#fletschte

It's only an hour till midnight to pass, and so, by the time he takes to wonder: how far could they go? Could they truly drag it out? The feeling of mutual interest, settled deeply, tingling light beneath each other's skin as they go on about flirting, dancing, engaging with one another, while not quite engaging past smiles and wandering eyes at all? It would be a lie to say that Marciano hadn't seen the other man around him here or there on shows about conceited arrogance and the exposure of beauty. It would be a lie, as well, to say that he hadn't realised gaze glued to his form whenever he walked by in this or that expensive garb, coloured and clad in unknown sumptuousness. With all those shared glances, trickled by { the likes of Mailand, Rome, Paris come to mind } in times and every once again, they had managed to gaze upon one another, riling up delicious thoughts. The young man wasn't the only one who held such stark interest in a mogul like himself, but how many would even realise, that this all was but just a game? That he merely just---

     ' Oh, Mister Washuu! May I introduce you? '

          ' It would be my pleasure. '

     ' Mister Marciano Lazarus, the head of the Lazarus Trading Company, he walks the runway sometimes for us just as a little pastime. '

          ' I see, I am very pleased to meet you, sir. '

     ' The pleasure is all mine. '

---so the night turns and ticks and eats away at the hours tolling with quiet noise along beautifully crafted face of a clock, announcing the dying of time, that none the like of them pays attention to. Only midnight, the sound of a chime was miserably trying to tell them the truth. It would be a lie to say, that not many a man had tried to garner interest of a grandness clad in the likes of smoke and fire. Drifting just from open lips, tingling and singing around him, as if shrouding in mystery who had brought upon the eternity of desires to be told. By that darkened voice of his, soft and melodious, the sound it sang similar to the scents of herbs and nicotine, enveloping whole who had only desired to reach for him { men and women alike, they all had shied away once his gaze was lit like hellfires }.

He could have laughed about it all. Laughed and called them fools in trying to reach for something they could not hold. Could not tame. Could not control. And their minds wrapped around the idea that pretty faces, pretty forms, would be enough to twist and turn him about in spinning closer into a net of lies and machinations, while he was the master of them all. Ash that flies and tumbles from crown of cigar, even only this bit of his own culture filling to the brim senses all present, was of immeasurable worth.

          ' So, you are probably away from your wife and travelling a lot--- '

     ' No, I'm single, actually. '

          ' I wouldn't have guessed. '

     ' Really~? You are a little too observant to not 'guess' the answer to your question. '

          ' . . . This is not what I meant, sir. My apologies. '

     ' It is quite fine. '

And as the day dies, to be crafted into the next morning. As the hand of horologe slowly approaches the first hour in another era they were meant to spiral around one another with a cigar that had passed and changed the owner, and both men now acquainted by nought but simple talk, would find themselves abandoning self-congratulatory amassment of the worthless and forgotten. It's about both of them by now, the many different ones that had tried to push and press through others in finding their presence, while the presence quite in itself is only to be shared by a select very few.

Laughed and ridiculed { finally just }, when excusing who didn't even need to offer up any apology at all. For they were of power, of unbidden desire, of those little bits and goods so many would want to hold in greedy hands - and if they had been allowed to? It scorched and destroyed and left behind a trail of blood and flesh, torn open and apart, such deliciously to comfort whatever hunger and thirst may cling to pleading eyes. And yet, once again, a power immeasurable as just Marciano's own had captivated who was near starving for that bit of well-needed attention { and so Matsuri would get it. was the one chosen for the night }.

They had long since left that party behind and went towards their own little adventure into the heart of the city that devoured a thousand different ones by day and night. While each and every time, a drink or two { wine, vodka, whiskey the taste }, would coat throats, and relish a starving soul.

          ' Aren't there some that will be disappointed in you leaving, sir? '

     ' Possibly, but I generally do what I want. '

          ' Spending your time with a stranger is one of those things? '

     ' But how strange and unknown to me, might you truly be? '

And their touches become a bit more daring. Breaths they share a bit closer just in mingling about breathlessly without truly whirling and turning into one another at all. It was the second hour this day had devoured by the ticks of minutes worthless their shared togetherness and rhyme. Ticking mercilessly away, in the relished privacy of a far too expensive nighttime club and bar.

Where it mattered not anymore: supremacy of a person's wealth, to be brushed away and crushed to dust, drowned out in the exquisiteness of alcohol finely coating tongue and playing as a fine and delicious film upon graciously smiling lips. It mattered not anymore: the soft and silken feel of masterfully crafted garb, of each and every piece of jewellery, if they wanted { just so truly wanted } they could bargaining it away. As two gamblers for the night, and gambling just turned all the more important with their harsh grasps and lingering graces upon that fragile and easily captivated soul.

They wanted. Wanted. Wanted and desired { a need like none other the like, and how they craved it just with hitching breaths all exchanged in the heavy lingering smoke of invaluable toxic vice }. And they wanted, wanted evermore, in the breaking point that was their discarded gentleness coated in deceit.

          ' Why--- are you still so interested? '

     ' Ah~ Because I love it. '

          ' You--- '

     ' Yes, I love it. The three am version of people. Vulnerable. Honest. Real. '

          ' ---Me. '

And the clocktower overshadowing the streets in all but breaking lights flickering back and forth through empty streets had just serenaded the very hour of confessions. The time it would take for one to be shattered into fine crystalline shards. Built anew and created by hands all but masterful in their idle grace and touch. And so they think and breathe and feel while feeling all but the rough brace of a wall against a back and a palm placed flat to keep in place.

Outside of that ludicrous display of bloated depravity, away from music faintly ringing inside one's ears. Gone for all but a street or two at the side, meant to be so close with one another, that breath is meant to be of utmost delight. Was it the alcohol just, that had meant to rush to both their heads? Or was it nought else but a hidden, hard desire, that makes to pump blood through braced veins, coating and rushing inside of both of them with deliriously singing heat. The cold and chill, enveloping forms pressed tight against one another { chest to chest, he could have kept the youth eternally captivated by all but dark shine of grey eyes }, a soothing cadence to blanket them for this night.

And so tempting and alluring was the tick of a clock that lulled into a storm of thoughts and wants those who had been able to be so controlled. So composed. So restrained. While all restrains fall with the loosening of buttons, having shimmering white of firm fabric cling tightly to toned form. Dominating, engineering a collapse that this night-time partner of his, would be so eager to fall into. "I'm---"

So the leader breathes in that smoke that lingers and wanders into lungs, while he waits for whatever words he could have been provided with and finds himself offered nothing but the subtle rise of a voice as dark and drowning as his very own obscurred and lingered and painted with the gratifying softness of a velvet sheen of smoke. "Yes?" No answer needed, none the like wanted, when he tilts and turns enough to the side to close lips in a softened kiss.

To stop and make surrender who could have meant to halt the act, and wanted to stop it not at all anymore. Passing the fine and toxic harshness of captivated gasps back and forth and feeling strong form shudder beneath his very own. It urged itself enough with what the older man wanted, urged itself with parting lips and letting him in { inviting deep inside }, to bestow even more of the sought-after breath with an exhale he made to pass upon what Matsuri clearly refreshed himself upon. For they felt it, felt the greed and avaricious want that tumbles around them like the taking to the air deliberately catching off the ash he had been about to tap off from glowing crown.

And by the fourth hour of the day. With its hard tune rushing anxious and forlorn souls through barren city's streets glittering in the newly pouring rain---

ooc:     OKAY LEMME SEE [ @fletschte | @kenmazai | @taubc ] 

In light to what Vi just asked: “ How many times has maru been an impromptu babysitter bc arima and chika are busy “ - often, like honestly, for Itsuki’s personal liking, probably far too often. Chika probably took them to the CCG, let them run wild, and was incapable of catching them before the next meeting [ of course one where also Arima had to be present ] arose, so he had to quickly usher off Maru to actually 1) find them and then 2) get them to follow the uncle, because no way in hell they would do so freely

apropos uncle and aunts - when they were young, he probably told them that a lot of the older investigators [ including the likes of Itsuki, Houji, Kiyoko and so on ] are those they could [ after being asked ] regard with said titles, and those that would give them a bit more freedom: ‘But don’t tell your mother—’ - that’s how he managed to make hell break loose, because ‘Goddamnit, Bureau Director! We can’t keep them controlled like THIS!’ - not his problem, he would just get them back with this or that promise here and there. 

that likely extends towards the servants in the estate as well. and makes it close to be unbearable sometimes for them to work. He would let his children run off, no matter what they have to do, and then when the maids come along to search for them [ because they have some lessons in fighting or for the piano/violin ], he would just shrug and point the other way, of course he knows where they are.

he’s probably tried to get them, more often than not, to go out and meet the children of other higher classed families [ that just in, of course rank-wise like their own ], just to make sure they wouldn’t be too alone. often enough, he came along - sometimes pretty unknowing to the fact that, outside of his own job, he could be a rather embarrassing father [ and never believes it anyway when he’s told that uh - ‘can you not come… please’ ]. 

generally, I would say Chika is pretty calm and accepting of whatever his children want or have a problem with. Of course, Washuu-regime and rules go above anything else, but I don’t think he would have been beyond simply bending them [ even out of shape ] if they came to him and asked for it within good reason. He’s obviously a family man, even that the CCG has a high priority too, his family has a higher one [ and he’s good at keeping up a mask in front of his job ]. 

as we’ve seen in some omakes, he’s rather keen on making ‘trips’ with his close ones, in that case it were Maru and Matsuri, but I think it might be some sort of actual tradition that doesn’t particularly move itself on the II Division, but also was a usual hobby for them when his children were younger. enabling them to see whatever they wanted and take some days off.

alas, everything aside, it’s pretty bound to happen that he was a strict and rigorous father, not allowing too many shenanigans, and when the time calls for it, he would order and shoo his own children to fulfil their schedule, for slacking off in their family was not only a pain for those looking at it from the outside, but generally dangerous as well. They needed to be able to fight, they needed to be able to be fluent in different languages, to be able to communicate, to know about science. 

With concept you meant ‘drabble’, yes? 👀 - @taubc | @fletschte | @daturida                [ tags all the blogs since I don’t know who is online where ]

          “…Not now.” The voice softly spoken somewhere from beneath layers of cranny on a large lounge in the middle of the Washuu estate, sounded nearly fading to disregard the urgings of the older male that had come around to get him - to get them - to follow out and along. For the sun was still high in the sky and all the more inviting to use the fresh air and last rays of warmth, before autumn, then winter would strike, and have them much needed stay hidden and closed away from all the ‘hardships’ of a world they sometimes so surely wanted to forget [ laid to rest, like bodies now entangled beneath heavy blankets ].

         Arima himself could sure only smile. A faint little smirk behind his lecture that was the same as his companions, need-be to argue with his father’s sudden whims, and with the desires to drag both of them out for what he seemed to find entertainment [ and Kishou would have agreed, but found it far more amusing like this ].

         He’s trying very hard, indeed. Sudden huff that follows the denial, the rise of arms, bracing against his sides, and a dutifully scolding look [ maybe a bit akin to 'pained’, if he were honest ] would edge itself on chiselled features. Perchance, at least for a bit, he would have to applaud his brother’s acting skills, to try and get his own son to leave that well-needed downtime from learning and training. To get Arima Kishou to accompany seemed like quite an accomplishment to behold [ but was none, he had always been compliant to Matsuri’s wishes ] and would be commented upon with a soft huff and the pleading eyes offering themselves in indignant ‘despair’. “But the weather is wonderful! We could play a game outside, like ball or tennis.” But how to untangle that little conglomerate of adolescents when they seemed so truly unwilling to move?

         How to not regard the chuckle the young investigator would suddenly utter behind highly raised back of spine, with nothing but the mildly puzzled expression of feigned exasperation? It cracked in some way, that very need and desire to have them go out and unwind from mount of softness built for themselves. Both young had come back from training with one another, the very happening, by now, taking place every week, at least just twice.

         And in comparison to the beginning? And since a while - Kishou would stay. Would stay behind due to an unspoken request enveloping them both, filling the halls as spacious rooms with another form of tranquillity so rarely found and received [ for how seldom was it not, that the boys had someone their age around - found themselves so truly understood—? ]. “We are comfortable.” A little bit colder now, a little harsher even. And the next feigned wave of disappointment would roll over the older man’s face, truly 'wounded’ - was he not? But couldn’t argue, that they seemed so truly pleasantly wrapped up.

         Books in hands, they would be found to be the very same. A lecture taken out, to be 'experienced’ together, for before Chika had even entered the room even quiet murmurs of the unfolding story could be heard, now fallen quiet in the few precious seconds it would take to usher Matsuri’s father back out and have him leave them alone [ needed, needed, they wanted to go further, so it seems ]. For the young Reaper’s eyes solely stayed on this or that finely woven word revealing beneath smoke grey colour. He would not continue just yet, but couldn’t help the smirk. Couldn’t help the subconscious gesture of finally laying book opened flat upon his chest, glancing at the back and forth of son and father with mild amusement ever present. “Lazy, aren’t you?” The sound of displeasure, the face to match the very notion.

         “No, just relaxing.”

         Of course, yet what would one not do, to get what was desired the most [ stubborn, they both were so truly stubborn ]. Kishou himself finally moved, twisted and turned a little bit when his incautious movement had upset a little, hidden someone. One that would draw his older brother’s attention, would have him raise an eyebrow in quizzical query. “And you, Kishou?” And even tho said movements were of stark contrast to the usual calm of the CCGs hope - he would ask, would inquire, would at least try to get him to obey [ for sure as much, his own son would as well ]. “I can’t at the moment, maybe later.” Mirthful nearly in his chiming voice.

         So unlike him. If not before those he truly cares for. Truly enjoys a presence from that left him to be one and his own. “You can’t?” Finally to be enough. When a large hand would reach out to the softness of a large blanket, covering both youths whole and leaving them to find comfort on large piece of furniture, comfort they needed from aching, sore muscles and the heavy edge of sparring still in their bones. Arima would let him, would let him lift the veil to see that certain little someone curled up upon the young male’s form.

         Half-asleep, near scolding in her looks with drowsy eyes to 'glare’ up at her father, as much as only possible. “Yes, I can’t. Maybe later.” Maybe later when they decided upon it, when the little girl that finds herself so truly 'upset’ with her sudden reveal, moves to be just a bit [ a little bit at least ] closer to her uncle offering warmth and solace.

(NO だ) 

To him it was an entirely familiar scene. Even though he had killed the ghoul in front of him, he clutched the lifeless body of the man he had failed to save. Half of him expected Sasaki to appear from nowhere and mock him again. 

Instead, there was a man revived from the dead with his back missing to him, and another man who was supposed to be missing apparently excited to have found him. Despite the change in the tone of Matsuri’s words, to Urie that man’s face looked as blank and inhuman as ever. 

(NO だ) 

He stared forward quietly. Of all the lost people he had wanted returned to him, Matsuri was the last on the list. Yet he was the only one who came back. Eyes fogged with tears, blood splattered across his face still, he opened his mouth only to find his throat horribly scratchy. THat was right he had been screaming a moment ago. 

★           “Matsuri. I trust you got my notice?” Calling out to him with a steadfast voice that betrays the importance of the matter for not a single margin. Alas---

          [ He has brought something along with him, Chika had asked him to. ] 

          It wouldn’t take too long that eyes do lift when quiet chatter could be heard [ he was far too early, knows as much, has waved off the waitress wanting to indulge him so ], so he could watch the younger male from a distance with company he seemed to have in tow. Matsuri surely knew where his uncle was, surely was just keeping away to not be heard in tranquil conversation [ hard to say that Arima was even interested - everybody had their private affairs, hadn’t they? ]. The only reason why he would even offer any words to that youth that hurries off a few moments later were signs of body language well known. Signs of affections carried around Arima himself is surely familiar with. 

SENTENCES  |  ( CLOSED )↳  ❛ I never meant to come between you and him [ @fletschte ]. ❜

     “ —-Ah-.. ”  You aren’t. You really aren’t.. Well. Thoughts are tendered and quiet, hidden behind fallen lips and a hefty gaze. How she knew, he knew a`bit and him, that sugared, foolish romantic. Without not knowing the extent of Matsuri’s harbored, hearty affections, those feelings are blunt like the moon on a blue sky, at least to her.