#aevitium

A French kiss

It's just kinda long.

[JADE HEARTS] - If Elysia entertains the idea of fate, then she would consider the timeline of events just too perfect to be anything else. It starts with a little stall on her hunt for a gift, nestled in the warm lantern-glow of the harbor's streets. The hand written sign pinned to its front declares the purpose of its sole ware-- a profession of love. So she had, naturally, wasted not even a moment of hesitation in pocketing one. It would be the sweetest thing, she could picture it exactly in her mind's eye-- the look on her face as she realized, how she would be certain to keep such a gift with her everywhere she went for the next hundred or so of her lives, no matter how silly... What she perhaps had not accounted for, and thus paints such an encounter as fate, would be the very object of that affection walking right past her. Perfectly smoothed jade nestled in her hand, Elysia strikes. Free fingers catch on a wrist, laughter like silver bells in her throat. "Thought you could sneak past me on such a special day, hm~?" And that's when the teasing expression she wears stutters, the barest flicker of surprise for only the most trained of eyes to catch. What's the fun in doing things halfway? With a hum, and just a little bit of mischief in her smile, she presents the small heart in an open palm. "It is your birthday, isn't it?"

This is the fourteenth time Senti has struck out on a jade bet, but it feels like the forty-fourth. No matter what she tries, she just can’t get her hands on any. And sure, she could’ve just bought some off a vendor–there was one spot that sold jade accessories meant to be given to lovers–or even conjured up the ore herself. But it won’t be authentic that way. Nothing wrought by mortal hands has value to her. Instead, the prospect of earning her prize is what sets her head straight–what has her coming back, bumming mora off whoever she can. And, in the case of the romantic gift, wouldn’t it be sad to just buy one on her own? 

So whatever, she’s surfing the crowd, eyes peeled for opportunity wherever it may strike. If she has to do a few favors to get another chance, then so be it. But Elysia doesn’t demand that much of her–

It’s something worse, actually. Though that’s besides the point.

–she reaches for Senti’s attention. Or Hua’s attention, most probably. Because she knows what Elysia thinks they’ve done, but that sure as shit was not Senti at the helm. If she ever had any doubts of merely inheriting the old-timer’s memories, they’re gone now. Fizzled up like the last bit of carbonation from a drink gone flat. The way those two spent their time was negatively no-way not at all any bit Senti, not even one! Though there is… something… swirling in the back of each of the Herrscher’s eyes. A ghost of the past, reminiscent of feelings or opinions that she’s unsure are inherited, or just the product of swapping gazes with Elysia. 

Discreetly, she tugs on the chain connecting her to who Elysia thinks she is. Hurry! Get over here! Pick up the pace, old-timer! You get the idea. 

“Eheheh, guess there’s no escape from Pink Elf here.” 

She looks like a six-year old caught stealing from a candy store. Every bit of her body language is shifty, ready to bolt. But she holds up a guilty smile, a horrible lie. “O-Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve always had the same birthday, year after year. And I’ve lived many. Yes, mhm, so many. I’m very old now, y’see.” She might as well have said ‘I am Hua! Believe me!’ because even the way she chops up her dialogue sounds far-fetched. Right now, that six-year old is fumbling as she tries to come up with some excuse for how the candy ended up in her bag.

Her eyes then land on the item in Elysia’s hand. Seeing it as a change of topic (and forgetting that she is now actually stealing a gift meant for someone else) she swipes it. “For me, eh? Ahahahahahaha! You shouldn’t have! I have a great many riches now, and lots of chickens to show my vast wealth! But while you already have…” 

Black-painted nails tear at the wrapping. “This…” Senti sputters, remembering the loserish item she passed on buying for herself. Only now it’s not so loserish, receiving it from this lady. It’s something else entirely, “Th-This is… Y-you…!” 

As her fist quakes, her neck fails to hold back a tide of blood which rushes into her entire face. She hasn’t forgotten. Her memory is as sharp as Senti’s. 

That means she also remembers…

The snow was different. Each puffy flake catches on skin for but a moment, only to sizzle away into water, wiped away into nothing. Each flake was more pure, unburdened by what the weather may be like tomorrow. Whether the sun would shine or the clouds would roll on, whether winds would roar or fall silent, the snow still fell all the same. Each step they take leaves a trail that leads to nowhere important. And those steps would erode away, quicker than most, yet they would dissipate all the same.

Muted crunching, snow being compacted with each step. Hands found comfort in pockets rather than the woman beside her. It was like before, walking through the snow as a younger girl. Before the start of any battle. While grace would never be found again, memories remedied longing. No memory more valuable than the pinkette on her side.

"Elysia, I..." she starts, only to pause at the others notice to some plant. Perhaps that was a blessing, preventing any opportunity to make a fool of herself. Eyes trace up the pole, finding the mistletoe after her companion. A short breath, fog escaping lips quickly.

"Ah." Her face is conflicted. Yet she steps closer, hands brought from pockets to hold Elysia's. Looking as if she wants to ask something, she abstains. "I do. I suppose it's only fair." Any excitement is muted, as if afraid of what may come next.

While they linger closer, hovering around something that could be considered intimate, hesitation still overtakes the Phoenix. Nerve Fu Hua had not felt in so long tugged her forward. Her gaze keeps low, head tilted down. Only does she meet Elysia's eyes as the other reaches to her chin. There's doubt. Would this kiss be meaningless?

Elysia is humming softly as they walk, milling about the streets of a foreign city beneath the warm glow of streetlamps and stars. There is life here for all to see, laughter spilling out of every open door and cracked window. People from every walk of life share in this moment, not knowing what it means to two girls from a world beyond this one, who had once only dreamed of a reality like it.

Fu Hua is warm where Ego clings to her arm, fingers laced together where they meet. It's silly-- so terribly silly, because playing at human is no longer a means of something greater to her-- how much it pleases her centuries-old heart to be ( for merely a moment ) just a cute girl on the arm of her partner.

They round a corner and the street spills out into a grand plaza so bright and teeming with life that it takes pale eyes a moment to adjust. At its very center is a group of musicians who pluck away at a song she has never heard before, but Elysia doesn't care.

Eager eyes turn to her phoenix, relinquishing her hold only so that she may find it once more in either of the other's hands. She's beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tugs Fu Hua just that much closer.

"Dance with me, little bird?" Her head tilts. "Just for a minute, please~"

The past was paved in hardship. One that meant growing up too quickly and forgetting about any innocence previously had. Yet in moving so quickly, it made these moments feel surreal. Like the clouds overhead simply rolled too slowly, or the subtle gusts of wind blew too gently.

Simplicity was truly worth the wait.

As blue darkens, decorated by gentle hues of orange and pink, radiating from the false sun above sets the tone. Setting over the waters of Fontaine, the lights of the street shine on, with stringed orbs creating a coziness in the coolness of the eve. These were the days Fu Hua found at St. Freya, the days that she found with new friends, the days that could never belong with sins of the past.

A glance over the other girl, arm fastening closer to her own body, securing familiar arms between. Questions, doubts, the desire to confirm happiness, they all melt away. The answer is obvious.

Yet the goes, as she always does. Fleeting, just to find purchase in the palms of Vicissitude. Such a look, many would yearn for. Yet she finds admiration interlaced in every facet of her being. Admiration that envelops doubtful eyes. Though unfamiliar, the song is upbeat, quick and demanding.

The Phoenix would step forward. "Of course, Elysia. For as long as you desire." A hand escapes, only to find her hip. Her other extends out, stepping in tune and circling as any other couple may. Warm giggles escape, eyes shutting as Elysia would find the lead handed over to her.

It's phrased as a question, but it certainly isn't one. Elysia reaches to take said hand for herself, lips curled into a sweet smile. A little tug is all it takes to bring the other closer, sliver chimes of playful laughter the only sound in the otherwise quiet room, sheltered from the noise of rehearsals and passersby.

A hum as she turns, back to the other, and moves to hold her hair out of the way of her back. In the mirror, blue eyes catch violet, twinkling with mischief. The back of her costume's bodice is, woefully, unlaced.

"I never understood why they made these things so hard to tie by oneself," a wistful sigh, only a touch dramatic. She could do it, but she's not exaggerating the difficulty. "Aren't I lucky to have someone like you around, Mei dearest?"

It had taken only a mere second of popping her head through the door for Elysia to take notice-- which doesn't surprise her in the slightest, and as her hand is gingerly tugged to draw her closer to the other, Acheron is unable to keep the gentle smile from tugging at the corners of her lips. It's impossible, truly, when the sense of familiarity that Elysia brings warms her through to the bone in a world that normally keeps her frigid.

Violet eyes narrowed slightly as the other woman turned to bare her back to her, and she steels herself in the moment as she steps even closer; the air is thick with the hum of anticipation, a quiet breath escaping as her fingers brushed against the smooth fabric of the dress. She can't help the fact that her fingertips lazily drag against the soft expanse of skin exposed at the dip of her back, the warmth radiating from her and the faint scent of perfume nearly making her dizzy. Acheron clears her throat as a means of reorienting herself before dutifully steadying her hands and reaching for the loose laces.

It's a slow, deliberate process. With Acheron's breath hot at the nape of her neck, her hands work the laces in smooth, measured movements, pulling the fabric tighter with each cross of the strings-- the rhythm of her lacing remaining languid as if she were purposefully drawing out the moment.

Maybe she was. That was for her to know.

"There," Her voice comes out in a rich, velvety whisper, low and deep in a way that seemed to roll off of her tongue with a bit too much ease-- she tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, hovering only an inch away from the crook of Elysia's neck as she speaks. "How does it feel?" Her fingers trace down the length of her spine in a languorous yet purposeful movement, yearning to recall what it was like to be so close-- to share such a moment with another... and to share it with someone like her. Acheron comes to a halt at the small of her back, finally making the effort to remove her hand and step away to provide the other woman with personal space once again.

Their stage is set: a quaint apartment living room, the clock ticking dangerously closer to four. Elysia paces throughout it, the prime example of a woman paranoid. One arm crossed over her chest, the other raising a hand to worry the divot just beneath her lower lip. Fighting humanity's war was, perhaps, a calling only secondary to that of the art of theater.

Second lives are for second chances, so they say.

Around her, drawing a large circle on the thin carpet, is a ring of salt. Protection from evils, supposedly, and so she is careful not to move a grain out of place as she strides back and forth from one side to the other. Any moment now her roommate will return from her shift-- her night shift, Elysia emphasizes in her mind, because it is an important layer to the accusation that awaits on her tongue-- and she will finally be forced to confront the truth.

The door, positioned stage right, clicks open and creaks on its way across the threshold. Exactly on cue, watercolor eyes turn to accost the figure in its way. Fingers dart for a cross, hastily made into a rosary no more than ten minutes prior, and clutch it to her chest.

"Welcome home," she says, though it's hardly a pleasantry, "or must I invite you inside your own residence again..."

❪ ⋅ ⋆ — who, what, when ┊scene two ❫

“ Oh my, ” Black Swan’s voice, smooth and measured in contrast to Elysia’s own accusatory tone, echoed within the quiet theater as she finally stepped into the scene, her heels clicking against the floor as she welcomed herself into their home.

She stood frozen right by the door for a moment, observing the mess her dearest roommate had left on the carpet before her eyes settled on Elysia again.

“ Oh, darling... ” she continued, dripping with curiosity. “ Just what is all of this? A surprise for little old me? ” With languid steps, she purposefully crossed the salt ring, the chalky line brushing her heels, and paused right in the middle of it with a playful hum slipping past her lips, the spotlight following her every move as if to further mock her roommate—as if to say ‘Look here. I’ve stepped into the house without an invitation, and now I’m stood in your supposed ring of protection.’ “ You really are getting into the spirit of Halloween, aren’t you? ”

⁀➴ hc + 🚶‍♂️ for a habit-themed headcanon [ accepting ]

Without fail, Sara wakes up at 5:05 in the morning. She takes five deep breaths to fill her lungs before walking five laps around the courtyard. She eats her breakfast in five mouthfuls. She ensures that her five Statues of Her Excellency, the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, God of Thunder are always in pristine condition and personally cleans each five times a day.

Five is Sara’s lucky number. And so, she’s made it a habit to do everything in fives.

But to say that it is her most significant habit would be false. While, yes, it may be the most obvious, there is this one silent habit of hers that most tend to fail to notice.

Kujou Takayuki once told her this:

"If you cannot fly with those wings of yours, then you would do better by cutting them off. Otherwise, you are nothing but a nuisance on the battlefield."

See, Sara’s wings are expansive.

Try as she might to fold them closer and closer to her body, they would still take quite the amount of space. So she has made it a habit to distance herself from others, to always walk a few paces behind, and to always stand a few steps further to the side.

She is never the first one to close the gap as a result, and should the other party make an attempt to do so, more often than not, Sara would be quick to take a step away to maintain distance.