#devilbring

She’s almost home. She’s in the elevator. She just has to hold on just a little bit longer. Honestly, with a wound like that shouldn’t she go to the hospital? Get that checked and make sure she’s okay? 

She grunts when her back thuds against the Elevator’s wall. She lowers her head, mismatched colored eyes staring at her now bloodied hands. Mm, she’s losing a lot more blood and her healing really has slowed down. It was already slow no thanks to the Stars, but whatever those bastards attacked her with must’ve laced it with some kind of poison. Lovely. 

The way the two meet isn’t as expected. He had seen the name in his phone a few days ago, and while the Valsharess had mentioned him... 

Their resemblance to each other is far, but enough that they could be distant relatives. Had either of their heritages had any resemblance other than appearances. 

Books under his arm, his gait is prideful, door opened with ease. A pale hand sets itself on the young boy’s table, 

“I would like to speak to you, if you would humor me. I believe we share a name, Nero.” 

Zero stood silent.

Reality was tearing itself apart on a daily basis already. And this mist? It only made it even more disorienting. A headache growing, making his eyes blink with pain. It’s that dumb piano music, grating in the back of his mind.

Much like his own brain, the illusions of the mist tore themselves, skipped forwards and backwards, testing the possibilities of it all.

{PLEASE…COME IN AND TAKE A SEAT.}

How grass turned to tile, he doesn’t know. And if his legs could move, he’d sit where he was supposed to. But he’s passed up by himself–the fake image of himself–that takes his place in the chair.

Where the windows always tinted that red? Was it the sky that was like that? Watching himself trudge reluctantly into the therapist’s office. The crackling of the fireplace. That man in his red suit, adjusting his glasses, clipboard and pen in hand.

The voices are like listening through a cardboard tube. Audible, fuzzy, distant.

{OUR EMPLOYERS ARE PLEASED WITH YOUR WORK LAST NIGHT. I’M NOT SO SURE I SHARE THE SENTIMENT.}

Like a child, eavesdropping through the door, Zero fixates on the scene before him.

Oh Boy. When she heard of a museum, of course she wanted to check it out and of course she did. After finishing up on everything at both NokNok Cafe and Aja Aja Dojang she quickly made her way to the museum. Hansol is certainly enjoying herself. The Gumiho is making her way toward what she saw as Courtyard la Culinary. She’s walking through the Canvas Gallery to get there. In her peripheral vision (it’s why she stopped in her track) she notices a painting of a man and a Gumiho. The painting of the two looks to be set as far back as the Goryeo Dynasty. A Gumiho asleep and a man reading something that looks of a scroll. 

“...” Why is this here, she wonders. Kang had this very same painting in his studies. She approaches it, brings a hand to touch the painting but she hesitates. Stops herself. THAT is Mr. Kang. Not her Mr. Kang, but the very same man nonetheless. She releases a breath she had been unaware of holding and it comes out in a soft shudder. When she turns her head to look the other way after taking a step back, that’s when she notices the familiar white haired male walking. He looks extremely upset.

“Nero,” And she moves away from the painting and approaches the devil hunter. “Hey, hey,” and if he’s here, then maybe he’s seen something too. Maybe he’s seen what he didn’t want to see? If she saw that painting then it would only make sense if she were not the only one. What should she say? She can’t ask ‘you okay?’ or ‘what’s wrong?’ She bites her upper lip in thougth then says, “I was headed toward the Culinary section of this museum, but...I think I’m in the mood to draw something. Do you wan to come with? We can draw something together of the people we care about. That has meaning.” It’s not that the painting she saw of Mr. Kang and herself wasn’t meaningful. The story behind that was the beginning of how her and Mr. Kang’s cycle begun, but a reminder of how it ended.

They hadn’t expected to find the one who had helped them back when they had injured their leg out in Yesteryear here. The vessel would have frozen in place, had it not been for the fact that they already weren’t moving much to begin with; only circling around the outside edge of the ballroom at most, getting different angles on all dancing that was going on.

Perhaps a small bit of their true curious nature was still peeking through despite the mask, given such an act shouldn’t of been possible by a truly hollow being.

The vessel stopped in place, looking down at him from where they stood. At first, they didn’t seem to do anything, and it was up in the air whether there was anything going on in their head behind their pure white shell-- but it became clear very quickly that they had noticed the bright red stain on his shirt as they all too suddenly shed their armored pauldrons, including their cape. Getting down on one knee, the vessel reached down and scooped the cape up off the ground, holding the pure white fabric up to him in silence. They were expecting him to take it and use it to press up against the wounds he had and hopefully clean them better.

This wasn’t thinking, right? It was a knight’s duty to help, even if they had no mind to speak of. This didn’t count.

{With that, the Halloween/Vaguely Autumn icon giveaway has ended! The winners have all been randomly chosen!

@valsharesses/@devilbring​ (lemme know which one u want an icon of)

@titansmessenger

@origingened 

@workaho1ic

@quickbow

@infiernogarde​

@spiderstaff

@danaravi

@purewhitedevil​

Out of the corner of Nero’s eye, he spots something... a green door. It clearly wasn’t there a moment ago, and looked eerily out of place amongst everything else in the garage. And as the boy would draw close to it... the doors would open.

And a great force would begin to suck Nero inside of it.

Momentarily thrust through another space, he’s shunted through yet another door— this one with fog for as long as he can see... and the inevitable green of the Ophiuchus’ tree top, which Nero would find himself landing on shortly after a small fall. And from where he fell, a voice would ring out... a familiarly boisterous one.

“Hello there~ looks you’re doing well,” Okina calls out, looking down upon Nero with a grin. Brilliant flames of magic burn at her back, each a different unusual color, as the god floats while brimming with extraordinary magical power. 

“Enjoying what the mist has to offer us? I know I have.”

“For others, I’ve heard this fog is quite stifling— and yet for myself, it’s been rather... freeing. What of you? I should hope for the latter, in your case.”