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Salutations! I'm currently working on a self-indulgent fan film series and I'm in some SERIOUS need of voice actors! The link to the project information is included below if you are interested!

It had been fifteen years since they first met. By now, those antique memories ought to have returned to the Cadrefather in much the same way that Amihan’s had. At least, that is if her equation regarding the longevity of the memory dampening effect of the computerized parts of her brain was something that could be applied widespread—so far it was based entirely on her own experience.

When she knocked on the Cadrefather’s office door, it echoed not just through the building but through her own slowly-beating heart as well.

Indeed the exchange of words was minimal, but the physical interactions they shared had been mostly positive; they had even kissed, once. Granted, the circumstances for that kiss did not allow her to infer how genuine it was from the action alone, and she had no intent to pry answers out of bricks impaled by rebar.

Silence had trailed the knock like a sly fox, so she knocked thrice more. Amihan did not surrender, she did not hesitate, and she certainly did not compromise. Should she set her eyes on something, it would be done, either as her full self or a limping corpse, it hardly mattered.

The door clicked after the third volley of knocks. The hallway’s light was pulled into the dark room; Amihan followed it starkly; she refused to flinch at its sudden closure.

Under this new thin light, the camellias in her bouquet had been tinted a plum shade. She could just barely see the Cadrefather’s body outlined in white by thin rays of sun creaking in through an adjacent window’s blinds.

Sitting there, the Cadrefather was as a hunched vulture, her forward sloped shoulders resembling arched wings because of the thick black dress she wore. A tricorn hat sat upon her head, providing a broad but still spindly beak; it was worn with holes, some from moths, others from bullet holes. That hat was unlike the standard issue attire for Rieux Branch Housekeepers; it greatly resembled one soldiers of the “Special Operations Lutinia” military branch had been issued well over a few decades ago. Amihan recognized it because she had worn the very same hat as well.

The Cadrefather craned her neck towards Amihan. She waved her hand for her to sit down, and as she did so, their silver edges caught glints of the thin light rays, revealing hints of their weathered ends. From then they spent the majority of the coming conversation tapping against the hard wood of her desk, as if to underscore their dialog with a tenderly annoyed beat.

Amihan sit and stared the Cadrefather in the eyes, holding the flowers against her chest. She was waiting to be addressed.

The Cadrefather huffed in recognition of that, and then slammed her hand against the desk. When Amihan didn’t stir, she straightened her back, allowing the slightest glint of purple from her iris to creak from beneath her hat.

She then spoke, “Addressed. Explain, now.”

Amihan replied briefly, “A gift.”

She set the flowers on the Cadrefather’s desk.

“After the heart?” The Cadrefather asked Amihan.

“Not for you, it’s for the kid.”

The following is a snippet from part one of a two part story! Currently the entirety of part one can be found on my ao3 account, HallowedMetal, however part two is still in the works! This is a bit of an older project, but I hope you still find it enjoyable!

"Many things have gripped my interest before; I have lived long so that is only natural. However, none had done so quite like a conversation I had with a mere passerby.

I was busy wandering through the streets of a town—looking for somewhere I could purchase a few unique snacks for my love—and I had accidentally crashed into him while trying to go around a particularly slow jackass in a trenchcoat.

At first I simply briefly apologized and went about my day, but he caught my arm and pulled me back. My hand had moved to the hatchet resting on my thigh, but thankfully I caught myself upon seeing the look on his face. He seemed more perplexed than aggressive.

Looking him in the face had actually done more than save me from a fight; this man I was looking at had skin that at first looked pristine and soft, yet upon closer inspection I could see that his face had portions, almost like chips, which were transparent.

This clear skin painted a tan shade was surefire proof of what he was: A biomechanical super soldier known as a Knight, the model M7A4 to be precise.

There was other hints as to what he was actually, although only someone like myself, who was very deeply acquainted with such a machine, could spot those.

His hair was a matte black, with many silver strands running throughout, giving it an unnatural shine in the light. This was something which only M7A4’s had because of the materials used to create their synthetic hair. Even the hairstyle he held it in was indicative actually: He had it tied back into a high ponytail, with a few strands hanging down in the front. This was the most popular hairstyle for a Knight of his variety, ironically I actually knew the individual who popularized it among them very well…

I digress, the point was, I could tell that through and through, this man was an M7A4.

Though he looked fairly young, I could still tell his general age by how faded and scratched the paint on his skin was.

“Advent?” I asked simply.

He responded as expected; stumbling back in slight shock and moving as if to reach for a gun, or in this case a knife which he had kept stuffed in his worn jacket’s pocket.

Advent referred to a very specific event, one that only he and I would know. After all, while I myself was not there at the time—he certainly was. It was the onset of a great war. The first one Knights of his variety were ever put to use.

From that point on, he introduced himself in full.

“My name’s Auster,” he’d told me.

I introduced myself as well, “Renzo.”

There was a bit of silence, before we both agree to move out of the public eye. He’d led me to a small cliff, one which was decorated with numerous wreaths made from old sticks and thin metal wires.

He set himself down near the edge of the cliff, and I cautiously joined him. Before we began our conversation, he lifted a finger up to the sky and ocean ahead. It was a relatively dreary day, but even that could not rob the smoky blue sky of its inherent wonder. Just barely, I could see the sun’s light skipping across the waves, leaving a pale white reflection.

Once I looked, he began his story."

The following is a snippet from a story I published to AO3 recently, if you like it, I'm going to provide a link to the story at the end of this snippet. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

"...The light-tram ride was quick and snappy, although Miru found herself to have been repeatedly shocked by the constant lights passing them by inside the tunnels. Tori, on the other hand, appeared to be at peace inside the tram.

“Alright, we’re here! Let’s go!” Miru grabbed onto Tori’s arm once again.

Tori, naturally, retracted it softly.

“Oh, did I grab too hard?” Miru asked her.

Tori shook her head, “Give me a moment.”

Miru sat still for what she believed constituted a moment, and then grabbed the arm once more. This time Tori acquiesced, although Miru didn’t necessarily feel good, seeing her rather neutral face as they both trekked towards Hohenheim Minor’s first ring of shops. Tori’s eyes were such a deep red hue, that to see them drained to a dull pink was quite the shock, and it provided Miru with even more reason to accelerate her shopping.

In the first store, they looked at possible animals. Neither could take care of pets, but they found it fun to simply ogle the many cute animals; at least Miru assumed it to be fun to do. In reality, Miru ended up bouncing from aisle to aisle alone all while Tori hovered around one particular tank full of freshwater fish. After looking at the dogs and cats, Miru returned to see Tori’s stoic standoff with one fish in particular. Miru couldn’t recognize it at first, so she asked Tori about it. Tori then replied with a joke rather than a true answer.

“You know, You Can Tune a Bass, But You Can’t Tune a Bass.”

She snickered, Miru did not; though she did still react with a remark of her own, “Maybe you should write jokes for a mime.”

Tori laughed it off, then returned to her gazing with the fish, which had been some variety of bass, a big green one. Miru stared at it too, and she found the bass to be quite sad, as if it was somehow trapped.

Then, as they stared, Tori made another joke, “What do you call a green bass that hates yellow basses?”

Miru replied, “A bassist?”

Tori snorted, then said, “Yeah.”

They stood over the bass once more; it was then that Miru noticed how much taller Tori’s shadow was than hers, even though they were standing the same distance. Miru then realized that perhaps, Tori did not look so tall earlier because her shoulders were hunched; it made perfect sense, somehow, something about this bass was interesting to her, and was luring her out of that state.

That half beaten wall of mush would be on its last legs after Miru’s next move. Once again she grabbed Tori by the hand and said, “I think we have somewhere to be.”

And so, through a crowd of bearded men, some perverted and wearing tank tops, some dressed so well in camouflage that they could not be seen, they entered the nearest fishing related shop, which itself was named the The Fish in Yellow.

So they looked at the fishing rods, and then at the tackle boxes, and then at the actual assault rifles and shotguns that they had on racks, and then at the numerous types of bait, and then at the big beautiful cardboard cutouts of bears, and then at the obnoxious glass pyramid in the center (which all of the perverted men gathered around), and then they were out of the door.

“What’d we go in there for?” Tori asked softly.

Miru, defeated by Tori’s lack of enthusiasm and the return of her hunched posture, simply replied, “I threw my rod back, felt a rip, cast it out anyway, and, I only managed to catch disappointment and my own soggy soggy fuckoff trousers.”

Tori only shrugged, “Deep.”

“Yeah. Like the ocean, y’know?”

“Yeag.”"