♕ ┆ life's walking irony

Eccentric. Unconventional. Artistic. Cultured. Imaginative. Charismatic. Charming.  

These were all words that Hanako knew she could use to describe her boss of three months; a business mogul in the artistic side of Tokyo. His galleries spanned across the wards, amazing establishments filled to the brim with artistic endeavors which showed only a glimpse of the inner workings of the artist’s mind; for not only was his own art displayed within these premises but also art from around the world that had captured his imagination or attention.

Hanako couldn’t help but smile as she stepped into the pent house that served as both her bosses home, office and work space, warm brown eyes falling on the familiar walls lined with the paintings and masks. Her boots clacked softly against the polished wooden floor as she stepped about one half finished sculpture and nearly step right into an easel complete with a half painted canvas. Shaking her head the young woman came to a stop in front of the old black leather couch (of which her boss was very fond of) watching as the man slept soundly on the worn fabric, still dressed in yesterdays clothes.

Blinking again through his haze of sleep, he sees the woman clearly now, short brown hair resting elegantly against the slope of her neck. 

( ‘ what a sight to wake up to... ‘ ) 

“Good morning, Hanako. Can you hand me my paintbrush? It’s sitting in that cup of water there. I’ve finally decided what color to make my lovely muses’ eyes.” He motioned to the half-finished piece of art splayed against the canvas. Dreaming always did help him cement his thoughts, funny enough. 

Smoothing out the creases in his button-up (though he abhorred most pieces considered business-casual, he did enjoy the two stitched skulls that rested against his wing-tip collar), he gazed forlornly at his state of dress. 

    It almost hurt to see him throw his mask away so carelessly – he’d been wearing it ever since he got out, it was almost a a coping mechanism for him; who’d known he’d get that attatched? Briefly looking away, he opted to focus his attention to the mask maker instead, watching as he walked away.

    "Not at all.“ He reached out and grabbed the jar, opening it to grab his snack. The temperature had no matter in that – if something, the coldness made the taste quite fine. Silently doing as told ( wasn’t it always like that? ), he moved himself to the stools. Iori sat in one near Uta – close enough for him to work, but still, one stool away both would have their personal space if desired. 

As the machine started is soft rumbling Hanako busied herself with unpacking her groceries from earlier. Soon small plastic bags of leaves with hastily scribbled labels, plant food of various kinds and other seemingly random pieces of shopping were being put away in their proper place, though the clutter of the kitchen would lead anyone to believe that it was hardly organised. It was only when Hanako started prepping herself a nice cup of rose leaf tea did she turn to her unusual house guest.

She wondered how observant he was; would he make a remark, like so many had, about her rather obvious alter? Would he comment on the various note books that seemed to lie on almost every available surface? Or would he keep his opinions to himself?

A loud meow pulled the brunette out of her musings and with a laugh the young woman finally gave the giant fluff ball of a cat its long await treat. She almost smirked as she watched Hoshi take hold of the treat and retreat to his favourite indoor perch, the love-seat in her make-shift office just across from the kitchen.

His gaze traversed the mess of notebooks && writing supplies, falling onto a table with an elaborate altar. 

( ‘ hmm... someone who still worshipped old gods or spirits... rare to find in this day && age ‘ ) 

“You have a beautiful home. I’m quite fond of the altar. Are the crystals real?” The ghoul questioned, returning to the woman’s side as she began to prepare the coffee. 

“Ah, a good guess. I am fond of black coffee-- && at least two spoonfuls of sugar, but you can’t tell anyone. Everyone thinks I just drink black sludge.” Though his tone was almost deadpan, he had meant it as a joke. Sort of. 

“Eh? For me?” He blinks in faint surprise at the offer. He feels like all he’s asking are questions, but he’s still trying to let this whole situation process. He’s in the presence of a ghoul who wants to take him back to his studio, where he apparently makes masks, and the one condition for keeping him safe is to let said ghoul make him a mask. This is dizzying.

Shrugging his black jacket further onto his shoulders, Uta pointed in the general direction of his studio. “It’s just a few blocks away. Though, I must warn you; I can smell other ghouls near us. They’re interested in your scent. So, I’m going to need you to perform for me-- become an actor just for a little bit, alright? Pretend that you don’t know I’m a ghoul. We won’t talk about anything ghoulish, no bloods, guts, cannibalizing, nothing. I’m going to pretend to be luring you back to my studio. Tomorrow morning, when most of the ward is still asleep, I’ll escort you to the nearest bus stop. I apologize for the inconvenience, but It wouldn’t do my reputation here very good if I just allowed humans to waltz in && out of my shop, would it? I used to run this ward, after all.” 

This was some joke. Some sick joke. Had to be, “…If you’re just dragging this out, I don’t see a point. I’ll humor you only ‘cause I like being on this earth. But this is some kinda sick joke.” He sighed. His accent had gotten thick with his exhaustion, and he almost wanted to lapse into full Italian. Fuck this Japanese nonsense. But as it was…

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Ragged and painful breaths dragging through his lungs as he regained the breath he’d lost while laughing. He adjusted and put a hand on the dumpster, slowly dragging himself up.

“Yeah, I can walk. The fuck you want to help me for anyways?” The kid maybe? Why? Ghouls sacrificed themselves for their own children lots of times. Was it because the girl was human? Maybe because he didn’t heal like the others? Whatever. He wasn’t gonna look a miracle in the mouth. Or what the fuck ever that saying was. Something about a horse? Fuck, he was getting g delusional.

In a way, they were both risking their lives-- so Uta pressed forward, wrapping an arm around the uninjured shoulder of the ghoul. 

“In case anyone sees us, it’ll just look like I’m helping my drunk friend home-- if the person is far enough away && doesn’t see the blood pouring from your wounds.”

(  ‘ i think i’m gonna like him... ’ )  

“i have no problems-- this used to be my ward, but I honestly don’t care what happens here anymore. I am curious though, on just what this poor fool did to get a hit placed on him.” He eyes the body before him, expression blank. It was best to keep his feelings buried deep-- not that he had any for the man slain on the ground. 

Maiko watches carefully as the ghoul appraises her mask, looking rather quiet as he glances over the large crack in the center.

However, when he comments about her motive she can’t help but blush. Perhaps part of the reason is out of a desire to spend time with someone familiar. After all, Uta is a wonderful conversationalist, and is easy to speak with, but to be so openly called to attention makes her shy.

❝Well…not entirely Uta-sama!❞ she says sheepishly, her toes scuffing together not unlike a scolded child, ❝I mean seeing you is always a big plus! But I’ve just had to hunt more! I’m always hungry lately!❞

It’s true, Maiko often finds herself desperately craving food, and has been attempting to eat at least a little better to keep her strength up, but she’s no longer as skilled as she was as a teenager, which is more than disheartening.

“If you’re hungry, you can always ask me. I’ve got plenty of food stored in the fridge. && you’re always welcome to it.” He started, gathering up his mask-making supplies. It was necessary as an artist-- often Uta would get caught up in his creations, only realizing he hadn’t eaten as much as an eyeball for two weeks when he felt the uncomfortable emptiness in his stomach. It was better to stock-pile meals so he’d not need to worry. 

      Neo bent down to pick up the fallen sunglasses. A smirk spread across her lips as she handed them to the stranger. “That’s alright.” She spoke in a quiet tone. 

She always felt more comfortable in the dark–                                    the sun burned her EXTREMELY sensitive skin, and if exposed for too long she would in fact  p e r i s h. That was the life for a vampire, one in which they were condemned tolive in darkness. Not that Nasa minded, when outside of the city, the night wasthe MOST BEAUTIFUL sight to behold.

In the dark of night, his ghoul eyes were akin to the color of dying flames. Surely she knew what he was? Uta took a deep breath. Ah, so the odd woman wasn’t exactly human either. 

( ‘ interesting, indeed...’ ) 

While his hands were currently buried in some lackey-level ghoul, he had smelled something quite familiar. The scent belonging to Kaneki Ken. 

“Alright, Touka-san. If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.” He said in an aloof manner, hoping he wouldn’t tip off the other ghoul. She was a secretive person-- && while he was normally the type for jests or jokes, this was clearly not the time.

“ Business that I don’t see any need to tell you of. ” Her voice is curt and harsh; she has no patience for those who play games or speak in riddles.

“Fine, fine, I was just making small talk. As for a mask... the process is quite long and ardous. Are you willing to stay still && answer my questions as I design it? Otherwise, you’ll have to go somewhere else. I hear gas masks are quite stylish if you’re looking for something easy && cheap.” 

water roars past his ears, through a blanket of warmth in sheets that ricochet off surfaces like bullets, soak the bottom of his jeans and fill up his shoes so full he might as well not be wearing any. to say it rains is to understate the tonnes of water that pour overhead. is it an entire ocean? just … getting dumped on this side of tokyo? yes. definitely, with the way eyesight lasts all but the length of his arm. 

It’s as he leans forward that he smells it. 

Blood, though diluted from the copious amounts of rainwater falling down on the pair, eases through the air. He scans the ground-- finding the pinkish rivulets that escape from the man’s palm as he sits cross-legged on the ground. 

“I’m perfectly fine-- but are you alright? That was quite the tumble. Sure you haven’t hurt yourself?” 

He almost thought to invite him to his studio-- it was actually only a few blocks away. He had originally gone out for a bite (yes, a thousand years could pass, && Uta would still be making shitty jokes), but this human was intriguing. Though he was definitely hungry, he could hold back. He’d suffered much worse-- though the slight tightness in his chest was a bit of a mood killer.