possible by the main character are non-existent without their presence.
Foreword: Read in your own discretion, this is a personal dissection of Twisted Wonderland's Main Story Chapter 2. it gets more theoretical and subjective further you read. Interpret on your behalf! Footnotes bottommost.
Word Count: Approximately 1200+
Chapter 4 and 2 focuses on concise investigations[1] as far as the game progressed; i.e., there is a culprit, who could that be? 1, 3, and 5, as well as perhaps 6 (which deserves its own dissection), are mission-oriented[2] chapters.Â
CHAPTER 2 TO INVESTIGATE. There was no point in investigating, actually. As far as Night Raven is concerned, this isnât the first time someone should have attempted to cheat in these games, not only Magift, but also other tournaments , so why investigate?
Leona knew this for certain, his confidence had no fault:
Crowley knew who the culprit was: Itâs very easy to guess. There was only one team capable of doing so, and had the motive for it. There was little purpose in involving the faculty in this mishap.
Pomefiore and the other dorms (Diasomnia, Octavinelle) knew the culprit, however, evidence was not needed. These points shall be specified further you read.
NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGEâS EDUCATION SCHEMA:
Students are given leisure to study at their own pace, staff are more practical than theoretical, kind of like Ivy League Schools or as effective education would be.Â
ON NIGHT RAVEN AS A MERITOCRACY. Staff are at their most professional, they do not meddle on student affairs unless they should[3]; rules are as to how you bend them. Ace is a good example of a Night Raven student, someone you would say, a product of this school, Night Raven College.
Students are given the liberty should they achieve or fail in this school, you can (do anything no matter how immoral) as long as you donât get caught.Â
WHY STUDENTS WANT NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE. There are prospects on how the intelligent campus resident views Night Raven. It offers not only the best magical education in Twisted Wonderland, but also, it is a chokehold of network and affluent connections.
Magic Power and Magic Potential is the basis of success in Night Raven, as to why Malleus Draconia (epitome of Magical Power and Potential in this current school year) is most revered; characters who defy this logic being Azul Ashengrotto and Leona Kingscholar on the basis of their respective Chapter Progressions[4].
I will focus on Chapter 2, therefore, Leona Kingscholar and Savanaclaw.
Chapter 2
Intuition can only go as far as to accuse, in order to trap the culprit without any means for escape, you must secure evidence. Leona knew this fact, even if he (or Savanaclaw) were to be accused, they would need to secure clear and effective evidence against him.
It raises the question of accusation. Anyone can accuse, as anyone can lead an informal investigation against him. However, a backlash against Savanaclaw is a backlash against Leona, who is, in fact, a Second Prince (a prince, nonetheless). This, Crowley knew so well. The investigation in Chapter 2 was nothing but for show, as to why it was a âformal investigationâ, that being approved by the headmaster.
Vil perhaps had suspicions of who the suspect of foul play was, but if not indifference towards Magift in general, it was perhaps an offered sympathy for Savanaclawâs continuous loss for the last 3 years, a bias against those âborn giftedâ. Idia Shroud could only be indifferent.
Thatâs why only Octavinelle was secured to keep their mouths shut. Octavinelle had the means to use their suspicions against Savanaclaw should the time arise.
LEONA WAS. Was? To give credit to his due, he knew all of these: what should the respective Dorm Leaders do if this were to occur. How should it be executed cleanly? Who is to be rid of? Who should be paid to keep silent?
RUGGIEâS RATIONALE. How could he have forgiven Leona so easily for all the poor heartache he caused? He almost killed him!Â
Simply because Ruggie has little regard for himself, as he prioritizes his prospects. Even if he feels wronged by Leona, Leona has the power and influence, and he (Ruggie) has to cling to that for survival. Night Raven is not an easy school, it never offered ease to begin with. Ruggie wanted the opportunities their victory in Magift offered, not only does it give him appraisal as a Savanaclaw student who participated in their Victory against the undefeated Diasomnia, it also fulfills him as a character, a sort of purpose so to speak. Ruggie understood the consequences should they fail, he understood the grounds should he overexert his magic or himself, he accepted all and was prepared to do everything if the mission wills it.
JACK AS THE EVIDENCE. It wasnât the sandwich. Jack was the lead and catalyst for their victory, if he hadnât testified against, there was no ground against Leona. As to why Leona had to keep him close, as to why he is a relevant character, as to why he is the trouble child of Savanaclaw. DETECTIVE MC. Without MC, or their existence present, there would have been no investigation. Supposedly they were key to forming a capable team, therefore, a clue via Grimâs stolen sandwich, and convincing Jack to cooperate along with them. Otherwise, Crowley would have deemed it a liability for investigation if an outsider (MC) wasnât involved. ON CROWLEY. Considering his prospects, he canât simply interfere with the activities surrounding the student body. NRC is not only a school of magic, itâs a political playground for high school students (deserves also a dissection of its own).
LEONA WAS (2). Savanaclawâs pride was put in a chokehold. Diasomnia could care less about Magift Prospects, to ensure only Malleus Sovereignty secured by himself. It was in his hands to bring forth his own justice, his Dormâs Sovereignty[5], as well as to fix his broken pride. A CHECKMATE. Casualties, so to speak. If Leona had proceeded to fight against a losing battle[6] that was, to put it lightly, could have gotten their dorm mates severely injured, worst, unable to participate in future sports activities from a permanent injury (negated by Magical Facilities, although there should be an extent to which aid could help). At that moment, Diasomnia (Lilia) had every right to take such a respective action (severe injury as punishment, or according to Briar Valley customs), not only did they attempt to injure royalty, it was from a spineless cause. Perhaps he suffocated Ruggie for show, as to frame him as the main offender, although that is a big theoretical leap on its own. MC, as far as Leona had considered, wasnât as much of a hinge (from the current material, would possibly be negated by the Light Novel) against their victory, brought forth, therefore, his biggest inaction that caused his loss. Should Savanaclaw be victorious, it would have been called a day. Should Malleus and his dorm mate receive injuries (therefore, alludes that Faeâs injuries take time to healâŠ?), it would have been deemed a âminor mishapâ to avoid political inconveniences, furthermore, without evidence to suspect Savanaclaw at all.
LILIAâS SYMPATHIES. Perhaps he understood Leona more than we, as viewers had. In regards to his words, he was shocked on how he (Leona) took it. I believe it was seeing the enemy eye to eye, a sympathy for their struggles, âif we had not been on opposing sides, we could have been on similar grounds,â a strange sentiment, per personal interpretation. If the story were catered to a subjective lens of Leona as a character, he would have been a tragic anti-hero and Diasomnia, Malleus Draconia, a ruthless uncaring villain. A perspective shift offers an expanse of subjectivity and personal liabilities[7].
Footnotes:
*1 Investigatory Chapters, where the player has to figure out the respective culprit, i.e., unknown.
*2 Character is given a mission to secure something or to contain someone.
*3 Twisted Wonderland Halloween Event (2020, 2021): Scary Monsters 1
*4 Riddle, Vil struggle against their own insecurities as their arcâs main focus. Kalim as well as Jamil are quite similar to Idia, their arc focuses on moving forward. Azul and Leona are political.
*5 The spirit of the Dorm. Akin to their unique characteristics. Diasomnia embodies perfection, as to why Malleus could not afford to lose, Savanaclaw the antithesis of Diasomnia, therefore, could also not afford loss.
*6 Twisted Wonderland Main Story 2-26
*7 To refer to emotional investments viewers or characters offer in a respective arc in a story
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- ÍÛȘÛȘÌ„Ëââ đ«đđȘđźđđŹđ: reader throwing their own shoe shoe at his face ââË ÍÛȘÛȘÌ„â ft. leona kingscholar, floyd leech, jade leech, and azul ashengrotto
â°â†đ§đšđđđŹ: happy twst en release! to celebrate, iâm answering the last request in the inbox before i might open requests again. i know my format has been continuously going through changes, but i think iâm satisfied now. xDÂ
â°ââ€Â đ«đđȘđźđđŹđ đđČ: anon
Leona will catch the shoe and watch as you make a run for it. Quite the audacity and stupidity you have to throw a shoe at his face while fully knowing that you may be in trouble if you stayed put. Perhaps a misbehaving herbivore should learn a thing or two about crossing a NRC dorm leader and a royal.Â
Of course, he doesnât wish to deal with all the work of putting you in your place. And thatâs why Leona has trusted people to do his bidding, aka Ruggie. Itâs not like Ruggie wonât get anything out of it eitherââ he gets access to some of Leonaâs wealth if he carries out this lesson for you.
Leona will be lounging in the botanical gardens as Ruggie drags you to a nearby location, without your control. Heâll be watching as you unwillingly take out your shoe and whack yourself with it, and heâll be listening to your yelps of pain and pleas to stop.Â
He isnât going to budge from his spot, and heck, heâll pretend to be asleep. But Leona canât stop the smirk from growing on his lips. Itâs just so satisfying hearing you enjoy your little lesson.Â
đ đ„đšđČđ đđđđđĄ
Now arenât you so kind to gift Floyd a shoe? Itâs just too bad that you not only gifted it to him by throwing it at his face, but you also ran away without so much a word. Itâs a good thing that he caught it so that no damage was done to it.
Now, if his mood is good, he will laugh in amusement. Itâs not something that heâd get to experience every day. But if his mood is terrible, he will be angry. Either way, Floyd will pay you back for such a charitable gift.Â
You want to play tag? Oh heâll join in alright. Floyd will run after you with your shoe in hand. If you have little to no athletic ability or stamina, expect that heâll corner with his lopsided smile.Â
When he gets a perfect view of your face, Floyd will throw the shoe with all his might and make sure that it hits your face so hard that youâll recoil from it. If you fall on your butt, all the more he will howl in laughter. Your reaction to his gift for you is absolutely priceless!Â
đđđđ đđđđđĄ
Jadeâs hands go up to his face when he sees the shoe flying towards him and protects himself. Heâs stunned for a bit, but as he sees your retreating figure dashing away, he will smile. My oh my, so this is how you are. Heâll gladly entertain your whims.Â
Jade isnât cruel at all, he will return your shoe shortly after. Thereâs just a nice little addition underneath the insole of your shoe. He suppresses the glee through a shocked face as he watches your disdain over seeing shaving cream mess up the inside of your shoe and your sock. Jade will apologize, but of course, he doesnât mean it.Â
And thatâs not all. Since it seems like you donât care about your shoes, perhaps you wonât mind it if he takes your PE shoes before your classes with Vargas without your knowledge. Jade will make sure to have a good view of you getting scolded by Vargas about the importance of such shoes for physical activity.
Donât worry, he will return them to their proper place without you looking. Just expect a little note in your shoe with a cute mushroom drawing with the words:Â âNext time, please donât misplace your shoes.â
Poor Azul, he will be met face first with your shoe. He wouldnât be able to see you, but he will hear your laughter as you run away. A foolish mistake. You know, you could have damaged his glasses for your brash actions! Perhaps itâs time a bad kid learns how to behave.Â
Is there a problem, dear? Do you have any concerns that led you to throwing your shoe at his face, or did you just do it for the sake of it? Either way, Azul will learn more about you, through keen observation and answers from people who know you.Â
Once he finds out what sort of desires and insecurities you may have, Azul will approach you with an enticing contract. Heâll help you with fulfilling your single desire, but in exchange, you have to give up any one of your abilities. If you want it back, score perfect on every single exam. But should you fail, you have to work in Mostro for a week.Â
Should you fail to hold up your end of the bargain, youâll be assigned with doing a little clown act every night to entertain the customers. And as people laugh at the various embarrassing actions that you do, Azul himself sits by the counter, taking amusement that his revenge plan worked out very well.Â
The first is excited; they just landed a goldmine! This is often sweet, anticipating, with fingers intertwined, eyes focused on the subject, then words follow. Smiles are toothy, white and pearly; when lips part, melodies spew thereafter. A string of pleasing, gratifying, incoherent notes; their hands are clasped, and they gaze as if itâs hidden treasure gouged out. This first gazeâŠhe doesnât like it.
When he walks, does the second one offer itself. The second is indifferentârather, itâs hatred without sound. The second stares at a creature bloated within the exaggerations of words. It sees not the figure, but a caricature thereof; a twelve-foot thing with sharp canines that cuts without remorse, and with a careless scoff, the larynx is scorned, whatâs left with flesh is red and a voiceless throat. It lacks structure and a general sense of logic, itâs an idea without evidence, cries without contingency. The second gaze is stupid.
The third refuses category, at least, thereâs nowhere to place it. The third sees Floyd. Heâs six-feet tall, his grin is toothy, his teeth are sharp, and his laugh is contagious, so they laugh as well. The third is warm, it sees, it hears, but itâs mute, hollow. It lacks voice; Floyd exists, right there: walks, talks, smiles; but thereâs nothing about him at all. The third gaze observes, it sees a six-foot boy strolling about, affiliating himself with everyone, and he exists in space, solid, and yet heâs not at all real.
These are the gazes of strangers, the third belonging to the Ramshackleâs Prefect.
They walk, talk, speak, smile, laugh, but there is no voice. Itâs irritating.
âI am trying to know what it means to love anyone / Else the way I meant to love her, the way a sweet tooth / Loves salt. Sugar, I used to know this place like the back / of my hand. Now thereâs just the blonde past,â
â Amy Woolard, from âNeck of the Woods,â Neck of the Woods (Alice James Books, 2020)
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Eh?~ You're wishing me a happy birthday? I won't allow you to party if there's no gift! Pfft, I'm kidding, calm down! But seriously, do you have a present for me?
ÊáŽáŽáŽÊ ÊÉȘÊáŽÊᎠáŽÊ áŽáŽáŽÉȘáŽ!
âąâąâąâąâą
Groovy and Birthday Interview under the cut!
â Ramshackle Dorm â Lounge â
NRC Campus News
Interview with the Birthday Student
âąâąâąâąâą
Emmie: Since I was the one who interviewed the others, do they spin a bottle to see who interviews me? If so, I hope it's someone rich! Maybe Kalim-senpai, or Vil-senpai, the people who are guaranteed to have fancy gifts!
???: Eeeh?~ Is that so, Umibani-chan? I was gonna wish you a happy birthday, but who'd have thought you were just planning to rob us all dry!
Emmie: Floyd?! I mean- Senpai! Floyd-senpai. I really didn't think you'd be the one to interview me. Did the bottle really spin to point at you?
Floyd: Hm? Bottle? Ahaha! There was no bottle, just dice!
Emmie: So it's basically the same! Just random pickings! Damn NRC. Better you than your brother, I guess. You have the same rich kid family, but Jade-senpai would end up talking about our club activities and the things I owe him.
Floyd: Hm?~ So we fit into your rich kid standards? Good to know. Hey, Umibani-chan. How much did you steal from me?
Emmie: Even if I did, what makes you think I'll tell you?
Floyd: Aah? You won't answer?
Emmie: I only took a few coins, sir senpai sir! Nothing you would care for! Ah! So uh, are you gonna start the interview now? You know, the birthday interview? It's my birthday today! Yaaay.
Floyd: Umibani-chan, you're surprisingly a good kid aren't you? You run fast when predators approach, Umibani-chan! Good, good. You'd partly survive the sea!
Emmie: ...Partly?
Floyd: Kayy~ Let's start now!
Emmie: You scary eel... Who the hell talks about survival in someone's birthday party?
Floyd: Stop talking, I haven't asked the question yet! I'll never wish you a happy birthday at this rate!
First question!~ How did you spend your birthdays back home? Since you're from some boring magicless world, what did you even do there?
I'm gonna pretend you didn't just insult the way I used to live my life, senpai.
Mm, to be honest, I didn't do much on my birthdays. It's not like I could afford extravagant gifts or parties, and I still had work to do, yunno?
Hah? So you pretended that your birthday was just like any other day?
Well I didn't do that either! I wasn't that miserable.
Ah! I did do one thing! I went to cheap restaurants and got free food! It was easy too, I'd show up and act all cheery and say it was my birthday. I made sure to save the free desserts and bring them home to eat with my family! We'd all share the food then save some for the rest of the week. I always made sure to eat less that day so my family could have more. And as a present, Mom would sing to me until I feel asleep.
You're such a loving child, Umibani-chan. It's sorta gross.
Shut up, Floyd-senpai. Let me be.
What do you think about your celebration now? Do you think it's better or worse?
Well, the circumstances are definitely better. The fact that I'm wearing a birthday outfit right now still blows my mind! I mean what kind of expenses do you have to prepare clothes just for one day of the year!
You're a sad mess, Umibani.
Floyd-senpai, you should feel lucky I'm nice on my birthday.
On another note! The fact that I even have physical presents speaks for itself honestly. So many people gave me things, I felt embarrassed! But of course, I really like it! Free gifts are great and I don't have to pay anyone back!
One of my presents was a duvet! A duvet! My whole life I thought a duvet was a dessert! It's bedding! NRC is great!
Plus! I don't hate anyone here either. To be honest, I'd managed to have a happy birthday away from home without feeling lonely, so that sure is an achievement.
So I guess I'll be selfish and say it's better for me here. Doesn't mean I don't love how I celebrated before either though!
Are there any people you wish were here with you today? If there are a lot, pick just one.
Well I'd pick my family, of course!
I'd have chosen all of them to be here, but you decided to throw in that last sentence.
God, I feel like I'm choosing which of my kids to murder. I guess I'd want my Big Sis to be here!
She moved away from home to work so I wish I could spend more time with her beyond delivering food as a part-time job and meeting her halfway through the delivery.
I feel like she'd get along with Vil-senpai! They're similar people so they'd probably be friends. Can't be too sure, though. They might end up clashing.
That just makes me hope they do! Hey, Umibani-chan, how good would you say your sister is at fighting?
You can't be serious. My sister would not fight Vil-senpai!
Booringg. Oii!~ I'm done! Come surprise her now! It's late and I'm tirreddd.
Surprise? What the hell do you- Oh. Cake.
Yup. Cake. Caakkeee.
Don't repeat my words, senpai!
Are you tearing up Umibani-chan?~ I figured you'd cry! Bet you never had a birthday cake, huh? Look at you! You're cryinggg.~
Shut it, senpai! I'm not crying! I'm just- My eyes are- Ah, damn. I can't even think of an excuse. Pfft, I hate you guys. You idiots.
Happy Birthday!
áŽÉȘê±áŽáŽÊÊáŽÉŽáŽáŽáŽê±:
Floyd: Man, Umibani-chan, I'm getting the feeling you would die endlessly for your family. Stupid, isn't it? They never even bought you a cake, come on. Makes me wonder how you were raised.
Emmie: In a loving and supportive environment? Stop making it sound like I'm some sort of sad little lamb who doesn't know good from evil! I'm just loyal to people I love, you ass. Plus, cakes aren't everything! If they could buy me one they would!
Floyd: Yeah, yeah.
Floyd: Ah! Right~ Jade told me to ask you something!
Emmie: Please tell me it's not about how I still haven't paid him back for eating his food or stealing some mushrooms or just generally robbing him blind.
Floyd: He asked what the real reason why you joined the Mountain Lovers Club was!
Emmie: Shit! That's even worse! I'll pay him back now! I promise! I'll even return what I stole! Except the money!
âąâąâąâąâą
ÉŽáŽáŽáŽê±:
Click the pictures for better resolution!
The art was made before the new birthday cards came out! So the interview questions and art is based off of the first birthday cards.
The fact that another character was interviewing the main of the day was based off of the new birthday cards template! I only settled on Floyd doing it because of a spin the wheel website. The interviewer was originally supposed to be either OG Yuu or Rook. Yuu was chosen because they were the game's interviewer for the first birthdays, while Rook was chosen because the dynamic of a terrified Emmie and cheery Rook interviewing her was hilarious to me.
Using dice to choose the interviewer was also based off of the recent birthday interviews!
Writing Floyd was harder than I thought. TWST writers, my respect for you gets higher every day. I can only hope I sorta got his character right.
That's it for the notes! Once again, happy birthday to my baby, Emmie!! <3
                       Dorm Leader
Club: Mountain Lovers Society
Best Subject: Physical Education
ê°áŽÉŽ ê°áŽáŽáŽê±ïŒ
Dominant Hand: Left
Favorite Food: Hamburger
Least Favorite Food: Any rotten food
Dislikes: Being hungry
Hobby: Cooking
Talents: Fighting
áŽáŽÊê±áŽÉŽáŽÊÉȘáŽÊïŒ
Emmie is an extroverted person who usually tries to talk her way into and out of situations. When that doesn't work, she resorts to physical violence, which she genuinely enjoys. She likes other people and making emotional connections, while also using them to her advantage. While she may enjoy being with others, she doesn't trust them and doesn't expect to be trusted either. Emmie is a quick thinker and works best when improvising on the spot, which is lucky considering her tendency to cause chaos by either taking what shouldn't be stolen, or by saying a blunt quip when she didn't want to please someone.
áŽÉȘê±áŽáŽÊÊáŽÉŽáŽáŽáŽê±ïŒ
A poor, hardworking and reckless girl who's constantly on the lookout for new opportunities and ways to get money. She likes to imagine being able to live a spoiled and wealthy life and is often seen as dreamy by her family. But she does see the use of money for aesthetic purposes as wasting and understands the work it must take to get there. She deeply loves her family and is loyal to them without a second thought. She puts a lot of value into hard work and dedication to morals and people.
Despite PE being her best subject, her favorite by far is potion making. It reminds her of cooking.
She's proud of her pretty face. Emmie works hard to take good care of it. (Enjoys the fact that it looks so innocent. She considers her pure face useful for thievery and also just likes it in general)
Originally she disliked Jack mainly because he reminded her of the aggressive dogs back in her neighborhood who she would fight for food. (She thought he was scary, rip)
The only reason she joined the Mountain Lovers Society is because it was an opportunity for free food which she could take from the mountains. She's come to actually enjoy the club activities but she finds the most fun in debating with Jade on whether or not she gets to keep the ingredients she found.
Umibani-chan is based off of the sea bunny, umi no bani! Umi no bani was just too long so Floyd cut it short to Umibani.
She's a tryhard in class mainly because this is her first opportunity to be in school. While she isn't the best in NRC, she's proud of what she managed to achieve with her hard work. (Her grades are average to good; she secretly breaks into the library because she wants to get better)
Emmie's favorite teacher is Crewel. While she didn't like his dog motif and thought it was scary to call his students puppies, she likes the way he discusses his lesson and the hands-on approach they're allowed to have. (Always asks questions in class; wants to make her best subject into potions and not PE. Crewel enjoys the fact that someone is genuinely interested and brags to Vargas about how attentive Emmie is in his class)
Has made a game with Floyd where they chase eachother around school. The first to catch the other wins. When she wins, she gets money, when he wins, Floyd drags her into some chaos.Â
Formed a kinship with Ruggie. They have an unspoken competition where they show the other what they stole that day. There's no real prize, both of them just like to talk about what they took.
She's terrified of Rook. Jumps whenever he appears, which earned her his nickname. There isn't any dislike towards him, just fear. She lowers her voice everytime she sees him. (Originally it was Mademoiselle Lapin but she built up the courage to ask if he could change it to Monsieur instead because she liked the sound of it better)
Her MBTI personality type is ESTP and her enneagram type of 7w6.
                       Dorm Leader
Club: Mountain Lovers Society
Best Subject: Physical Education
ê°áŽÉŽ ê°áŽáŽáŽê±ïŒ
Dominant Hand: Left
Favorite Food: Hamburger
Least Favorite Food: Any rotten food
Dislikes: Being hungry
Hobby: Cooking
Talents: Fighting
áŽáŽÊê±áŽÉŽáŽÊÉȘáŽÊïŒ
Emmie is an extroverted person who usually tries to talk her way into and out of situations. When that doesn't work, she resorts to physical violence, which she genuinely enjoys. She likes other people and making emotional connections, while also using them to her advantage. While she may enjoy being with others, she doesn't trust them and doesn't expect to be trusted either. Emmie is a quick thinker and works best when improvising on the spot, which is lucky considering her tendency to cause chaos by either taking what shouldn't be stolen, or by saying a blunt quip when she didn't want to please someone.
áŽÉȘê±áŽáŽÊÊáŽÉŽáŽáŽáŽê±ïŒ
A poor, hardworking and reckless girl who's constantly on the lookout for new opportunities and ways to get money. She likes to imagine being able to live a spoiled and wealthy life and is often seen as dreamy by her family. But she does see the use of money for aesthetic purposes as wasting and understands the work it must take to get there. She deeply loves her family and is loyal to them without a second thought. She puts a lot of value into hard work and dedication to morals and people.
Despite PE being her best subject, her favorite by far is potion making. It reminds her of cooking.
She's proud of her pretty face. Emmie works hard to take good care of it. (Enjoys the fact that it looks so innocent. She considers her pure face useful for thievery and also just likes it in general)
Originally she disliked Jack mainly because he reminded her of the aggressive dogs back in her neighborhood who she would fight for food. (She thought he was scary, rip)
The only reason she joined the Mountain Lovers Society is because it was an opportunity for free food which she could take from the mountains. She's come to actually enjoy the club activities but she finds the most fun in debating with Jade on whether or not she gets to keep the ingredients she found.
Umibani-chan is based off of the sea bunny, umi no bani! Umi no bani was just too long so Floyd cut it short to Umibani.
She's a tryhard in class mainly because this is her first opportunity to be in school. While she isn't the best in NRC, she's proud of what she managed to achieve with her hard work. (Her grades are average to good; she secretly breaks into the library because she wants to get better)
Emmie's favorite teacher is Crewel. While she didn't like his dog motif and thought it was scary to call his students puppies, she likes the way he discusses his lesson and the hands-on approach they're allowed to have. (Always asks questions in class; wants to make her best subject into potions and not PE. Crewel enjoys the fact that someone is genuinely interested and brags to Vargas about how attentive Emmie is in his class)
Has made a game with Floyd where they chase eachother around school. The first to catch the other wins. When she wins, she gets money, when he wins, Floyd drags her into some chaos.Â
Formed a kinship with Ruggie. They have an unspoken competition where they show the other what they stole that day. There's no real prize, both of them just like to talk about what they took.
She's terrified of Rook. Jumps whenever he appears, which earned her his nickname. There isn't any dislike towards him, just fear. She lowers her voice everytime she sees him. (Originally it was Mademoiselle Lapin but she built up the courage to ask if he could change it to Monsieur instead because she liked the sound of it better)
Her MBTI personality type is ESTP and her enneagram type of 7w6.
Requested by @pomefiwhore. I know you said just his attacking lines, but I thought I might as well go through all of them, seeing as I had already done so for Ruggieïœ
Also, while I was doing this, I realized that the attack voices actually mattered whether it was a single/double hit and whether it was the first/second attack chosen and whether or not Jade was alone or with another student. Iâve gone back and fixed Ruggieâs as well now that I noticed this.â
Battle Start
Please go easy on me.
When Selected
Are you certain?
As you wish.
Good judgement.
Very well.
Certainly.
Using an Effect
Buff: Allow me to be of assistance.
Debuff: Poor thing.
When Attacked
Kuh!
When Attacking
Single Hit (by himself):
If First Attack:
ăŒăMy turn.
ăŒăOya, oya.
If Second Attack:
ăŒăHere we go!
ăŒăVery well.
Single Hit (with another student):
If First Attack:
ăŒăTo begin withâŠ
ăŒăFufufu.
If Second Attack:
ăŒăHere I come.
ăŒăHah!
Double Hit (by himself):
If First Attack:
ăŒăIf you wish to stop, nowâs the time.
ăŒăYou are allowed to flee.
If Second Attack:
ăŒăPrepare yourself.
ăŒăHow boring.
Double Hit (with another student):
If First Attack:
ăŒăHow about this?
ăŒăDoes that suit your tastes?
If Second Attack:
ăŒăI shall be gentle.
ăŒăI pity you.
DUO Hits
If First Attack:
ăŒăYou are quite foolish.
ăŒăSince I am putting in the effort, I might as well enjoy myself.
If Second Attack:
ăŒăIâll submerge you deep underwater.
ăŒăYou are so dull.
DUOs
Dorm Uniform - With Floyd:
ăŒă"Can you leave it up to me today, Floyd?â
ăŒă"Sure, Jadeïœ Whatâre we gonna do?â
Scary Dress - With Azul:
ăŒă"Azul, anything more than this is simply a waste of time.â
ăŒă"Let us proceed efficiently, then, Jade.â
Birthday Suit-Up - With Jack:
ăŒă"Oya, Jack-kun is here to celebrate me too?â
ăŒă"Yeah, congratulations, Jade-senpai!â
Battle End
I had hoped to have a little more fun⊠How unfortunate.
âEvery hour, every day, I wish I didnât have to speak. Everyone is made of wax, and me most of all. I am more other than the others. What I want from this poem is the loosening of my throat.â
â Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. by Yvette Siegert, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: âExtracting the Stone of Madnessâ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Pareidolia: Azul Ashengrotto.
Did you see it? It was there from the beginning.
Foreword: TWST Fandom, I present to you, my love letter <33
Word Count: 4, 140 words.
Warnings: She/her pronouns, I would call this xreader-ish, hurt no comfort; Azul being Azul, you have been warnedâŠ
1
It was a pale, yellow thing; the language of fools and all who had spoken it, held tightly by both his hands, spread neatly with all it's rectangular glory. And once neat and straight, is placed atop of it's family of the same face and number; 'thirty-fiveâŠ' he muttered, and stacked another on top of it.
"That thing won't grow legs, you knowâthirty-seven," her eyes pointed at the corner, and he turned his attention to the thing barely clinging on the table rim, a carbon copy of the fine materials towered on the table, that he clawed on two fingers, as if it was the divine word newly excavated. "Yes, thirty-seven. These things can very much grow legs, my dear, you underestimate the tenacity of magicians."
"I know only one magician who'd cast a protection spell for those. If they fly, so be it. What's one less?"
"There could be one more," it was followed by a dry sigh, as every conversation went, "and brought us to a total of eighteen-thousand five-hundred Madols, adding to a grand total of over fifty-thousandâŠsince you're fiddling around Maths, why don't you assist me instead of sitting idly there?"
"And you'd blame me if you missed a penny: 'did you take it?!' It was a penny! I was honestly offended."
"So it unfortunately rolled under a rug, but it's my habit to salvage every single penny in my periphery, I'd never lose a penny."
"And, you'd blame meâŠso I politely refuse." Her chin was held up, scoffs were shared, and silence followed after.
Today was an unusual weekend. Instead of the Saturday morning crowds of caffeine-induced sophomores, he was instead left with a few, about fifty customers, desperate to buy points to whatever promise was in his menu, but not too desperate, as the usual six-zeros were cut into half. This was further affirmed with the face scrunching, he perhaps did it more than twenty times this hour, and he was the type to believe that scrunching results to wrinkles (which unfortunately does), but he scrunched again either way, a sour, wrinkled face, that would perhaps leave a mark he'd cry over later.
"It's just a few M's lessâ"
"Those few M's accumulate to an estimate of over eighty-thousand Madols! Thrice of today!"
"We can always try tomorrow."
"Of course, I will," the creases on his face softened as he turned to her, "other than that, my darling, what would you want for the weekends? Well, next weekend."
"Your time and effort."
"Only? There's a bazaar this Saturday, would you want me to accompany you? My treat, of course."
A laugh followed as a reply, "your time and effort, Azul. That's what I want," she gazed at him, and onto the towers on his desk, thin and gold, some were circular and solid, and his hand was a mere inch away from the stack of thin, shreddable things.
"Just that? Then you'll stay and watch here, wouldn't that bore you?"
"Not really, just talk more."
2
It was a long tower of blocks, such as: is she the shy type? Does she like the color blue? If so, she's more attuned to logical young men. How can you ask out someone like that?
The list goes on and on; she likes sweets, or she doesn't, the indication of glucose addiction; the continuous tapping of fingers might indicateâŠ; habit of biting her nails. It was an assortment of embarrassment and proof of inexperience, and now, at the blank bottommost level, did he type a new bullet point: 'why does she not want to go out on dates?'
The answer was simple: âshe doesn't like you.â
But now it was contradictory, the words âI like youâ came directly from her lips, it left there, and so did her voice with the very same words pronounced. I like you.
Therefore, she lied. But from the algorithm of a machine versus her words, who tells better lies?
Her, of course.
Scrolling to the topmost of the document, was her name written, followed by a colon, and the words 'relationship plan' on three times the paragraph text size in bold capital letters.
3
It was glass clinking and jazz, indulgent on itâs own, and on itâs own, it was nothing, the noises fading in the background of silence. There was a reason for the silence: first and foremost, it was the usual. Silence was necessary, any inkling of noise was a cause for disturbance in this small room. While Azul would entertain the calculator on one hand, and write an itinerary on the other, she would lay on one of the couches and read whatever business magazine she could find in this business-centric environment. ââWhat was you isnât you?â See, his name here, Jacquesâhe had a capita of ten million a month, and he made a lottery business. Is it normal for people here to be so reliant on luck?â His face was ambiguous, they met each otherâs eyes, then he looked as if she turned into a book. âWhy? Did I say something?â She asked.
âNo, no. I was just thinking, that, well, maybe you could talk more.â
âI talk a lot!â Angrily, she pursed her lips, maybe two or three times the exaggerated curve. âYou just wonât talk back, is allâŠyou should talk more.â
âWell alrightâŠthe man, Sir Jacques Ros, is a professional in metaphysics and astrology, and an alumni from Night Raven. Itâs not âlotteryâ in the literal sense, it functions as science. You see, my dear, mere education was never his key to success. Jacques is a dogmatic person, and his words shake towers. Astrology by the Sorcerer of Sands was fluctuated into a personal enterprise because of the charm of words. Mere simpletoâno, from the public eye, itâs perhaps a few given sentiments, adding the prior popularity of the Lord as one of the Seven, but the words that were bygones written in parchment, he transformed to something feasible to the publicâs understanding! Now, he earned millions from something so obvious; donât you see? Magic is inherently powerful, but power in its superior form, itâsââ
âMâs. Yes. Mâs. The world, however round it may be, revolves around money! And when the talk is money, you turn to a dictionary.â
âYou wanted me to talk more, here I am.â
âBut not Madols. Iâm not growing into a businessman.â
âYou may very well be. I studied his tactics of thought process, and it was undoubtedly charisma and analytics. I cannot stress his charisma enough. His business breakthrough had been integrated into modern astrology, website algorithms follow his design, and had he been alive, I would shake his hand in two years or so. If youâd like, I can lend you my notes.â
âYou write notes? On Jacques???â Giddy she was, chuckling, and he huffed. And a round of her laughter followed after.
âIâm not crazy!â
âYes! You are a Madol-maniac!â
In sync, the small room was now a music room, from both his groan and her laughter combined. In her midst of vertigo, he interrupted with a dry sigh: âdo you have plans for the weekends?â
âW-wellâahem. Yes, where were we?â
âWeekends. I made a reservation at Tianaâs, I saw you browsing through the menu.â
âOh, Iâve never been to other food facilities other than MostroâŠand, I heard their beignets are to die for!â
âExcellent. Iâll look forward to Saturday,â he put his pen down, and rested his back against the chair. Then they gazed at each other, and that was ticklish, her laugh was too contagious, he couldnât help but stretch his lips further as she reciprocated his smile with hers. Today, he was content.
4
It was quarter to one; heâs still awake, and everything was blurry.
Things were silent, no one talked here. Of course, things were supposed to be silent, he wasnât in his usual nighters; there was no keyboard tapping, there were no calculators, no pen against paper, no humming her; he laid there in bed, awake. Today was Fridayâwell, early Saturday morning, and it was eight hours until their date. It brought upon his thoughts if she was as awake as he was, and as much as he wanted to whisk his thoughts away to REM, but even closing his eyes never made him any less awake. Heâd blame it on her, why she nagged him earlier for an afternoon debate on marine anthropology, âso you really have lungs? Air doesnât magically, magic in you? Are your lungs like mine?â And he had explained everything by definition, and redefined debate from âto argue in a formal mannerâ to âI ask the most ridiculous questions after you explain the previous by definition,â and now everything was about marine anthropology.
He exhaled. Then followed a ding from the bedside, and he begrudgingly took his glasses, which was placed conveniently beside the noise, and the buzzing phone itself.
âHey smarty, does fate really exist here?â
He sighed, âwhy are you awake?â
âWhy are u awake?â
He clicked his tongue, âFate exists, I suppose. The Moirai, from the records of the Lord of the Underworld, predicted a cause, as well as death. However, historians are still looking for more evidence. Youâll cover this in your second year.â
âSo it isnât real? Whachu think bout fate tho? Ur opinion.â
âHmâŠâ
âDonât give me the âaccording toâŠâ YOUR OPINIOOOONNN!!!â
âIf you can get something by your own accord, why rely on fate?â
If I were to secure an investment, then wouldnât it mean that the hard work wasnât mine but fateâsâ
âZuuu, donât turn this into money discussionâ
He erased the passage; âI wasnât planning to.â
âOh.kay. Sleep, we still have sumwhere to go tomâ
âYou sleep first.â
There was a pause. The room was silent again. After two minutes, still no reply. Was she asleep now?
Ding!
Probably not.
âSo, I was thinking abt smthing: âIf you sign here, all your necessities will be provided for, as well as your wants on occasions. The requirements are simple, really. You are to accompany me through tours in a span of three months, then Iâll decide if we are compatible.ââ
ââŠâ Two minutes passed. He did not reply, and consequently was he speechless.
âWhy? Embarrassed~?â
âI thought you promised never to bring that up again.â
âCorrection, I said, not promise~ your confession was weird.â
âIt wasnât a confession! It was a contract. A CONTRACT.â
âSure~? When did u start liking me?â
âGo to bed.â
âI am on my bed. Answer, or Iâll spam.â
âYou tore the paper and had the audacity to kiss me.â
âI would have done it on the lips ;)) Câmoon, when? Your honest opinion, Sir. Please~â
Huh, when did he start liking her? âSleep, or Iâll cancel the date.â
âCancel the date, and Iâll spam. No sleeping toniigghtt Azullyyyyyyâ
He huffed, and his tapping turned into aggressive pinching, âAlright. It was after Scarabia, I think.â
âWhy? Was I pretty?â
âProbably.â
âDâawwwww. U think weâre fated?â
He sighed, then looked at the screen. Perhaps fate did bless him this opportunity to ask: âWhy do you like me?â
He blinked, squinting his eyes, and trailing the message all over again. And again, and again. He read the passage ten times, probably more. Why?
âGoodnight too.â Then preluded silence.
5
âIt costs three-thousand MadolsâŠyou know, that thing. The jittery, alive one from Samâs, the yellow oneâthe one he kept in jars. What do you call that again?â
âButterfly wings,â he replied. Today was their date, and they sat opposite to one another.
âOh, so the one from the Queen of Hearts section? But theyâre literally bread, sliced in quarters, that moves, resembles no insect, and costs three-thousand Madols per piece!â
âIf I were Sam, I would have sold it to ten-thousand, itâs rare to cultivate the species, and if youâre a devout to the Queen of Hearts, you wonât complain if I demanded a hundred-thousand Madols from you.â
âOhâŠthatâs cheating.â
âI prefer the term âwise-stockingâ. NRCâs dorms have their fair share of traditions, and it just so happens that Heartslabyul requires Buttertoast-fly on one of them.â
âWhat does it taste like?â
âMust we discuss this at dinner? âŠAlthough, I did hear it tastes likeâŠbutter.â
The clinking stopped; she paused, as she looked at her plate, her knife sliced halfway through her butter steak, then gazed at him, mouth agape. âAppetizing.â She shook her head, up and down, swiftly bringing a piece to her mouth, and he scoffed.
On his plate were three halved zucchinis, arranged in rows, stuffed with an assortment of vegetables, with three red slices of tomatoes on the side; the pretty crĂšme decorations won the presentation. It tasted wonderful, as one would expect no less from a five-star dish, but he ate barely a quarter of the first piece.
âAh, hereâs the Beignets! Zuâ, Zu!â He heard a small thank you when he turned to her, then sweetness was shoved in his mouth and suddenly he couldnât breathe, then he stretched his mouth, and what he chewed was soft, and in a second melted into his mouth. âHow was it? Tasty?â
He nodded, âa-ah, but! Iâd rather not partake in dessert.â
On the table center was a basket placed with ten or fifteen more of those abominations. As much as the dessert was equivalent to a pillow, coated in white sweetness, and crispy golden brown, fried in the hottest oil, and was extremely delicious, he couldnât possibly take another bite.
âItâs their specialty, not partaking is a no-no,â she took a piece and bit it, chewing in bliss. She took another and placed it on his plate, âiâsh fine taâ eat nishly onsh in aââ she swallowed, ââwhile.â
âManners,â from the piece on his plate, he performed a neat slice with his knife and stabbed the tiny cut portion (the size of his thumb) with his fork, and took a bite. Thereafter, he took the remaining piece by hand and chewed it whole.
âSee?â
âI shimply codnnât âelp it.â
She chuckled, taking her knife and fork and stretched her hand to his plate, slicing half of his main dish, and ate it. âStuffed Zucchiniâs yummy, but you should have ordered something youâd like. This is our date, it wonât be fun if Iâm the only one enjoying it. Want mine?â She pointed her fork to her plate.
âThat has too much butter.â
âAlright, you can take the Beignet and zucchini, then.â
âWith the most grateful of heart,â he hummed, taking another dessert, and plopped the whole portion within his mouth. âHowâs your steak?â
ââŠbuttery. And good.â
âJust good?â
âYeah. I ate these almost every dinnerâŠâ
âOh,â he uttered. She had a somber expression, contrary to her usual silly smile. âWhy choose it, then?â
âIt reminds me ofâŠhome,â she sliced a portion, and ate it. âThe Buttertoast-fly thing? I donât like it.â
ââŠoh.â
Thereafter, was an exchange of clinking utensils, as they continued on with their meal. He looked at her, whose attention was on the food at hand, to which the meat was cut into even slices. He looked at the basket of dessert, to what divided their portion of table space in half, and stabbed his fork into one. He placed the beignet on her plate, and she looked up to him.
He smiled; âEnjoy.â
6
It came to his mind one day that he was walking in reality, his feet were on marble, and he was standing on the halls to the cafeteria, and there were no towers. And she was beside him, walking. She said it was a custom, holding hands as for the longevity of their relationship (she lied about that part).
âAzul,â her fingers captured his hands tightly, swinging their arms back and forth. âYou didnât answer my question.â
âWhat question?â
âThe other nightâŠâdo you think weâre fated?ââ
âDarling,â he chuckled.
âYour answer, âZu.â
ââŠNo.â
She stopped walking, ââŠNo?â
âI donât believe in fate, darling,â he didnât turn to look at her, only towards the open cafeteria doors. She loosened her grip, he clenched her hand. âI like you. Fate did not tell me to do so,â he finally turned to her; âwhat about you? Do you believe in fate?â
She walked in front of him, perhaps a little faster, but stayed within reach's distance, and he was walking right behind her. Today, the grand pillars of Night Raven were large in comparison to both of them, and today, his feet were firmly planted on the ground. âDarlingâŠâ
âAzulââ stopping her tracks, she turned to him, âwhere are you looking at?â
âYou.â
Followed was glass clinking, and jazz, fading to the background. He looked at no towers, nothing else, only her.
7
ââ: RELATIONSHIP PLANâ
Today, he built no towers. On his desk, there were no yellow things, no masterplans, and he wasnât on his desk at all. His hand sits on keys, pressing the F minor, then to A, thin melodies echoing within the vicinity. There are a total of eighty-eight keys in this grand thing, and it was a secret he could play such a grand thing. Today, he builds notes. He writes what âlikeâ is, to redefine âwasâ to âtodayâ. Words he canât string with voice, ideas incomprehensible to mere words, and the âlikeâ that a contract can never satisfy. Many are thoughts that hang about: âthank you for the food,â; and, âIâm grateful youâre here,â; or, âplease, stay.â
How juvenile it was to eat barehanded in a five-star restaurant, but she laughed anyway. Their interests never aligned, and they had few in common; he was ambitious and she was a simpleton; he was a liar and she was an even better liar. Words, more often than not, mean not the word at all.
Instead of words, there are notes, and in notes, would he âlikeâ. Truthfully, his reunion with the piano was awkward; he would play, once, twice, to entertain, but it wasnât the intimacy he felt when his little hand pressed a key for the first time, the world was in his hands that time. To relive the experience, a song for her; thatâs what he wants.
Words like âwhat was you isnât you,â are what a dogmatic person would say. And he admired the dogmatic, wanting to entitle himself one who could shake towers with mere words alone. Charisma is what brought him this far, but he emulated charisma, molded âAzulâ to âcharismaticâ, as he was born uncharismatic.
In tunes are the whispers of his secret hates, as it follows to a crescendo. Heâll never eat zucchini again. In music are the undertones of his wants. He wants to eat those beignets again without the formalities of a gentleman.
He wants to be a little more honest now, of what he hates.
In his secret room is him, the piano, and his thoughts, âI want to go out on a date with you again.â
â: RELATIONSHIP PLAN.docx
File deleted.
8
âI have something to discuss with you, do spare time from 6-8 pm, Iâd like to clarify derivativesâŠâ sent nine weeks ago.
Yesterday was yesterweek, and he said these words: âIf you sign here, all your necessities will be provided for, as well as your wants on occasions. The requirements are simple, really. You are to accompany me through tours in a span of three months, then Iâll decide if we are compatible.â
He was dressed in a flashier attire than usual: he wore no hat, and was dressed in a black tuxedo, with red accents in the cuffs and in the inner cloths; on his left breast pocket, a bright red rose; his hair was swept back, and his curl was tucked behind; the only thing that held semblance to himself were his glasses. His chin was held up, as his right hand was pressed down on the table center, over a thin yellow thing (for all eternity displayed in big bold letters) and a space that was desperate for a signature. Beside it was a pen; it served no other purpose than temptation, as the ink desired intimacy for the paper.
She sat opposite to him, narrowing her eyes when she turned her gaze to his. Then, she stood up, took the pen and paper, walked to the opposite couch, and sat beside him, for the yellow, thin thing indeed meet the pen, but not her signature; instead, it was met with heaps of squiggly lines, and scratches over printed words, ink over the legislations, and everything. Now, it was a scratch pad. Thereafter, she placed each of her hands on both ends of the paper and tore it in half, until it was shredded into little things. He only watched wordlessly.
âI think itâs better if itâs white.â She turned to him and smiled, leaned over, and gave him a chaste kiss against his cheek. âYou see,â she sat back, and kept his gaze on him, âI like you as well, but I hate contracts.â
âOh,â he uttered.
âBut. I think weâll be good!â She chuckled, as she brought the pen to his open palms, âI prefer zero signatures, but youâll have to go with me to wherever, then weâll decide if weâre compatible. How about that?â
âB-butâŠâ
âItâs your confession, take responsibility for my feelings.â
âI-IâŠalright,â he clutched the pen. âIâll also be in your careâŠâ
That was three months ago, and today is the present.
âMeet me in the Lounge at 6, I have a surprise,â and sent.
9
There is a secret room in Mostro Longue, and itâs rarely used. Itâs a smaller room than the main interior, a private grotto for the Dorm Prefect since his term from the beginning of his second year. She is taken through walls of water, glass as the thing that separates drowning from air. Everything glows blue as the living marines thrive on the outside waters. On one hand is a big white envelope, hugged against his chest, and on the other was hersâguiding her to wherever that secret of his is.
âHow much further?â She asks.
âAlmost thereâŠâ
Then they stop by a door; it looks like any other door in the establishment. Twisting the knob, he smiles, âladyâs first.â
Entering the room, she is greeted with the interior dome, white intricate arcs spin into a spire, vanishing to the center when she looks up. It is akin to the pretty shells sheâd seen in pictures, and when she turns her gaze below the center, is a piano. Honoring the aesthetic, the walls are painted in lavender, and in the back was glass separating water from air, where fishes swam about, the piano, the only thing painted in black in this light-colored room. And then there stands Azul beside the piano.
He opens the white envelopeâinside are white papers, littered with inkâand places the papers on the music rack. In his eyes is what âlikingâ is, and he smiles, âDarling.â
âAzul,â she looks at him, she isnât smiling this time. âI thinkâŠâ
âYes?â He beams at her.
âWe shouldâŠpursue our interests.â
âŠ
He blinks. Once, twice. ââŠPardon?â
âYou know this isnât working.â
ââŠH-huh? But, itâs working just fine!"
âŠ
"W-what did I do?â
ââŠNothing. I justâŠdonât know anymore.â
âBut. Why?â
âYouâre smart, Azul. You should know.â
âBut you canât justâI was beginning toâŠI-Iâm tryingâŠâ
âIâm sorry.â
ââBUT I LIKE YOU!â From the top of his lungs, his voice echoes in the small room.
She looks at him, neither smiling, nor is it remorseful, âI like you tooâŠbut we should just stick to where we were heading to.â
âIâm happy with you.â
âYes, you are. But will we be?â
Then follows silenceâŠfollowed by a sigh. Then clicking, she turns her gaze to the door, and walks towards itâ
âWait.â
She stops. ââŠYes?â
"I want to play. Please, stay. For a while. Stay until it ends."
ââŠokay.â She stands there.
He places his hand over minor F, presses the keys all-over again. Ping! Ping! PingâŠit falls to a crescendo, the sound echoes in the room. He keeps his eyes on the keys, the black and white alternated things as he presses another, and another. Whatâs left in the piano is his âlikingâ and the tears that stained the keys, they wonât stop flowing, neither will he stop playing. Sheâll stay for a whileâŠeven in that little while he will cry, and he will play.
On the music sheet flattened against the rack, the topmost part is his own handwriting, things written in letters, âlikingââ followed by her name; a beautiful calligraphy.
Afterword:
#1 When it comes to Azul, there's always a sense of intrigue in relationships, as he is a skeptical character. He would question the further indication of habits, and I want to frame him as a paranoiac with habits. Take for instance: He would count the times you would blink, and draw a conclusion to it. She blinked the regular twenty-times this minute, but the trend increased to thirty, thus implying she was nervous. Why was she nervous? That is a case to be investigated. I think his obsessive compulsion comes with a cause, there is no certainty of anything. Thus, he fails to see the big picture.
#2 "Alice in Wonderland" and "The Frog Princess" references
#3 For the reader's character, I'd like to leave the interpretation up to you.
#4 Lastly, this fic wouldn't have been made possible if it weren't for a bet that I owe to a friend. Thank you.
Pareidolia: Azul Ashengrotto.
Did you see it? It was there from the beginning.
Foreword: TWST Fandom, I present to you, my love letter <33
Word Count: 4, 140 words.
Warnings: She/her pronouns, I would call this xreader-ish, hurt no comfort; Azul being Azul, you have been warnedâŠ
1
It was a pale, yellow thing; the language of fools and all who had spoken it, held tightly by both his hands, spread neatly with all it's rectangular glory. And once neat and straight, is placed atop of it's family of the same face and number; 'thirty-fiveâŠ' he muttered, and stacked another on top of it.
"That thing won't grow legs, you knowâthirty-seven," her eyes pointed at the corner, and he turned his attention to the thing barely clinging on the table rim, a carbon copy of the fine materials towered on the table, that he clawed on two fingers, as if it was the divine word newly excavated. "Yes, thirty-seven. These things can very much grow legs, my dear, you underestimate the tenacity of magicians."
"I know only one magician who'd cast a protection spell for those. If they fly, so be it. What's one less?"
"There could be one more," it was followed by a dry sigh, as every conversation went, "and brought us to a total of eighteen-thousand five-hundred Madols, adding to a grand total of over fifty-thousandâŠsince you're fiddling around Maths, why don't you assist me instead of sitting idly there?"
"And you'd blame me if you missed a penny: 'did you take it?!' It was a penny! I was honestly offended."
"So it unfortunately rolled under a rug, but it's my habit to salvage every single penny in my periphery, I'd never lose a penny."
"And, you'd blame meâŠso I politely refuse." Her chin was held up, scoffs were shared, and silence followed after.
Today was an unusual weekend. Instead of the Saturday morning crowds of caffeine-induced sophomores, he was instead left with a few, about fifty customers, desperate to buy points to whatever promise was in his menu, but not too desperate, as the usual six-zeros were cut into half. This was further affirmed with the face scrunching, he perhaps did it more than twenty times this hour, and he was the type to believe that scrunching results to wrinkles (which unfortunately does), but he scrunched again either way, a sour, wrinkled face, that would perhaps leave a mark he'd cry over later.
"It's just a few M's lessâ"
"Those few M's accumulate to an estimate of over eighty-thousand Madols! Thrice of today!"
"We can always try tomorrow."
"Of course, I will," the creases on his face softened as he turned to her, "other than that, my darling, what would you want for the weekends? Well, next weekend."
"Your time and effort."
"Only? There's a bazaar this Saturday, would you want me to accompany you? My treat, of course."
A laugh followed as a reply, "your time and effort, Azul. That's what I want," she gazed at him, and onto the towers on his desk, thin and gold, some were circular and solid, and his hand was a mere inch away from the stack of thin, shreddable things.
"Just that? Then you'll stay and watch here, wouldn't that bore you?"
"Not really, just talk more."
2
It was a long tower of blocks, such as: is she the shy type? Does she like the color blue? If so, she's more attuned to logical young men. How can you ask out someone like that?
The list goes on and on; she likes sweets, or she doesn't, the indication of glucose addiction; the continuous tapping of fingers might indicateâŠ; habit of biting her nails. It was an assortment of embarrassment and proof of inexperience, and now, at the blank bottommost level, did he type a new bullet point: 'why does she not want to go out on dates?'
The answer was simple: âshe doesn't like you.â
But now it was contradictory, the words âI like youâ came directly from her lips, it left there, and so did her voice with the very same words pronounced. I like you.
Therefore, she lied. But from the algorithm of a machine versus her words, who tells better lies?
Her, of course.
Scrolling to the topmost of the document, was her name written, followed by a colon, and the words 'relationship plan' on three times the paragraph text size in bold capital letters.
3
It was glass clinking and jazz, indulgent on itâs own, and on itâs own, it was nothing, the noises fading in the background of silence. There was a reason for the silence: first and foremost, it was the usual. Silence was necessary, any inkling of noise was a cause for disturbance in this small room. While Azul would entertain the calculator on one hand, and write an itinerary on the other, she would lay on one of the couches and read whatever business magazine she could find in this business-centric environment. ââWhat was you isnât you?â See, his name here, Jacquesâhe had a capita of ten million a month, and he made a lottery business. Is it normal for people here to be so reliant on luck?â His face was ambiguous, they met each otherâs eyes, then he looked as if she turned into a book. âWhy? Did I say something?â She asked.
âNo, no. I was just thinking, that, well, maybe you could talk more.â
âI talk a lot!â Angrily, she pursed her lips, maybe two or three times the exaggerated curve. âYou just wonât talk back, is allâŠyou should talk more.â
âWell alrightâŠthe man, Sir Jacques Ros, is a professional in metaphysics and astrology, and an alumni from Night Raven. Itâs not âlotteryâ in the literal sense, it functions as science. You see, my dear, mere education was never his key to success. Jacques is a dogmatic person, and his words shake towers. Astrology by the Sorcerer of Sands was fluctuated into a personal enterprise because of the charm of words. Mere simpletoâno, from the public eye, itâs perhaps a few given sentiments, adding the prior popularity of the Lord as one of the Seven, but the words that were bygones written in parchment, he transformed to something feasible to the publicâs understanding! Now, he earned millions from something so obvious; donât you see? Magic is inherently powerful, but power in its superior form, itâsââ
âMâs. Yes. Mâs. The world, however round it may be, revolves around money! And when the talk is money, you turn to a dictionary.â
âYou wanted me to talk more, here I am.â
âBut not Madols. Iâm not growing into a businessman.â
âYou may very well be. I studied his tactics of thought process, and it was undoubtedly charisma and analytics. I cannot stress his charisma enough. His business breakthrough had been integrated into modern astrology, website algorithms follow his design, and had he been alive, I would shake his hand in two years or so. If youâd like, I can lend you my notes.â
âYou write notes? On Jacques???â Giddy she was, chuckling, and he huffed. And a round of her laughter followed after.
âIâm not crazy!â
âYes! You are a Madol-maniac!â
In sync, the small room was now a music room, from both his groan and her laughter combined. In her midst of vertigo, he interrupted with a dry sigh: âdo you have plans for the weekends?â
âW-wellâahem. Yes, where were we?â
âWeekends. I made a reservation at Tianaâs, I saw you browsing through the menu.â
âOh, Iâve never been to other food facilities other than MostroâŠand, I heard their beignets are to die for!â
âExcellent. Iâll look forward to Saturday,â he put his pen down, and rested his back against the chair. Then they gazed at each other, and that was ticklish, her laugh was too contagious, he couldnât help but stretch his lips further as she reciprocated his smile with hers. Today, he was content.
4
It was quarter to one; heâs still awake, and everything was blurry.
Things were silent, no one talked here. Of course, things were supposed to be silent, he wasnât in his usual nighters; there was no keyboard tapping, there were no calculators, no pen against paper, no humming her; he laid there in bed, awake. Today was Fridayâwell, early Saturday morning, and it was eight hours until their date. It brought upon his thoughts if she was as awake as he was, and as much as he wanted to whisk his thoughts away to REM, but even closing his eyes never made him any less awake. Heâd blame it on her, why she nagged him earlier for an afternoon debate on marine anthropology, âso you really have lungs? Air doesnât magically, magic in you? Are your lungs like mine?â And he had explained everything by definition, and redefined debate from âto argue in a formal mannerâ to âI ask the most ridiculous questions after you explain the previous by definition,â and now everything was about marine anthropology.
He exhaled. Then followed a ding from the bedside, and he begrudgingly took his glasses, which was placed conveniently beside the noise, and the buzzing phone itself.
âHey smarty, does fate really exist here?â
He sighed, âwhy are you awake?â
âWhy are u awake?â
He clicked his tongue, âFate exists, I suppose. The Moirai, from the records of the Lord of the Underworld, predicted a cause, as well as death. However, historians are still looking for more evidence. Youâll cover this in your second year.â
âSo it isnât real? Whachu think bout fate tho? Ur opinion.â
âHmâŠâ
âDonât give me the âaccording toâŠâ YOUR OPINIOOOONNN!!!â
âIf you can get something by your own accord, why rely on fate?â
If I were to secure an investment, then wouldnât it mean that the hard work wasnât mine but fateâsâ
âZuuu, donât turn this into money discussionâ
He erased the passage; âI wasnât planning to.â
âOh.kay. Sleep, we still have sumwhere to go tomâ
âYou sleep first.â
There was a pause. The room was silent again. After two minutes, still no reply. Was she asleep now?
Ding!
Probably not.
âSo, I was thinking abt smthing: âIf you sign here, all your necessities will be provided for, as well as your wants on occasions. The requirements are simple, really. You are to accompany me through tours in a span of three months, then Iâll decide if we are compatible.ââ
ââŠâ Two minutes passed. He did not reply, and consequently was he speechless.
âWhy? Embarrassed~?â
âI thought you promised never to bring that up again.â
âCorrection, I said, not promise~ your confession was weird.â
âIt wasnât a confession! It was a contract. A CONTRACT.â
âSure~? When did u start liking me?â
âGo to bed.â
âI am on my bed. Answer, or Iâll spam.â
âYou tore the paper and had the audacity to kiss me.â
âI would have done it on the lips ;)) Câmoon, when? Your honest opinion, Sir. Please~â
Huh, when did he start liking her? âSleep, or Iâll cancel the date.â
âCancel the date, and Iâll spam. No sleeping toniigghtt Azullyyyyyyâ
He huffed, and his tapping turned into aggressive pinching, âAlright. It was after Scarabia, I think.â
âWhy? Was I pretty?â
âProbably.â
âDâawwwww. U think weâre fated?â
He sighed, then looked at the screen. Perhaps fate did bless him this opportunity to ask: âWhy do you like me?â
He blinked, squinting his eyes, and trailing the message all over again. And again, and again. He read the passage ten times, probably more. Why?
âGoodnight too.â Then preluded silence.
5
âIt costs three-thousand MadolsâŠyou know, that thing. The jittery, alive one from Samâs, the yellow oneâthe one he kept in jars. What do you call that again?â
âButterfly wings,â he replied. Today was their date, and they sat opposite to one another.
âOh, so the one from the Queen of Hearts section? But theyâre literally bread, sliced in quarters, that moves, resembles no insect, and costs three-thousand Madols per piece!â
âIf I were Sam, I would have sold it to ten-thousand, itâs rare to cultivate the species, and if youâre a devout to the Queen of Hearts, you wonât complain if I demanded a hundred-thousand Madols from you.â
âOhâŠthatâs cheating.â
âI prefer the term âwise-stockingâ. NRCâs dorms have their fair share of traditions, and it just so happens that Heartslabyul requires Buttertoast-fly on one of them.â
âWhat does it taste like?â
âMust we discuss this at dinner? âŠAlthough, I did hear it tastes likeâŠbutter.â
The clinking stopped; she paused, as she looked at her plate, her knife sliced halfway through her butter steak, then gazed at him, mouth agape. âAppetizing.â She shook her head, up and down, swiftly bringing a piece to her mouth, and he scoffed.
On his plate were three halved zucchinis, arranged in rows, stuffed with an assortment of vegetables, with three red slices of tomatoes on the side; the pretty crĂšme decorations won the presentation. It tasted wonderful, as one would expect no less from a five-star dish, but he ate barely a quarter of the first piece.
âAh, hereâs the Beignets! Zuâ, Zu!â He heard a small thank you when he turned to her, then sweetness was shoved in his mouth and suddenly he couldnât breathe, then he stretched his mouth, and what he chewed was soft, and in a second melted into his mouth. âHow was it? Tasty?â
He nodded, âa-ah, but! Iâd rather not partake in dessert.â
On the table center was a basket placed with ten or fifteen more of those abominations. As much as the dessert was equivalent to a pillow, coated in white sweetness, and crispy golden brown, fried in the hottest oil, and was extremely delicious, he couldnât possibly take another bite.
âItâs their specialty, not partaking is a no-no,â she took a piece and bit it, chewing in bliss. She took another and placed it on his plate, âiâsh fine taâ eat nishly onsh in aââ she swallowed, ââwhile.â
âManners,â from the piece on his plate, he performed a neat slice with his knife and stabbed the tiny cut portion (the size of his thumb) with his fork, and took a bite. Thereafter, he took the remaining piece by hand and chewed it whole.
âSee?â
âI shimply codnnât âelp it.â
She chuckled, taking her knife and fork and stretched her hand to his plate, slicing half of his main dish, and ate it. âStuffed Zucchiniâs yummy, but you should have ordered something youâd like. This is our date, it wonât be fun if Iâm the only one enjoying it. Want mine?â She pointed her fork to her plate.
âThat has too much butter.â
âAlright, you can take the Beignet and zucchini, then.â
âWith the most grateful of heart,â he hummed, taking another dessert, and plopped the whole portion within his mouth. âHowâs your steak?â
ââŠbuttery. And good.â
âJust good?â
âYeah. I ate these almost every dinnerâŠâ
âOh,â he uttered. She had a somber expression, contrary to her usual silly smile. âWhy choose it, then?â
âIt reminds me ofâŠhome,â she sliced a portion, and ate it. âThe Buttertoast-fly thing? I donât like it.â
ââŠoh.â
Thereafter, was an exchange of clinking utensils, as they continued on with their meal. He looked at her, whose attention was on the food at hand, to which the meat was cut into even slices. He looked at the basket of dessert, to what divided their portion of table space in half, and stabbed his fork into one. He placed the beignet on her plate, and she looked up to him.
He smiled; âEnjoy.â
6
It came to his mind one day that he was walking in reality, his feet were on marble, and he was standing on the halls to the cafeteria, and there were no towers. And she was beside him, walking. She said it was a custom, holding hands as for the longevity of their relationship (she lied about that part).
âAzul,â her fingers captured his hands tightly, swinging their arms back and forth. âYou didnât answer my question.â
âWhat question?â
âThe other nightâŠâdo you think weâre fated?ââ
âDarling,â he chuckled.
âYour answer, âZu.â
ââŠNo.â
She stopped walking, ââŠNo?â
âI donât believe in fate, darling,â he didnât turn to look at her, only towards the open cafeteria doors. She loosened her grip, he clenched her hand. âI like you. Fate did not tell me to do so,â he finally turned to her; âwhat about you? Do you believe in fate?â
She walked in front of him, perhaps a little faster, but stayed within reach's distance, and he was walking right behind her. Today, the grand pillars of Night Raven were large in comparison to both of them, and today, his feet were firmly planted on the ground. âDarlingâŠâ
âAzulââ stopping her tracks, she turned to him, âwhere are you looking at?â
âYou.â
Followed was glass clinking, and jazz, fading to the background. He looked at no towers, nothing else, only her.
7
ââ: RELATIONSHIP PLANâ
Today, he built no towers. On his desk, there were no yellow things, no masterplans, and he wasnât on his desk at all. His hand sits on keys, pressing the F minor, then to A, thin melodies echoing within the vicinity. There are a total of eighty-eight keys in this grand thing, and it was a secret he could play such a grand thing. Today, he builds notes. He writes what âlikeâ is, to redefine âwasâ to âtodayâ. Words he canât string with voice, ideas incomprehensible to mere words, and the âlikeâ that a contract can never satisfy. Many are thoughts that hang about: âthank you for the food,â; and, âIâm grateful youâre here,â; or, âplease, stay.â
How juvenile it was to eat barehanded in a five-star restaurant, but she laughed anyway. Their interests never aligned, and they had few in common; he was ambitious and she was a simpleton; he was a liar and she was an even better liar. Words, more often than not, mean not the word at all.
Instead of words, there are notes, and in notes, would he âlikeâ. Truthfully, his reunion with the piano was awkward; he would play, once, twice, to entertain, but it wasnât the intimacy he felt when his little hand pressed a key for the first time, the world was in his hands that time. To relive the experience, a song for her; thatâs what he wants.
Words like âwhat was you isnât you,â are what a dogmatic person would say. And he admired the dogmatic, wanting to entitle himself one who could shake towers with mere words alone. Charisma is what brought him this far, but he emulated charisma, molded âAzulâ to âcharismaticâ, as he was born uncharismatic.
In tunes are the whispers of his secret hates, as it follows to a crescendo. Heâll never eat zucchini again. In music are the undertones of his wants. He wants to eat those beignets again without the formalities of a gentleman.
He wants to be a little more honest now, of what he hates.
In his secret room is him, the piano, and his thoughts, âI want to go out on a date with you again.â
â: RELATIONSHIP PLAN.docx
File deleted.
8
âI have something to discuss with you, do spare time from 6-8 pm, Iâd like to clarify derivativesâŠâ sent nine weeks ago.
Yesterday was yesterweek, and he said these words: âIf you sign here, all your necessities will be provided for, as well as your wants on occasions. The requirements are simple, really. You are to accompany me through tours in a span of three months, then Iâll decide if we are compatible.â
He was dressed in a flashier attire than usual: he wore no hat, and was dressed in a black tuxedo, with red accents in the cuffs and in the inner cloths; on his left breast pocket, a bright red rose; his hair was swept back, and his curl was tucked behind; the only thing that held semblance to himself were his glasses. His chin was held up, as his right hand was pressed down on the table center, over a thin yellow thing (for all eternity displayed in big bold letters) and a space that was desperate for a signature. Beside it was a pen; it served no other purpose than temptation, as the ink desired intimacy for the paper.
She sat opposite to him, narrowing her eyes when she turned her gaze to his. Then, she stood up, took the pen and paper, walked to the opposite couch, and sat beside him, for the yellow, thin thing indeed meet the pen, but not her signature; instead, it was met with heaps of squiggly lines, and scratches over printed words, ink over the legislations, and everything. Now, it was a scratch pad. Thereafter, she placed each of her hands on both ends of the paper and tore it in half, until it was shredded into little things. He only watched wordlessly.
âI think itâs better if itâs white.â She turned to him and smiled, leaned over, and gave him a chaste kiss against his cheek. âYou see,â she sat back, and kept his gaze on him, âI like you as well, but I hate contracts.â
âOh,â he uttered.
âBut. I think weâll be good!â She chuckled, as she brought the pen to his open palms, âI prefer zero signatures, but youâll have to go with me to wherever, then weâll decide if weâre compatible. How about that?â
âB-butâŠâ
âItâs your confession, take responsibility for my feelings.â
âI-IâŠalright,â he clutched the pen. âIâll also be in your careâŠâ
That was three months ago, and today is the present.
âMeet me in the Lounge at 6, I have a surprise,â and sent.
9
There is a secret room in Mostro Longue, and itâs rarely used. Itâs a smaller room than the main interior, a private grotto for the Dorm Prefect since his term from the beginning of his second year. She is taken through walls of water, glass as the thing that separates drowning from air. Everything glows blue as the living marines thrive on the outside waters. On one hand is a big white envelope, hugged against his chest, and on the other was hersâguiding her to wherever that secret of his is.
âHow much further?â She asks.
âAlmost thereâŠâ
Then they stop by a door; it looks like any other door in the establishment. Twisting the knob, he smiles, âladyâs first.â
Entering the room, she is greeted with the interior dome, white intricate arcs spin into a spire, vanishing to the center when she looks up. It is akin to the pretty shells sheâd seen in pictures, and when she turns her gaze below the center, is a piano. Honoring the aesthetic, the walls are painted in lavender, and in the back was glass separating water from air, where fishes swam about, the piano, the only thing painted in black in this light-colored room. And then there stands Azul beside the piano.
He opens the white envelopeâinside are white papers, littered with inkâand places the papers on the music rack. In his eyes is what âlikingâ is, and he smiles, âDarling.â
âAzul,â she looks at him, she isnât smiling this time. âI thinkâŠâ
âYes?â He beams at her.
âWe shouldâŠpursue our interests.â
âŠ
He blinks. Once, twice. ââŠPardon?â
âYou know this isnât working.â
ââŠH-huh? But, itâs working just fine!"
âŠ
"W-what did I do?â
ââŠNothing. I justâŠdonât know anymore.â
âBut. Why?â
âYouâre smart, Azul. You should know.â
âBut you canât justâI was beginning toâŠI-Iâm tryingâŠâ
âIâm sorry.â
ââBUT I LIKE YOU!â From the top of his lungs, his voice echoes in the small room.
She looks at him, neither smiling, nor is it remorseful, âI like you tooâŠbut we should just stick to where we were heading to.â
âIâm happy with you.â
âYes, you are. But will we be?â
Then follows silenceâŠfollowed by a sigh. Then clicking, she turns her gaze to the door, and walks towards itâ
âWait.â
She stops. ââŠYes?â
"I want to play. Please, stay. For a while. Stay until it ends."
ââŠokay.â She stands there.
He places his hand over minor F, presses the keys all-over again. Ping! Ping! PingâŠit falls to a crescendo, the sound echoes in the room. He keeps his eyes on the keys, the black and white alternated things as he presses another, and another. Whatâs left in the piano is his âlikingâ and the tears that stained the keys, they wonât stop flowing, neither will he stop playing. Sheâll stay for a whileâŠeven in that little while he will cry, and he will play.
On the music sheet flattened against the rack, the topmost part is his own handwriting, things written in letters, âlikingââ followed by her name; a beautiful calligraphy.
Afterword:
#1 When it comes to Azul, there's always a sense of intrigue in relationships, as he is a skeptical character. He would question the further indication of habits, and I want to frame him as a paranoiac with habits. Take for instance: He would count the times you would blink, and draw a conclusion to it. She blinked the regular twenty-times this minute, but the trend increased to thirty, thus implying she was nervous. Why was she nervous? That is a case to be investigated. I think his obsessive compulsion comes with a cause, there is no certainty of anything. Thus, he fails to see the big picture.
#2 "Alice in Wonderland" and "The Frog Princess" references
#3 For the reader's character, I'd like to leave the interpretation up to you.
#4 Lastly, this fic wouldn't have been made possible if it weren't for a bet that I owe to a friend. Thank you.
