take what luck brings

She looks up when you make your way over. “Hey.”

From this distance you can barely tell that she’s been crying. The glass of her eyes have been flattened to a grey under the faded lights, rimmed more with sparkly blue eyeshadow than red. The only way you know is the lump in her voice, one that tastes all too familiar from your own desperate nights.

“Hey.” You look up at her. “Warm night.”

She cracks a laugh, golden and exhausted, and you huff a quiet sigh in relief.

She doesn’t make her way down, though, and so you take a seat on one of the lower bars. The discoloured metal ribs creak under you, a lot more than you expect, and as you gingerly place your body weight on what you hope is the sturdiest bar you pray it doesn’t collapse.

The circus seems further away, from here. You can see the ferris wheel still, dark and empty, and there are neon signs that still cast a blue and orange glow across the rest of the house, but you can barely hear anything past the rustling of nearby trees and the sigh of metal under your shifting weight. It’s almost far away enough you can imagine the circus a distant memory.

You settle into a more comfortable position, and wait.

Sure enough, the wind shifts, and with it Jo calls down from her position at the top of the structure. “Here to see me, cutie?”

You scuff an arc into the packed earth with your shoe. “Who else?”

“…Shion?”

“Nope.” You pop the p. It spins a laugh out of her, something golden that tumbles down the jungle gym and into your waiting hands.

She hops down soon after. Her scent arrives before she does, gently honeyed, and as she settles down beside you on the rusty bar her hair brushes your shoulder.

“How can I help you?”

You laugh. “You can’t. I just wanted— I just wanted to see you.”

Jo flips her ponytail lightly. She leans forward, just enough to cross her legs and tilt her head and grin at you. In the shadowed orange of the night her smile looks sharper, softer. “Oh?”

“What, a girl can’t come visit her friend?”

Jo rests her cheek on her palm. “Not when said girl is busier than all us ghouls put together.”

“You’re the one pulling a house back into a home.”

“Elias is helping,” she says. Her heel connects with the base of the jungle gym, sends a hollow ringing through the entire structure that buzzes up your arms.

“Elias is helping,” you agree. You try not to think about how her upper thigh is pressed up against where your hand is resting on the metal bar. You think about moving it. You decide not to.

“Mio’s gathered the clockwork students back together. They had their first meeting yesterday. And Shion…” Jo tugs the hem of her sleeve over her palm, rests her cheek on it again. “Shion hasn’t gotten into any trouble recently.”

“I haven’t seen him bother any general students today, yeah,” you say, and a quiet laugh spills between the both of you, sweet and sparkling.

“That’s more than I can ask for.” She is looking at you, but not really — her gaze is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, somewhere in the direction of her own tent.

The bruises under her eyes sink into your skin. It’s familiar, the same kind of bone deep exhaustion you feel after running and running and running and never getting where you need to be, the same kind of damned you feel mission after mission of useless anomalies. You know what this kind of tired feels like. You’d carry it for her, if you could.

The bar beneath your weight sighs as Jo shifts. She straightens up, arranges the hem of her skirt so it falls in a neat line right above her knee. When she opens her mouth again the admission is so quiet you nearly miss it. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

You watch as she fixes the hem of her skirt again, again. “It’s hard.”

She exhales. “It’s just that there are so many of them relying on me to get it together, to be the captain they need, and all I am is just…”

The breeze picks up, then, sweeps her words away in a rustle of leaves. You shake your head. “You’re already the captain they need. You’re warm and you’re kind and you listen and—“ you stop yourself, bite your tongue against the rush in case you spill something you regret. You’re welcoming and loyal and responsible. You’re always watching out for the people you love. When you laugh it makes the space between us so radiant I can’t look away. “And they’re so lucky to have you.”

Jo looks at you, then, her eyes terribly grey. The wind presses a strand of hair across her mouth and she lets it stay there. “All the general students think I’m steady. Reliable. Like I’m not constantly guessing what Darkwick wants me to do.”

You tuck your thumbs into your fists. You will not reach for her. “Maybe they think that,” you say, instead, “because you keep showing up for them. Even when you’re not sure of what to do.”

She smiles, but it splinters halfway, like something fragile striking the edge of a glass. “I’m trying so hard,” she says, “to fill Elias’ shoes. To catch up with all those months we were put in con— we were away. It still feels like I’m running after a goalpost that Darkwick keeps moving.”

“Fuckin’ Darkwick,” you say, and she laughs, soft and real this time. The dim night haloes her hair, turns it molten at the edges. It bleeds something into you that turns your words gentle when you say, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a great captain.”

Jo turns towards you. Her arm brushes yours. Her warmth bleeds through her cardigan and your blazer, soaks into the kindle of you. You don’t resist this time when your hand moves to brush the hair away from her face.

Time catches, then, in the sea of her eyes. You are both dying under the weight of your own lives. It is hard not to drown, but it is so hard not to want to live, when it is with her. She blinks, eyelashes brushing the soft of her cheek, when your fingers tuck her curls behind her ear, and you feel it again, the strange slipping feeling you’ve been having around her, all ship on water, like the ground beneath you has decided it doesn’t want to be heartbeat-steady anymore—

But her phone is beeping, loud in the dim of the playground, and your feet find ground again like you have never left.

Neither of you say anything when she pulls away.

“Elias? Mm. Right. Mm, she did manage to find me. Yes, she didn’t get lost, don’t worry. Yep. I’ll walk her back soon.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you when she hangs up with a roll of her eyes, and just like that the moment is broken, sugar shards scattering themselves beneath your tongue. When she leans backwards, stretching her arms in front of her, you tuck the memory of her high into the pocket of your cheek to savour later.

There is still time, there is still time (there isn’t).

“Elias told me you were here,” you say, instead. You run your fingernail against the button on your blazer. “He says you come here often when you’re sad.”

“That bastard,” Jo says, without any real heat. When she stands she offers you a hand up.

said it a thousand times before, will say it again - the way you craft atmosphere is always so MAGNIFICENT CRIESLFDJS . the unnerving kind of peace of the playground, of effervescent jo's stillness, and not to mention the way you always use COLOUR i could talk about it forever. bright plastic colours dulled a muted monochrome -> the glass of her eyes flattened to a grey (SO SO GOOD, you always make the character feel one with their environment in such a beautiful way. i immediately thought about your kaito piece, him in the field.... sobs again and shakes you. something i always always note about your prose is that it weaves individual elements of the story together so elegantly and your work always feels so cohesive as a result, like a tight-knit sensorial wonder of its own

RIMMED MORE WITH SPARKLY BLUE EYESHADOW MORE THAN RED AHHHHhoudfhLDKJLKJ that covering-up is soooo good with jo's character nodding nodding nodding I SEE YOU....... lump in her voice one that tastes all too familiar from your own desperate nights fuck man how could you say this to me . typing this out on myy? 3rd reread and it still hurts (even more knowing what comes next)

She doesn’t make her way down, though, and so you take a seat on one of the lower bars. The discoloured metal ribs creak under you, a lot more than you expect, and as you gingerly place your body weight on what you hope is the sturdiest bar you pray it doesn’t collapse.

bars -> discoloured metal ribs STANDING OVATION . i must admit your imagery in the dionysia pieces always feels so particularly special.... waves our copies of the night circus around YOU GIVE EVERYTHING IN YOUR WRITING SO MUCH LIFEBLOOD AND I CRY !!! EVERY TIME!!! the blocking is chef's kiss wonderful, too - not immediately going up to meet her for timidity, resting a few steps down, testing the waters of intimacy and hoping you don't sink straight away ("you settle into a more comfortable position, and wait) I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE ITTT

It’s almost far away enough you can imagine the circus a distant memory.

ohhh ohh OH WE'RE GETTING INTO I T .. CRYIES the circus a distant memory, the duties and expectations you're being crushed by a distant memory . claps and cheers and hollers through my tears . the contrast between the whirlwind din of the circus and the solitude you and her enjoy here is so lovely and poignant

here to see me cutie hey so what if i made a terrible sound and died . something golden..... gently honeyed scent.... okay so you want me to . checks my notes. die

the immediate "how can i help you?" ahhhdljfaofi SHAKES HER PLEASEEEE MY LOVE YOU DONT HAV E TO HELP SOMEONE ALL THE TIME PLEASEEE CRIES CREIS CRIES . LIN HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME . and the "elias is helping" right after + kicking the base of the gym ohhhh ........ holds her. ...... those subtle deflections away jo pleasepleasepl LE TMe kiss uyo idk . upper thigh pressed up against ur hand closes my eyes inhales exhales . not only am i not moving that hand, i am never washing it again (/j ... unless)

PLEASEJEFK HOLLERING elias helping rebuild dionysia, mio leading the artisans, and shion..... not doing anything Bad. i giggled out loud

The bruises under her eyes sink into your skin. It’s familiar, the same kind of bone deep exhaustion you feel after running and running and running and never getting where you need to be, the same kind of damned you feel mission after mission of useless anomalies. You know what this kind of tired feels like. You’d carry it for her, if you could.

hey soooo this wrecked me. just a little (a lot). the same kind of bone deep exhaustion the same kind of damned ...... YOU KNOW WHAT THISKIND OF TIRED FEELS LIKE YOU'D CARRY IT FOR HER IF YOU COULD FFFUKCKKKKK FUCK FUCKF UCKkjLKJ OHHHH what a LINE!!!! the pining ..... sobs

jo fixing the hem of her skirt when discomfited..... your details are always sooo good, the little mannerisms and habits you inject and the choice to observe them in the narration elevates the yearning soooo tastily I LVOE IT I LOVE TI jlkJ

WHEN YOU LAUGH IT MAKES THE SPACE BW US SO RADIANT I CANT LOOK AWAY FUCKKKKK FUCK FUCK FUCK . . oh god . she is like the sun isn't she . criesc ires cCRIES JOOOOOOOOO ,,,,, COLLAPSES ON THE LFLOOR

"jo looks at you then, her eyes terribly grey" the colour sapped out of her .... again ur imagery motifs wtv the analytical term is i forgor (only know lin writing good :thumbs up:) always SLAP . not moving to fix the strand of hair across her mouth .... that giving up when we just established her constant mindless tending to her appearance i'm gonna cry

YOU WILL NOT REACH FOR HER/?!??!??////// oh this hurt but it also . the way you capture yearning and restraint and temptation it is so fuckign GORGEOUS YOU KNOCK IT OUT OF THE PARK EVERY SINGLE TIME

"all those months we were put in con- we were away" hey. and then the "fuckin' darkwick" YEAH THATS RIGHT .T . that retroactive sanitisation of dio's containment, trying to chase after something that's only ever hurt you . takes the knife out of your hand and just goes at it myself . such a good detail

Time catches, then, in the sea of her eyes. You are both dying under the weight of your own lives. It is hard not to drown, but it is so hard not to want to live, when it is with her. She blinks, eyelashes brushing the soft of her cheek, when your fingers tuck her curls behind her ear, and you feel it again, the strange slipping feeling you’ve been having around her, all ship on water, like the ground beneath you has decided it doesn’t want to be heartbeat-steady anymore—

hey soooo this wrecked me. just a little (a lot) (2). i just Had to bold that sentence because oh my goodness it is so . i don't even have words any more, running out of them as i type but uhhflgjk . the recurring ocean/water/ship throughout, the little actions of tucking her curls back and her blinking sequestered in the narration- to me it is a trademark of yours, i think, how you manipulate rhythm and convey that gentle rush as a moment picks up and characters tip into making the move. the unsteadiness (thinking back to praying that the old bars don't give way beneath your weight right now!!) is transformed from guarded to romantic and i think it is such a lovely twist, the way it displays how love changes the world around you

ELIAS YOU FUCKING COCKBLOCK I'M GOING TO KILL YOU . the tension dissolving so abruptly, silence as you pull away.... i'm going to kill a janitor how fuckign DARE you . but also a trademark of yours, definitely, that push and pull and fading back into stone cold reality after this sensory whirl .

"sugar shards scattering themselves beneath your tongue" "you tuck the memory of her high into the pocket of your cheek to savour later" just especially pretty lines i had to tuck into the pocket of MY cheek to cry about

THERE IS STILL TIME THERE IS STILL TIME (THERE ISN'T) .i'm fuckign filing criminal charges against yuo you will NOT be getting away with this miss kusanagi . OHHHhhhhhh that ostensible hopelessness and how it's countered right as the piece closes - "you take it, and she doesn't let go" - all of your works are coloured by such a lovely muted hope . i always leave the closing line of a lin kusanagi(haku) piece breathless like oh my godfff the world is so beautiful

She looks up when you make your way over. “Hey.”

From this distance you can barely tell that she’s been crying. The glass of her eyes have been flattened to a grey under the faded lights, rimmed more with sparkly blue eyeshadow than red. The only way you know is the lump in her voice, one that tastes all too familiar from your own desperate nights.

“Hey.” You look up at her. “Warm night.”

She cracks a laugh, golden and exhausted, and you huff a quiet sigh in relief.

She doesn’t make her way down, though, and so you take a seat on one of the lower bars. The discoloured metal ribs creak under you, a lot more than you expect, and as you gingerly place your body weight on what you hope is the sturdiest bar you pray it doesn’t collapse.

The circus seems further away, from here. You can see the ferris wheel still, dark and empty, and there are neon signs that still cast a blue and orange glow across the rest of the house, but you can barely hear anything past the rustling of nearby trees and the sigh of metal under your shifting weight. It’s almost far away enough you can imagine the circus a distant memory.

You settle into a more comfortable position, and wait.

Sure enough, the wind shifts, and with it Jo calls down from her position at the top of the structure. “Here to see me, cutie?”

You scuff an arc into the packed earth with your shoe. “Who else?”

“…Shion?”

“Nope.” You pop the p. It spins a laugh out of her, something golden that tumbles down the jungle gym and into your waiting hands.

She hops down soon after. Her scent arrives before she does, gently honeyed, and as she settles down beside you on the rusty bar her hair brushes your shoulder.

“How can I help you?”

You laugh. “You can’t. I just wanted— I just wanted to see you.”

Jo flips her ponytail lightly. She leans forward, just enough to cross her legs and tilt her head and grin at you. In the shadowed orange of the night her smile looks sharper, softer. “Oh?”

“What, a girl can’t come visit her friend?”

Jo rests her cheek on her palm. “Not when said girl is busier than all us ghouls put together.”

“You’re the one pulling a house back into a home.”

“Elias is helping,” she says. Her heel connects with the base of the jungle gym, sends a hollow ringing through the entire structure that buzzes up your arms.

“Elias is helping,” you agree. You try not to think about how her upper thigh is pressed up against where your hand is resting on the metal bar. You think about moving it. You decide not to.

“Mio’s gathered the clockwork students back together. They had their first meeting yesterday. And Shion…” Jo tugs the hem of her sleeve over her palm, rests her cheek on it again. “Shion hasn’t gotten into any trouble recently.”

“I haven’t seen him bother any general students today, yeah,” you say, and a quiet laugh spills between the both of you, sweet and sparkling.

“That’s more than I can ask for.” She is looking at you, but not really — her gaze is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, somewhere in the direction of her own tent.

The bruises under her eyes sink into your skin. It’s familiar, the same kind of bone deep exhaustion you feel after running and running and running and never getting where you need to be, the same kind of damned you feel mission after mission of useless anomalies. You know what this kind of tired feels like. You’d carry it for her, if you could.

The bar beneath your weight sighs as Jo shifts. She straightens up, arranges the hem of her skirt so it falls in a neat line right above her knee. When she opens her mouth again the admission is so quiet you nearly miss it. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

You watch as she fixes the hem of her skirt again, again. “It’s hard.”

She exhales. “It’s just that there are so many of them relying on me to get it together, to be the captain they need, and all I am is just…”

The breeze picks up, then, sweeps her words away in a rustle of leaves. You shake your head. “You’re already the captain they need. You’re warm and you’re kind and you listen and—“ you stop yourself, bite your tongue against the rush in case you spill something you regret. You’re welcoming and loyal and responsible. You’re always watching out for the people you love. When you laugh it makes the space between us so radiant I can’t look away. “And they’re so lucky to have you.”

Jo looks at you, then, her eyes terribly grey. The wind presses a strand of hair across her mouth and she lets it stay there. “All the general students think I’m steady. Reliable. Like I’m not constantly guessing what Darkwick wants me to do.”

You tuck your thumbs into your fists. You will not reach for her. “Maybe they think that,” you say, instead, “because you keep showing up for them. Even when you’re not sure of what to do.”

She smiles, but it splinters halfway, like something fragile striking the edge of a glass. “I’m trying so hard,” she says, “to fill Elias’ shoes. To catch up with all those months we were put in con— we were away. It still feels like I’m running after a goalpost that Darkwick keeps moving.”

“Fuckin’ Darkwick,” you say, and she laughs, soft and real this time. The dim night haloes her hair, turns it molten at the edges. It bleeds something into you that turns your words gentle when you say, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a great captain.”

Jo turns towards you. Her arm brushes yours. Her warmth bleeds through her cardigan and your blazer, soaks into the kindle of you. You don’t resist this time when your hand moves to brush the hair away from her face.

Time catches, then, in the sea of her eyes. You are both dying under the weight of your own lives. It is hard not to drown, but it is so hard not to want to live, when it is with her. She blinks, eyelashes brushing the soft of her cheek, when your fingers tuck her curls behind her ear, and you feel it again, the strange slipping feeling you’ve been having around her, all ship on water, like the ground beneath you has decided it doesn’t want to be heartbeat-steady anymore—

But her phone is beeping, loud in the dim of the playground, and your feet find ground again like you have never left.

Neither of you say anything when she pulls away.

“Elias? Mm. Right. Mm, she did manage to find me. Yes, she didn’t get lost, don’t worry. Yep. I’ll walk her back soon.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you when she hangs up with a roll of her eyes, and just like that the moment is broken, sugar shards scattering themselves beneath your tongue. When she leans backwards, stretching her arms in front of her, you tuck the memory of her high into the pocket of your cheek to savour later.

There is still time, there is still time (there isn’t).

“Elias told me you were here,” you say, instead. You run your fingernail against the button on your blazer. “He says you come here often when you’re sad.”

“That bastard,” Jo says, without any real heat. When she stands she offers you a hand up.

said it a thousand times before, will say it again - the way you craft atmosphere is always so MAGNIFICENT CRIESLFDJS . the unnerving kind of peace of the playground, of effervescent jo's stillness, and not to mention the way you always use COLOUR i could talk about it forever. bright plastic colours dulled a muted monochrome -> the glass of her eyes flattened to a grey (SO SO GOOD, you always make the character feel one with their environment in such a beautiful way. i immediately thought about your kaito piece, him in the field.... sobs again and shakes you. something i always always note about your prose is that it weaves individual elements of the story together so elegantly and your work always feels so cohesive as a result, like a tight-knit sensorial wonder of its own

RIMMED MORE WITH SPARKLY BLUE EYESHADOW MORE THAN RED AHHHHhoudfhLDKJLKJ that covering-up is soooo good with jo's character nodding nodding nodding I SEE YOU....... lump in her voice one that tastes all too familiar from your own desperate nights fuck man how could you say this to me . typing this out on myy? 3rd reread and it still hurts (even more knowing what comes next)

She doesn’t make her way down, though, and so you take a seat on one of the lower bars. The discoloured metal ribs creak under you, a lot more than you expect, and as you gingerly place your body weight on what you hope is the sturdiest bar you pray it doesn’t collapse.

bars -> discoloured metal ribs STANDING OVATION . i must admit your imagery in the dionysia pieces always feels so particularly special.... waves our copies of the night circus around YOU GIVE EVERYTHING IN YOUR WRITING SO MUCH LIFEBLOOD AND I CRY !!! EVERY TIME!!! the blocking is chef's kiss wonderful, too - not immediately going up to meet her for timidity, resting a few steps down, testing the waters of intimacy and hoping you don't sink straight away ("you settle into a more comfortable position, and wait) I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE ITTT

It’s almost far away enough you can imagine the circus a distant memory.

ohhh ohh OH WE'RE GETTING INTO I T .. CRYIES the circus a distant memory, the duties and expectations you're being crushed by a distant memory . claps and cheers and hollers through my tears . the contrast between the whirlwind din of the circus and the solitude you and her enjoy here is so lovely and poignant

here to see me cutie hey so what if i made a terrible sound and died . something golden..... gently honeyed scent.... okay so you want me to . checks my notes. die

the immediate "how can i help you?" ahhhdljfaofi SHAKES HER PLEASEEEE MY LOVE YOU DONT HAV E TO HELP SOMEONE ALL THE TIME PLEASEEE CRIES CREIS CRIES . LIN HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME . and the "elias is helping" right after + kicking the base of the gym ohhhh ........ holds her. ...... those subtle deflections away jo pleasepleasepl LE TMe kiss uyo idk . upper thigh pressed up against ur hand closes my eyes inhales exhales . not only am i not moving that hand, i am never washing it again (/j ... unless)

PLEASEJEFK HOLLERING elias helping rebuild dionysia, mio leading the artisans, and shion..... not doing anything Bad. i giggled out loud

The bruises under her eyes sink into your skin. It’s familiar, the same kind of bone deep exhaustion you feel after running and running and running and never getting where you need to be, the same kind of damned you feel mission after mission of useless anomalies. You know what this kind of tired feels like. You’d carry it for her, if you could.

hey soooo this wrecked me. just a little (a lot). the same kind of bone deep exhaustion the same kind of damned ...... YOU KNOW WHAT THISKIND OF TIRED FEELS LIKE YOU'D CARRY IT FOR HER IF YOU COULD FFFUKCKKKKK FUCK FUCKF UCKkjLKJ OHHHH what a LINE!!!! the pining ..... sobs

jo fixing the hem of her skirt when discomfited..... your details are always sooo good, the little mannerisms and habits you inject and the choice to observe them in the narration elevates the yearning soooo tastily I LVOE IT I LOVE TI jlkJ

WHEN YOU LAUGH IT MAKES THE SPACE BW US SO RADIANT I CANT LOOK AWAY FUCKKKKK FUCK FUCK FUCK . . oh god . she is like the sun isn't she . criesc ires cCRIES JOOOOOOOOO ,,,,, COLLAPSES ON THE LFLOOR

"jo looks at you then, her eyes terribly grey" the colour sapped out of her .... again ur imagery motifs wtv the analytical term is i forgor (only know lin writing good :thumbs up:) always SLAP . not moving to fix the strand of hair across her mouth .... that giving up when we just established her constant mindless tending to her appearance i'm gonna cry

YOU WILL NOT REACH FOR HER/?!??!??////// oh this hurt but it also . the way you capture yearning and restraint and temptation it is so fuckign GORGEOUS YOU KNOCK IT OUT OF THE PARK EVERY SINGLE TIME

"all those months we were put in con- we were away" hey. and then the "fuckin' darkwick" YEAH THATS RIGHT .T . that retroactive sanitisation of dio's containment, trying to chase after something that's only ever hurt you . takes the knife out of your hand and just goes at it myself . such a good detail

Time catches, then, in the sea of her eyes. You are both dying under the weight of your own lives. It is hard not to drown, but it is so hard not to want to live, when it is with her. She blinks, eyelashes brushing the soft of her cheek, when your fingers tuck her curls behind her ear, and you feel it again, the strange slipping feeling you’ve been having around her, all ship on water, like the ground beneath you has decided it doesn’t want to be heartbeat-steady anymore—

hey soooo this wrecked me. just a little (a lot) (2). i just Had to bold that sentence because oh my goodness it is so . i don't even have words any more, running out of them as i type but uhhflgjk . the recurring ocean/water/ship throughout, the little actions of tucking her curls back and her blinking sequestered in the narration- to me it is a trademark of yours, i think, how you manipulate rhythm and convey that gentle rush as a moment picks up and characters tip into making the move. the unsteadiness (thinking back to praying that the old bars don't give way beneath your weight right now!!) is transformed from guarded to romantic and i think it is such a lovely twist, the way it displays how love changes the world around you

ELIAS YOU FUCKING COCKBLOCK I'M GOING TO KILL YOU . the tension dissolving so abruptly, silence as you pull away.... i'm going to kill a janitor how fuckign DARE you . but also a trademark of yours, definitely, that push and pull and fading back into stone cold reality after this sensory whirl .

"sugar shards scattering themselves beneath your tongue" "you tuck the memory of her high into the pocket of your cheek to savour later" just especially pretty lines i had to tuck into the pocket of MY cheek to cry about

THERE IS STILL TIME THERE IS STILL TIME (THERE ISN'T) .i'm fuckign filing criminal charges against yuo you will NOT be getting away with this miss kusanagi . OHHHhhhhhh that ostensible hopelessness and how it's countered right as the piece closes - "you take it, and she doesn't let go" - all of your works are coloured by such a lovely muted hope . i always leave the closing line of a lin kusanagi(haku) piece breathless like oh my godfff the world is so beautiful