#arboriter

Tarot based scene prompts: The Fool.

The room is white, efficient, and unsentimental. It dehumanizes you. As you sit within it, beside the white, clinical bed where your patient lies unconscious and half-covered by a thin, white sheet, you find yourself almost forgetting—over and over again—that he isn’t dead. It’s—“just” a coma.

But who did die? And how many? Names and numbers appear automatically, already calculated, in the periphery of your mind. You try to think of something, anything else—but the calculations continue, relentlessly nearing the center. Mercifully, miraculously, Su begins to wake up. The rustles of stiff fabric wrinkling alert you to it. When you look at his face, his breathing has changed from deep to shallow—but his eyes are still closed. Right, he’s been able see like that, ever since… Why haven’t you gotten used to it?

“Su, you’re... Are you awake?” You sound like a machine, diligent and scrutinizing instead of relieved or ecstatic. There’s pity, too, somewhere underneath—but you think it’s better hidden than revealed, especially now. The white sheet creases again as Su’s head seems to turn ever so slightly toward you. You could’ve imagined it, but you take it as an answer, anyway. “…Creating the Elysian Realm took a significant toll on you. You’ve been comatose for a month.”

The room is white, efficient, and unsentimental. It dehumanizes Su. Before he is anything else, he is a weapon, a tool—a symbol. Like you, he doesn’t have the luxury to be a human being. So, you leave unsaid the things that you have no right to say, that he has no right to hear. All those should-haves, could-haves. Watching him for a little while, you wonder what he’s keeping from you.

You stand up. Beneath the harsh, white light of the ceiling, you cast a dark and terrible shadow. At least, it only circles your feet. Resting your hand against the slightly-ajar door to push it open, you force yourself to offer some kind of platitude. Empty and sterile like the future you’re all fighting to avert. “I’ll tell the others you’re back.”

✧ ˖  @arboriter asked:

[ SNOWBALL(?) ] Once the snow began to pile higher, Su sought out Elysia. Not out of concern, that despite its difficulties this storm was not enough to weather her, though he would deny any accusations if asked, but out of curiosity- out of any he knew, she would be the most likely to break the spell of fear.  It isn’t hard to find her- even amongst the many others; as the snow falls, obscuring vision, she still stands out amongst the flurries, blush against silver; yet not untouched by the crystals that now decorated the world.  If he were truly here to only observe, he would remain silent. And he does- for some time, knowing that he would not go truly unnoticed; eventually, patience is awarded, and he greets her, still hiding himself within the storm. “Hi, Elysia," Pleasantly, as if it were any weather but this- as if this was nothing more than a light shower. "How have you been?"

Su is an odd presence now just as he always has been, although there is something admittedly stranger to it now that he is prone to be more or less noticeably translucent. Elysia does her best not to make it so obvious that she is searching for him, to keep her brow from pinching when she decidedly cannot find him.

He has been lingering longer than she has noticed, that much she is certain.

And when he speaks, she shoots a glare in no particular direction. "It's rude to sneak up on unsuspecting girls, Su." Nose upturned in feigned upset, she crosses her arms over her chest. 

On the long list of utterly ridiculous interactions they have had, this one certainly places highest. Alone in a blizzard, an entire city of people merely hoping to stay warm enough for the night a few hundred feet away from them, and here they are. Doing whatever this is.

"I've been well," she answers with a hum after a moment. "Nice and warm, isn't it? Oh, sorry. Do you even feel temperature at all anymore, given your whole... deal?" She does not sound very sorry, really.

Her search is inconclusive, she relents. There is no way she'll be finding him in all of this, not the way he is now. 

Disaster strikes, and Su is once again occupied with the only task that he can do- watch a dimming fire. Fuel is added in, occasionally, as volunteers scrape together what they can find to supplement dwindling supplies.

He remembers her, as he does the words he spoke to her- he would not take them back, even now, though there were gentler ways of asserting harsh truths that he chose not to employ. In the end, she had been the first to disappear- and he wonders, had his words done anything to encourage her?

And had any of the others informed her of what came next?

“Kallen, the fire’s dying again.” 

But Su remains silent on their shared past, knowing that his inaction had granted her the chance to take another’s fate.

#GHSnowswept2025 - Part 2

FOR WHAT FEELS LIKE A LONG TIME, ONLY THE FLICKERING OF THE FIRE DISTURBS THE NIGHT'S FRIGID SILENCE. what is there to say to someone, when your only bond through shared suffering — was merely a lie? nothing. everything. the night marches on indifferently. kallen watches the fire. su watches the fire. kallen drifts, awake but seeming far away, her gaze tracing the faint stars glinting futilely against the dark sky. su tells her the fire's dying again, and re-anchors her to the snow-dusted earth.

kallen blinks. it's true: the fire's dying again. as she stands to briefly coax the fire back to life, she fails to say anything in response. even as she crouches down beside the dwindling pile of fuel supplies, nothing more than glorified scraps with dubious flammability, she stays quiet. the soft rustles and clatters of her hurried rummaging pretend to respond in her stead. a small piece of painted wood, perhaps broken off from a volunteered picture frame, tumbles from its spot and pushes aside shallow clumps of snow. her hands pause as she glances toward it.

it's light. through the fabric of her gloves, kallen can't feel the texture of its polished surface, but even in the dim glow of the dying fire, it shines. she sets it to the side for later, then gets to her feet. the fire, fragile as ever, waits for her beyond her.

she settles beside it, close enough to believe in the illusion that warmth is within reach. patiently, she begins to feed it the scraps she had carefully selected, piece by piece.

There are dozens of letters left here, seated in their thrones of makeshift lanterns, bearing the mark of clumsy craftsmen and quiet hope. Gazing at them now, he feels no lighter- they do not weigh on him, as others would, filled with simple dreams that will one day be forgotten or fulfilled, but he wonders-

(As he often does, as he always does)- if their beauty comes from the secrets that should not be shared, or if it is, as much of anything, a shame- that something so human would be recorded for the sole purpose of never being seen again. 

And, in his mind, lies another- on pristine paper, penned by a hand that should have been neat, steady, but he would never know if the words had been written long before her eyes faded, or in the shaking desperation of time running out, for he had never broken the seal.

“Did you know what would happen, when you gave us those letters?” He murmurs, quiet, as if it would prevent her from hearing any clearer. After all, he knew, that as he had been driven by emotion, by his heart rather than simple rationality, it had walled him from paths that others could take- and he would be easier to control. 

Perhaps that was an answer in itself- though still he waits.

#GHSnowswept2025 - Part 1

SU'S VOICE IS A FAINT WHISPER, BUT THE GHOST OF DR. MEI HEARS EVERY WORD. she watches the lanterns passively, as if indifferent to their naive existence, and remains unmoved, silent in response — to the lanterns, to her fellow apparition. is it cowardice that leads her to pretend she didn't hear him? was it cowardice that led him to speak so quietly in hopes that she wouldn't? she knows the answer, just as well as she knows the answer to his question. yet, she remains unmoved. silent. the glow of the lanterns flickering is the only warmth here — even nostalgia is cold.

those letters, the letter she wrote for su — its purpose is a glass thorn, crystallized in her memory, clear and lucid. a bandage for a festering wound, a curse — like every other gift she has ever given.

she wonders if su thinks she knew what would happen — which answer, yes or no, would su prefer? she wonders, too, what dr. mei — at death, before death, in life — would've wanted su to think.

silence, still. the signs of life surrounding them seem permanently out of reach, and their sounds — pens scratching against paper, lanterns being turned on, people chattering amongst themselves in soft whispers — seem to belong to some other plane of existence. or rather, the two wraiths do. another second ticks by, then another. then —

a crinkle. without looking at it, she has abruptly folded her piece of paper. her wish. when had she taken one, written one? she reaches for one of the spare canisters, then — for once, finally, always — looks toward su. is he looking at her?

did you say something, su? “... those letters?” she asks instead, her voice strange, confused, un-inflected, condemned, inconsistent as if to say the truth is — unknown, unknowable: a cat-box that she refuses to open, that he seemingly refuses to forget. is it believable? she wrote them, perhaps, near death. or not. “i don't follow.”

this is cowardice. this is mercy. she has offered su a new question to consider, to ask in a murmur, to wield — as a blade against himself, against her, against memory. did mei really forget?

mindlessly, she adjusts the colorful wires inside the canister. her folded wish is folded again, halved, until it is a little square. insignificant, as all wishes are. she pushes it into the makeshift lantern and sets it down.

she wonders if su has ever set down a wish. a burden. a curse. no, of course not.

“su — have you wished for something, yet?” she almost hands him a piece of paper. it's blank. just like the one nested within her lantern. just like ...

How he knows- a question of itself, and not one he would answer if asked- though even that would likely become an afterthought when he appears, within a flurry of golden leaves. One is caught between his palms, and held out for her to see. “I can’t offer you any traditional gift, but I found this.”

It glows softly, warmly.

“If you focus on this, you will be able to see a memory of her.” It is deposited within her hands, drifting as it falls between his fingers and onto hers. A gift from the past to the present- to the living from the dead.

He doesn’t need to specify who she is, that much is certain. As for the memory itself- she will have to experience it on her own.

Sara doesn’t ask how he got here. Not even how he knows it’s her birthday. Some things about Su are simply beyond questioning, and right now, all she can focus on is the glowing leaf cradled between his hands, breath catching as she watches it swirl into existence just as it touches her fingertips. Gentle. Warm. Familiar.

Her throat tightens, eyes fixed on the golden light. She doesn’t need to ask who the memory belongs to. Doesn’t need Su to tell her, because there’s only one person it could ever be and already, there’s a slight tremble in her fingers as she holds it close to her heart.

If she focuses on it, she will be able to see a memory of her.

It sounds so easy to do. So easy to see her again, hear her again, even if only in the shape of a memory and yet…

“Would you stay? Even if only for a little while?” She whispers out instead.

It’s a selfish request, maybe. One that’s certainly unbefitting to that of a general, but she doesn’t want to be alone when she sees her again. What if it hurts too much? What if, after all this time, seeing Leann’s face again—hearing her voice—only makes the absence worse?

Closing her eyes, Sara presses the leaf against her heart and the memory of her unfolds like a dream.

Leann’s voice reaches her first—soft, warm, alive—and Sara’s breath hitches. They’re back in the camping grounds, the young guide’s arms full of the firewood Sara had asked her to collect, and that eager smile of hers is blurred by tears. It’s such a mundane memory, really. They’re trying to light up the fire pit, soot gets on Leann’s cheek, and Sara breathes out a laugh.

Leann says her name, and it sounds so, so real. It’s her, she’s there, and for a heartbeat, Sara forgets.

Forgets that this isn’t real.

“They were worried about you, you know. There was almost a fight about staying behind to find you.” They, being unspecified, but clear enough- she should know whom and how, each of their personalities distinct even in a short period of time. 

A soft smile- he wonders if the glass is bulletproof.

“If you want to know about anything after you left,” He pauses- there surely must be a better word, “I’ll do my best to tell you.”

Kallen can’t bear the way Su looks at her in silence. Or is it her own guilt she can’t bear? There is no use in explaining herself, she understands. It was simple: despite her efforts, she had failed him—had failed their companions and their young guide. When he speaks, his words leave fresh wounds of guilt in her mind, in her heart. They were worried about you. There was almost a fight about staying behind…

She resists the instinct to flinch. They shouldn’t have worried. They shouldn’t have stayed. She had only made matters worse, hadn’t she? Despite meaning to protect them. Despite hoping to save them. Now, in the shadow of her failure, it seems so naive. The words “I’m sorry” catch in her throat, stuck there, held back by the knowledge that an apology wouldn’t suffice. Wouldn’t change anything that had happened to the others, to Su, as a result of her choice.

“Do you still feel ill or unwell?” Kallen asks, not out of caution, but concern, leaning a fraction closer to look at Su better. “If you have the energy, I would like to know what happened, after. Whatever you remember.” Whatever you can bear to recount.

“Hi, Bianka.” Su’s voice comes and goes, as he does, no longer tethered by things that would hold back the living. But an anchor on the planet he was currently focused on was difficult to ignore, and so he finds a moment when she is relatively secluded- at the top of a waterfall, to make his presence known. 

“If you’re going to jump, you should be careful.” Yes, the pool had been cleared so that it wasn’t dangerous, but that did not include any of the later human-made changes by reckless vacationers. Though… she will make it down fine, if she chooses to jump in the end.

“Is this the sort of activity people enjoy?” He asks instead of elaborating.

❪ ⋅ ⋆ — REVELATION 2025 ❫

Bianka’s grin only widens the moment she hears Su’s warning. As though she’d taken it as a challenge instead. And, well, that may very well be the case, her voice cutting through the rush of the waterfall effortlessly—bold, unshaken.

“Don’t you want to find out on your own?”

There it is. That ever-confident smile of hers, hand held out towards him. It’s a gesture she knows is futile in the physical sense, but that’s never stopped her before. If he won’t—can’t—take it, then she’ll pull him along in spirit anyway. What she’s ultimately asking for is not for him to hold her, but for him to join her. To move as though they were one. For him to follow her steps, like she had with him in that Imaginary Space. Live as her, as she had lived as him.

“On three!” Comes her loud declaration before he could voice any protest, boots scraping against the rocks as she moves to the very edge, toes hanging over the drop. The water below churns, but she doesn’t waver. She’ll never waver.

“Let’s see if you’ll enjoy it too, Pioneer.”

And she jumps.

Oh. She’d completely forgotten about the countdown.

But it’s already too late for that—arms spread wide open as the world below her rushes up to meet her. The fall may be fleeting but it’s electric. Exhilarating. Laughter bubbles from within her as soon as she resurfaces, shaking water from her eyes as she looks around her in search of the other.

“Aren’t you allergic?” Is how Su informs Sakura of his presence. The aforementioned allergy, of course, were the numerous stray cats- many friendly with the expectations of tourists eager to win their favor with scraps of food from nearby shops.

No wonder so many of them sold things like dried fish.

It doesn’t matter what Sakura tries, the friendlier cats- the hungry ones, still approach her eagerly, waiting for their prize. Su, for his part, was much like them, drifting nearby, revealing his presence but ignored by the strays- merely a shade saying hello to a familiar face.

⁎ .｡❀ THIS SIDE OF PARADISE.

The tip of her nose is already reddened by the time he’s arrived, her only response to his question but a small, resigned smile. It’s as one would expect—whether Sakura wanted it or not, the cats were relentless. They pawed at her leg for attention, with one bold orange cat claiming her shoulder as its perch. Another sleek black cat with golden eyes circled around her ankle, meanwhile, as if contemplating whether her head might make a suitable throne or not. It’s odd. She didn’t even have any of the snacks with her, and yet they flocked her anyway.

“I am. But as you can see, it’s already too late for me to try and escape. They’re quite the persistent bunch.” She doesn’t start at his sudden presence. If any, there this hint of amusement in her voice, though it’s uncertain if it’s because of him or the cats.

Already resigned to her fate, Sakura bends down to scoop up one of the more rotund strays. A gray calico with a belly so round one would think it has never missed a meal in its life, her eyes widening at its surprising weight. She carries it in her arms like one would a fussy infant, scratching gently under its chin, until she hears a rather pleased purr in response. Loud enough that it nearly drowns out the other tourists’ voices.

“Hah. Look at this one, Su.” Turning to him more, she fixes the cat’s position in her arms. “Does it not remind you of Pardofelis?” It seems to have already made its home there, utterly content, if its slow sway of its tail is of any tell. “It’s a shame she’s not here. Perhaps she would have been able to make friends with one of the strays, seeing how affectionate they are.”

One of the bolder strays, a scruffy tabby, nudges against Su’s leg as if finally acknowledging his presence, looking rather confused when its paws phased through his form. At that, Sakura raises an eyebrow. “Hm. Maybe you’re not as invisible to them as you think.”