#bear.starter

        𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀   𝖺𝗍   𝗍𝗁𝖾   𝖿𝖺𝗋   end   of   the   bar   ,   where   the   light   felt   a   whole   lot   dimmer.   rust   drums   his   fingers   lightly   on   the   side   of   his   glass   ;   the   amber   liquid   inside   barely   touched.   the   usual   hum   of   chatter   filled   the   room   but   his   gaze   was   fixed   elsewhere   ,   lost   in   thought.   feeling   a   subtle   shift   in   the   room   before   he   heard   it   --   the   weight   of   someone's   presence   lingers   just   behind   him.   he   doesn't   bother   to   turn   his   frame   ,   his   eyes   remain   on   the   drink   in   front   of   him   as   he   ran   a   thumb   along   the   rim   of   the   glass.   with   a   low   gruff   voice   ,   ❛    you   planning   to   stand   there   all   night   or   are   you   gonna   sit   down   ?    ❜    he   glances   over   his   shoulder   raising   a   brow   ,   ❛    ain't   much   point   in   lurking   when   the   bars   got   plenty   of   seats.    ❜

the various conversations in the room begin to fade away as josefina focuses on her task at hand - making sense of the return bin. while not usually a responsibility she has, another librarian's absence has added onto jo's list of chores. she is normally far from the front desk, as is preferred, but has seemingly fallen into a spell of bad luck. eyes are fixated on the book in her hands when footsteps approach. ❝ if you're looking for a copy of the bearhold independent, they're over there, ❞ a finger lifts and points to her left where a newspaper stand holds a few more copies. ❝ if you're not... ❞ finally, jo glances up and attempts a grin, ❝ what can i help you with ? ❞

                      𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰'𝐬   𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭   𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞   𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝   𝐚𝐬   𝐬𝐡𝐞   passed   the   newsstand   ,   the   headline   caught   her   eye   like   a   thorn   she   couldn't   shake.   haddad   heiress   finalizes   divorce   after   husband's   affair.   a   sharp   ,   bitter   laugh   slipped   from   her   lips.   she   reached   out   to   snatch   the   magazine   off   the   rack.   “ah   !   there   it   is   ,”   she   muttered   ,   flipping   to   the   page   with   a   mocking   smirk.   the   article   laid   it   all   out   ,   glossing   over   the   details   of   her   life   like   it   was   some   soap   opera   ,   only   the   writers   weren’t   nearly   as   clever.   "it's   been   two   years   ,"   she   clarified   while   shaking   her   head.   “maybe   i   should   throw   a   party   —   limited   edition   :   ‘congratulations   ,   snow   ,   you   survived   the   affair   !’”

HE PUSHES THE DUAL DOORS OF HIS GYM OPEN WITH GREAT URGENCY . . .

" attention , my patrons ! i have made a great discovery ! " announcements of this nature are so common that the staff and regulars of the boxing gym greet him with a series of groans . sylus , however , is smiling hard enough to flash a full set of pearly white teeth as he strolls in , gaming handheld in hand . he shakes his head at the absolutely exasperated reaction he's shown , propping his hand on his hip under the floor length coat layered on his shoulders . " you see , that's the problem here . you all have no wonder ! no whimsey ! the world is more than sweating . it's vast ! everyday , something new awaits ! " one unfortunate soul makes the mistake of meeting eyes with him and he wastes absolutely no time strutting over to them . " you there ! adjust your form . chin up , back straight — there , excellent . now , tell me . . . " the excitement practically radiates off of him as he raises the handheld to their eye level . " have you yet to discover these pocket monsters ? or , ' pokemon ' , for short . blast these abbreviations . . . "

THERE'S A SMALL CROWD GATHERED AROUND THE STRENGTH TESTER IN THE ARCADE . . .

the sound of the punching bag hitting the backboard is followed by a mix of gasps and young girls giggling . another punch , more reaction , more people gathering around . he doesn't pay the attention any mind , he is here with two goals in mind : to blow off some steam and make enough tickets to win an obnoxiously large ( and overly expensive ) teddy bear from the prize shop . every punch attempt beats his score from before , his name littering the leaderboard from top to bottom . still , raf isn't satisfied , not even with the ocean of tickets that swallow his feet . " tch , not good enough . " it was never good enough for him , not with his expectations being almost as unnatural as he .

" I'VE BEEN THINKING LATELY . . . "

a dangerous opening for what is surely to be a loaded statement . he's looking through the shelves of the ruby moose like a man on a mission , placing various charms , crystals and oddities into the little basket that his ( possibly unwilling ) companion carries as they trail behind him . " i met someone — " almost more dangerous than the first . " someone that spoke of honoring the dead , respecting them , like it was something so obvious , but then i think about what witches do . our whole stick is rooted in feeding our magic into various shit and passing it down . " the rings on his fingers click against a row of glass fixtures and crystal balls as he hums in tune with the chimes , dark pupils pointed to the ceiling .

fingers pawing over the familiar feeling of bone stop him in his tracks , bringing a uncharacteristic brightness to his eyes . a skull , pristine in condition , stares back at him with hallow eyes . turning to the other , he picks it up from the shelf , gently brushing his hand over the top to remove a layer of dust . " what do you think ? " asked softly with eyes still focused on the skull . " if i took your body , made you of use to me when your soul's long since departed . . . " a brief pause to lift the skull up to his face , head tilting to almost meet lips to teeth . " would you feel respected ? would i be honoring you ? " dangerous eyes glance over the skull to look at his shopping mate , then return to the skull , eyes narrowing . " hm , a fake . disappointing . "

The night air feels heavy with the scent of pine and earth as Asena moves quietly through the underbrush, her steps light and deliberate. Patrolling these woods isn’t just part of the job—it’s a necessity. Beneath the serene blanket of nature, she knows there’s something darker lurking, waiting.

Her hand rests on the hilt of her blade, hidden beneath her jacket. The woods around her seem unnaturally still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. But then, something shifts. A sound. Faint, but unmistakable—the crunch of footsteps on dry twigs.

kaito   had   forgotten   what   people   did   when   they   were   cold.   he   wasn't   stupid,   he   knew   about   jackets,   but   the   mannerisms   of   it   didn't   come   naturally   anymore.   he   watched   a   few   people   a   little   too   closely   as   he   sat   at   the   bar.   they   held   warm   drinks   in   their   hands,   closer   to   them   than   normal   to   try   and   sap   its   heat.   they   huddled   with   their   loved   ones,   shoving   fingers   into   pockets   and   under   clothing. 

it   wasn't   that   he   didn't   get   cold   anymore.   quite   the   opposite.   he   was   embalmed.   then   buried.   he   was   always   cold.   necro   -   anemia,   he   called   it.   wires   crossed,   he   held   his   coconut   rum   on   the   rocks   like   one   would   a   cup   of   coffee   and   faked   a   shiver   as   he   whipped   around   to   the   person   sitting   next   to   him.   he   hadn't   talked   to   anyone   in   the   ten   minutes   since   he   ordered   the   drink,   and   the   silence   had   become   unbearable. 

“come   here   often?”   he   said,   irony   dripping   from   his   voice.   a   cold   dead   thing   searches   desperately   for   warmth   and   laughter.   like   a   child   not   loved   enough.   the   dramatics   should   have   died   with   him,   but   sometimes   that's   all   that's   inside.   the   corpse   that   had   been   kaito   murakami   smiled   and   tapped   his   glass   to   the   bar   -   top   before   downing   it.   “i'm   all   empty,   next   round   on   me?”