memory

Children were never Levi’s strong point. He didn’t care enough about curbing his foul language to try and steer the young girl’s question into an answer that can be considered “safe for work”. She would learn eventually. A sigh escaped the captain’s lips, body straightened, both hands now to his own chest cupping over each breast.

She will grasp her own breasts.

"Knowing this school, the Titty Typhoon may as well be a slaughterhouse where the bear keeps his disembodied boobs in for safe keeping. Fucking fetishist."

For now, though, he had decided to just watch her. He didn’t think he was close enough yet to start asking her about her background and life story, so the plan for now was to get closer to her, close enough so he could question her without any awkward discomfort. She didn’t seem to pose any threat, after all, so there was honestly no harm in waiting. She was quite interesting to observe actually, and seemed gentle and kind, albeit a little air-headed and soft-spoken. Lavi was sure he’d get used to her after living with her for a little while, no problem.

But, sometimes, awkward situations still sprung up when they went through their daily routine. Like now, for example. She peered at him with intent eyes, her gaze sweeping from the dolls he’d set on the shelf earlier back to him, an almost questioning look in her eyes. He would ask what exactly she wanted, if not for the toothbrush in his mouth and the towel draped over his head, partially hiding his red hair that was currently weighed down with leftover water from his shower.

But, it wasn’t like he could just ignore her, either. A small sigh left the teen’s mouth before his head tilted to look at the girl who shared his space, leaning back slightly away from the sink to make eye contact with her.

That uncertainty which does manifest, however, is terminal and lives neither a respectable life or a long existence, something that was not always perhaps and has not always come in the definition of hand in hand nor of expectation. Once more will she give the dolls resting almost in dutiful attitude upon the shelf the fortune (or quite opposite if it was to be viewed as possibly so) of her glance, and her eyes are once again concentrated upon the man before her which is only her roommate, no specific name to be shared if had. Though such a thought was foolish; everyone had names. She is certain that the dolls bear names as well. She is just unaware of what those may be, yet.

Ib will rather modify her position before she so allows her own speaking. She brings the cross-leggedness of which her status so stands (quite the opposite of what she is doing — hah, puns of sorts!), giving its full transformation into her legs undoing themselves in this knot which brought only constrictions of nerves into cramps beneath her skin and all the petite thickness in which inhabited it, straight into a more favourable form if only for the sake of her comfortability. Her legs of simple childness hang off the ending point of the mattress near which she so sits upon, and they do not reach the floor. Given, they will not for a long while.

Temptation and urge all alike in their similarities and kinship for the action of pointing to the resting place of the dolls does come within her, but in that moment she does realize and remember the words of her mother, syllable pronunciation exact in the confines of her mentality. It is impolite to point. Therefore, Ib will refrain from doing so.

People on this island could be so boring.

She supposes she can understand, with the recent occurrence of murders (which could be easily prevented in her opinion), but that doesn’t mean everyone should wallow in their misery for so long. After all, don’t humans say it’s important to ‘fake something until it’s real’? Or something to that effect… Though, again, the succubus knows all too well that humans can be just as hypocritical as they are wise, but she supposes this is one of the many things that makes them so interesting and fascinating to her.

Even with that in mind, Morrigan can’t help but feel pangs of boredom every now and again… Or rather, every minute of this particular day. While there were quite a few things to do on this island surprisingly, it isn’t particularly much fun without having someone to enjoy it with… Or rather, someone to compete with. Yes, out of all the things she wants at this moment in time, playing a game is at the top of her priorities.

With a stretch of her black wings, the darkstalker gives a sigh, now dull emerald hues glancing around the area for someone— anyone— to pick out and force them into a game with the succubus. Luckily for many of the citizens, it seems to be rather barren outside today, with the exception of one small girl that seems to catch the ever watchful eyes of the female. A little girl… Who seems no older than ten… She’ll do quite nicely!

After all, children like to play games, don’t they?

"Well, well, well!" with a tone playful and enchanting, the female practically skips over to the small brunette, a bright grin plastered onto her features as the joy of finding a ‘playmate’ courses through the succubus’s veins. "Look what we have here… Say, aren’t you bored~…? Would you like to play a game with me?" the question is, of course, rhetorical.

If someone were to invite her to such a thing as a game, however, in no aspect would Ib be particularly inclined to refuse, though with the exception this woman here would currently be faced with. As child in all herself as she may be, Ib is of higher mental growth than those to be labelled and grouped with her if only for the sake of how many years she has lived, at the age of delicate virgin eight. As such, the female knows that this woman is suspicious, and not to be trusted. However, she is intimidating, and she is not quite sure how she can avoid her and the question she gives for her to decide upon. Fear brews at the idea of saying possibly anything but yes, and for the full extent of 60 seconds, the small girl will stare up and blink, hands grasping firmly around the comforts of each other and their complete ignorance of the sweat that they will manifest, her expression simply blank.

“...” It is only logical to speak refusals, foolish to speak anything but. If she put honest into the value of how she would live currently, and in the past and the future, her life as a whole to be something which she would consider the weight of, as her mother would so instruct her with pride in her breast — she could only be able to say no. If not, then she was not truthful, and in the simplest way: A liar. And liars, she knew well, were not appreciated by anyone. Being a liar only resulted in punishment. Yet if she were to speak yes, she would also find herself in the same danger which must be feared if life is to righteously, selfishly be retained, if at least for a moment longer.

“... ... ...”

“Stop right there!" 

Abruptly, the male called out to a stranger in the halls… Not a moment too soon either. As he rushed to catch up, he soon slid to a stop and dropped to his knees before he reached for a certain part of the girl’s clothing. 

"This..!"

A thread..

"It’s hanging loose.. And there’s a small tear here.. If it continues, your clothes will be ruined. I can fix it for you!" 

He wasn’t joking either. Slipping out a small sewing kit he carried just in case, Splendid beamed at the girl. Heroes could do small things as well, right? Anything if it meant saving the day!

"So let me!"

And yet none of these occasions has she been to come across some stranger who was passing by as she observed the world which lay beyond the feeling her door created, false but still reassuring in some perspective which her brain could not help but develop.

It is only the exact definition of a moment, yes, the precise ninety seconds, does her auditory systems of her body register the vocals that come into the play known as existence, emitted from a being immediately behind her or rather, who was about to be ― all in all, approaching her.

He is strange in the way he is so excited in his speech and as he touches the white thread which must have been impossible, she thinks, for anyone but perhaps just this man to notice, and he must have very, very keen eyes. Perhaps he hunts with the hawks?