* OATH

a little doctor lady in a nurse’s garb

don’t ask

a participant in a cruel game where you might die by chair. you heard that correctly

vibe check! [heals you]

may or may not have accidentally killed a patient and helped traumatize a child. as you do

can be very panicky! if you ever find her hiding in a locker……….. leave her there please thanks

does she ever smile. like. ever

survivors please interact

   After a long set of years, you have employment. You are once again responsible for life, but...

      ❝   no ?   ❞     a  lazy  inquiry  in          regards  to  her  lack  of  attendance  for  social  occasions  such  as  these .   joseph’s  mouth  takes  to  the  edge  of  thin  glass ,   does  not  sip  the  champagne  so  much  as  allow  it  to  wet  his  lips .   when  he  pulls  away ,   the  smile  slips  from  his  face  as  something  altogether  expressionless  takes  its  place ,   as  though  trying  to  come  to  a  decision  regarding  the  survivor  in  front  of  him .

      it  doesn’t  surprise  the  hunter ,   apprehension  heavy  in  doctor’s  tongue ,   obscured  just  behind  the  teeth ,   full   &   ready  at  her  lungs .   her  stare  almost  entirely  given  to  the  alcoholic  drink  held  between  both  hands ,   eyes  only  occasionally  darting  to  meet  his  own .   the  frenchman  parts  his  lips ,   PAUSES ,   then  closes  it  again  not  long  after .   credit  where  credit  is  due ,   she  bothers  to  mimic  some  sort  of  amiability ,   putting  in  the  effort  to ,   at  the  very  least ,   treat  him  with  common courtesy .  

     humorously ,   to  a  gentleman  unhesitant  to  drop  all  pretense  of  good  will  when  it  suited  him  best ,   the  photographer  was   —   for  the  lack  of  a  more  apt  description   —        grateful .

     quietly ,   joseph  lets  aloud  an  amused  chuckle ,   &   with  it  departs  kinder  words ,   facing  emily  bright  -  grinned   with  all  the  silent  understanding  in  the  world .     ❝   c'est dommage ,   they make for wonderful little breaks .   although i guess it may not be everyone’s ,   how do you say   …   ah ,   cup of tea .   ❞

      before  erstwhile  count  could  inquire  furthermore  of  the  other’s  happenings  since  they’ve  last  spoken ,   he’s  interrupted  by  the  beginnings  of  another  melody .   the  orchestra  swings  its  song ,   a  mellifluous ,   gentle  tune ,   brought  about  by  grand  piano’s  ivories ,   woodwinds ,   &    viola  to  resound  through  the  ballroom .  

      hollow  attire  once  again  begin  their  round  of  partner  -  seeking ,   though  this  time  joseph  instead  chooses  to  turn  to  the  young  lady  stood  beside  himself .   hand  half  outstretched   &   silver  crown  dipped  in  a  polite   (  enough  )   bow ,   he  asks  the  words  she  MUST  have  seen  coming  by  then   :

    ❝   say ,   do you happen to dance ,   mademoiselle dyer ?   ❞

   In the rare fleeting second you do look at him, you look closely; he is a man hard to read, and that sometimes makes you more nervous than the thought of a chase. If he chases you, at least you know you’ve never really left the game, and you know exactly what happens. Here, the guesswork -- the uncertainty, even as he promises you civility, even as they all do when you meet them -- has you just as cautious as though you were waiting for a match, if not more.

   “No,” You confirm with a soft shake of your head, steadying your voice. “I find it hard enough to rest as it is, let alone among others-- it takes a certain type of people to enjoy them on the regular, and I am just not one of them. It is as you say -- not everyone’s cup of tea.”

   The air around you shifts with the introduction of instruments, a sweet melody filling in the space with a quiet start before it begins to swell. He offers you a dance, a gesture that catches you a little bit off-guard, and every part of you screams decline. Make your excuses. Any words you could gather freeze on your tongue, feeling they’ll be incoherent if you loose them, and you change your response: a curtsy to his bow, and the ginger touch of your hand to his.

   So many years since you’ve done this, and somehow your feet find the flow of the waltz with relative ease; a skill that has rusted, but you could never entirely forget. Muscle memory and common sense. He might mean nothing, with asking you -- he might mean everything -- but dance and music is not quite a form of art as much as it is a conversation, and you want to hear what he wants to convey. 

   What do you want him to hear? The question latches onto you and you cannot give it the answer it deserves. You are not friends, or on friendly terms as much as you pretend to be. Is it better to keep it that way or drop the pretense and risk what happens when you leave the courtesy you extend each-other? Is there a third option?

      GENTLE  ORCHESTRA  FADING  OUT          signals  the  end  of  yet  another  song ,   footsteps  slowing  to  a  halt  as  partners  bow  respectfully  as  a  conclusion  of  their  time  together .   joseph  dips  his  head  low ,   pressing  a  hand  to  his  chest  before  turning  on  his  heels .   posture  rigid   &   blade  -  straight ,   heading  instead  towards  the  champagne  tower  for  a  refreshment  instead  of  busying  himself  with  a  fourth  dance .

     imagine  his  surprise  then   :    a  face  entirely  too  familiar  grazing  by ,   cyan  locking  onto  gentle  hazel  ones .   a  smile  splits ,

    ❝   mademoiselle dyer !   i hadn’t expected to see you here ,   what a pleasant surprise !   ❞     a  tone  much  too  welcoming ,   a  smile  too  enthusiastic ,   &   words  spoken  too  casually  for  the  history  between  them .   if  it  were  not  for  this ,   joseph  desuaIniers  might  have  indulged  himself  with  a  chuckle  at  the  ridiculousness  of  it  all ,   but  alas ,   all  he  offers  for  now  is  a  bright  SMILE &   a  mouthful  of  pleasantries   –   although  not  exactly  untrue .     ❝   your attire is most stunning ,   the design suits you wonderfully   —   a true ,   how do you say ,   la belle du bal !   ❞

     his  attention  now  taken  to  the  beverages  laid  out  along  the  counter ,   fingertips  gently  take  two  thin  glasses  up ,   lifting  one  over  towards  them ,   taking  the  survivor  hostage  for  conversation .

     ❝   do tell me ,   how is your evening ?   are you a fan of parties like these ,   mademoiselle ?   ❞

@medelite​   /   event: CANVAS

   As one who works with medicine and all manners of messy work on the human it is imperative to be practical. Dress modestly, with fabric that doesn’t scream the height of fashion but is easy on the maintenance, for if you wore silks or bombazines in a clinic you would quickly mark them useless for a social setting. Not that you had the means to buy such luxuries, anyway; and now that you’ve been offered unrestricted access to anything, made as frivolous as your heart desires, it is an unfamiliar and uncomfortable experience. You are not at work -- you do not intend to be at work -- but you have been so detached that it feels wrong and this gown too precious for you to wear.

   You quietly ignore it. Carry yourself with grace, circling the ballroom in a slow, cautious step and watching participants move to the lull of the music. It fades, then, and soon you stop -- your heart, having beaten with an unprecedented calm during this song, picks up the pace. This paranoia is familiar. You find the source in his face, cyan eyes finding yours before you have a chance to turn on your heel and leave. 

   That... would not be nice to do, now that he knows of your presence. None of the hunters you’ve met have shown any desire to chase you, and this one, in particular, is always amiable to you, even if he makes your skin crawl. “--Mr. Desaulniers,” You manage, and -- despite yourself, allow to feel a little shy at the compliment, if only with how excessive it feels. “You are too kind.”

   the churches scattered about Archimedes were always a sight to behold. most laid in ruin, others having long since given up any hope or want of restoration, while a few remained intact and open by dedicated keepers. ( Jehanne’s comes to mind and she makes a mental note to visit her church later. she could find that quiet bubble of peace within those walls. ) but the number of those left empty outweighed the filled. she had….no particular reason for seeing them today, walking through them. there was always a sense of loneliness that surrounded ruins; an emptiness that goes beyond just that of a space that has been abandoned– forgotten. 

    the wild had taken over now. flowers and foliage crept up and around what remained of walls, covering chunks of break that lay scattered on the ground. it looked beautiful in a….melancholic sort of way. Ritsuka sighs quietly, turning at the sound of footsteps close by. she spots a woman and offers a small smile in greeting. “ I don’t see a lot of people out here. Did you come to look at the ruins? Or to gather some of the flowers that grow here? “

@medelite​

  You have long turned from religion; you believe in karmic retribution, to an extent, good things happening to good people and that the world has a way of balancing the scales, but nothing bigger than that, as of late. People turn to gods for blessings, for help, but you have prayed quietly by the Red Church in hiding, your heart beating against your ears, and found that whatever or whoever has been worshipped there does not care for prayers, or for you. Maybe both.

   You feel a sense of discomfort by the churches still standing, and when you approach one in ruins it is not out of curiosity for what inhabited it, what or who watched over the building when it stood or if it watches now -- it is thinking back on what ruined it. So many places you have made to play in have been once lively, reduced to nothing more than a shell of what they used to be. You have hidden behind ruins and broken walls and half-working machinery more times than you can count. Something happened to those places, as it did with the ruins of this church, and you’re afraid to learn what. 

   “Oh, I--” Having not expected that you would be addressed, you start a little. Your mind hasn’t been all there, as of late. “I don’t know. I think... I came for something I know I won’t find.”

One of his notebooks was missing.

It was not as devastating as the loss of his notebooks upon his arrival here, but it was upsetting, nonetheless. A mix of journalling and notes on his observations of this strange new place…well, at least it wouldn’t be embarrassing if anyone found it. Maybe it’d just be interesting - a book full of observations on this strange world they would up in.

Yotsutsuji knew it could be replaced - but that would mean quite a bit of work, to redo all of his research.

…those had been his thoughts until he felt his phone vibrate, at least.

How odd. He didn’t think he had received a text here before - not until now, and how lucky he was that this was the first one he was getting.

[ txt to: Emily Dyer ] I have! Thank you so much for letting me know you’ve found it. Is there somewhere you’d like me to meet you so I can pick it up?

   Replies are quick - you, in turn, not as much. You have worked on typewriters before, but the buttons on this thing are barely buttons as much as they are a part of this strange, thin display, and the transition is difficult. You delete a significant number of letters before you deem your message presentable -- read and reread it a number of times -- and send.

   [txt to: Yotsutsuji Kannabi] I am presently by the gates of Spirale University, in the Golden Ward. I can move if you prefer that we meet elsewhere for convenience.

   Kind Regards,

   Emily Dyer

--

   You wait. It is a strange feeling, trying to reconcile waiting somewhere you should (in theory) know for certain you’re safe versus waiting for danger to pass you by; by the time the journal’s owner has come to you, you are visibly restless, and some of your self-imposed self control has cracked. You meant to respect that this book might not be meant to be read by anyone other than the owner or an approved party, but against your own judgement, your fingers had drawn to the pages once again, and --

   Interesting. A look through this world through the eye of another, almost as detailed as yours. You had diligently glossed over anything that could even look more personal than descriptive and made a mental note of a few things you’d missed in your tours of this city’s wards & surrounding branches. By the time he’s arrived, though, you have closed it back, your grip firm but careful over both sides of the cover.

0. rescues without tide 1. somebody we dislike gets hurt? oh no. tragic. anyway 2. we care! we promise! it’s just kinda hard to tell sometimes 3. Anxiety Premium™️ 4. resting tired face 5. just trying to make it in this bitch of a world......... we both like money and bills that are Paid

FIVE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.

black.