#grotesquepuppet

                 Something certainly isn’t right. An acute sense of wrongness pervades him in a way he finds himself (unusually) yet without words to describe--the eccentricity of his recent companions has been merely climbing in both intensity and numbers, as it were. He does a fine job of looking the very picture of collected authority nevertheless, voice smooth as it rises patiently to adress the newest man of the hour he’s come all this way to see--merely because he’s in search of another. “A one mister Charles J. Chrishunds. Do you know him?”

the moment i remembered that i want to set up a blog for that silver-haired bastard

       let’s play does someone have a type ?

   ☑ ridiculous hair?  (long-haired pretty boy / mystical white hair / rapunzel hair / white hair, black heart)    ☑ eerie green eyes?  (trope: green eyes)    ☑ swings an absurdly large weapon?  (trope: BFS)    ☑ is said weapon absurdly powerful?  (trope: up to eleven)    ☑ proficiency with said weapon even during close-quarters combat?  (trope: lightning bruiser)    ☑ badass long coat / robe?  (trope a vs. trope b)    ☑ all-black wardrobe?  (trope: evil wears black)    ☑ abuse of super-speed?  (trope: flash step)    ☑ “dead from the start or very early in a work?”  (trope: posthumous character)    ☑ ambiguous relationship with the ‘protagonist’?     ☑ does this relationship often endanger the ‘protagonist’?  (trope: (platonic) yandere)    ☑ ulterior motives?  (trope: manipulative bastard)

NO ONE’S gonna save you; Build you up and break you; I’m the one you pray to every night ‘cause YOU’RE MINE .

MEME: ask my character about anyone in their life! accepting!

“A pest.”

If it were acceptable, that would be all he’d say in this moment. Expression held a certain air of triumph, but it would only last briefly. Brows would begin to knit together before they’re promptly stopped by a much brighter expression. Alert were his eyes and mouth eventually formed into that of a grin. It was a grin that held strange emotions– one that was easily comprehended as hesitant amusement. He was never one to compliment others freely, but for the Undertaker… well, maybe he’d be willing to make such an effort.

“A pest that’s more than showed its worth, if I were to be so kind.”

(i know you’re listening, so let this be a lesson in ego.)

Mayuri was tense but not out of necessity. He has observed many an individual and deemed those he thought as worthy subjects. This man, however, he didn’t view as an individual nor as a subject. Simply speaking, he was his own topic of interest. Was he an equal? Perhaps, but Mayuri would never be so blunt and confident with his wording. Much like time, definitions of words were free to change as days, weeks, months, and years flowed by. For the time being, Undertaker could be seen as an equal to the Twelfth’s stature.

If nothing else, he was a fascinating sort.

“He and I have shared in many a conversation. Some were pleasant, and some were unpleasant. Is that not what is to be expected, though? He can be overzealous, but so can I. I suppose I rather… appreciate the challenge.”

(his demeanor can be infuriating, but i’ve learned to adapt to it.)

“The way he presents challenges are– interesting, yes. They pique my interest ever so slightly, because he never asks directly. It’s a subtle sort of wording that effortlessly slides under my skin like a worm and almost provokes me into immediately responding. With that in mind–”

Head cocked to the side as eyes gradually relaxed out of their circular form.

“–he’s never won any of our discussions. I refuse to let him win, and I do him a disservice because of it. We’ve wordlessly reached an agreement with the other, and you’ll have to wonder what said agreement could be, yes?” He had to laugh at that, letting forth a mocking snicker. “That’s what makes me laugh the most. We haven’t agreed to a– single– thing. And, yet!”

(yet i called it an agreement. would he, too, refer to it as such?)

“–And, yet… we treat it as a healthy discussion between friends. Are we truly friends, however? Have we formed a sickening, riveting bond? Do and can we truly relate to one another? I leave that up for others’ interpretations, because who am I to police what others foolishly feel?”

(we treat control like it were a game.)

“Do you remember how I spoke of a score? How I said he’s yet to win? I forgot to mention…”

(and is it a fun game?)

Scenario Generator || Closed

@grotesque-puppet

    Towers  of  shimmering  CRYSTAL  GLASS,  swirling  colors   &   soft chatter,  it’s  how  it  always  is  with  people  sweeping  up  to  speak  before  just  as  easily  carried  away—–  all  of  it  was  fleeting.  Throngs  of  people  carried  away  by  currents  of  a  stream,  save  for  the  two  that  seem  to  hold  all  of  time  in  their  hands  until  it  crawled  to  a  stop.  She  had  wanted  to  invite  him,  to  spend  a  bit  more  time  with  him   &   she  expected  the  wandering  eyes  that  so  often  strayed  to  linger  on  him  in  strange  ENCHANTMENT.  Murmurings  aside,  it’s  not  all  too  DIFFICULT  to  hear  their  words,  to  sense  their  curiosity  at  just  who  her  plus  one  is.  Brother,  is  one  that  seemed  to  wind  through  those  CURIOUS  patrons  the  most,  but  she  paid  them  no  mind  as  the  last  of  her  drink  was  swept  down  [  more  of  an  INDULGENCE  rather  than  that  of  her  falling  underneath  the  influence  of  spirits  ].  

    Silvery  crown  tilts  at  the  music  that  fills  the  air,  filtering  back  into  her  attention  where  once  it  had  been  turned  aside  to  a  conversation  held  tightly  between  the  two  so  finely  dressed.  It  was  no  question  that  they  turned  heads  when  the  smaller  woman  reached  out  towards  a  hand  so  wrapt  in  DEATH  with  an  ease  that  no  one  could  have  ever  DREAMED  of.  How  warm  it  feels  to  her  even  with  such  knowledge,  how  kindly  she  smiles  at  someone  where  others  could  only  stop   &   STARE,  never  daring  to  approach  with  such  ease.

    They  step  out  onto  the  floor  [  an  odd  pair  with  rivers  of  silver  flowing  over  shoulders  ]  hand  in  hand  with  eerie  grace,  phantom-like  to  any  of  those  that  CARED  to  compare  them  to  such  until  they  move  in  time  to  the  sweet  MELODY  that  falls  over  the  crowd  of  people.

    Of  course,  it  is  not  the  FIRST  TIME  that  they  have  danced  together  [  sweeping  across  the  floor  in  riveting  grace  ],  but  most  certainly  the  first  time  that  this  group  of  people  have  seen  the  well-known  DESIGNER  dance  in  the  arms  of  the  stunning  stranger.  Most  had  kept  their  distance,  men’s  whose  eyes  once  WANDERED  had  quickly  been  averted  when  electric  verdant  gaze  had  been  directed  towards  them  [  oh  the  little  dove  was  not  BLIND,  but  truly  how  amused  she  had  been  ],  &   thus  the  evening  had  remained  pleasant  in  the  company  of  the  Shinigami.

    His  hand feels  WARM  ‘gainst  gelid  skin,   &   truly  how  GRAND  it  is  to  this  little  slice  of  peace  in  moments  of  chatter  [  she  doesn’t  DETEST  the  events,  but  there  was  always  something  that  seemed  to  be missing  ],  to  break  away  reality   &  finally  release  a  warm  laughter,  no  longer  WEIGHTED  DOWN  by  the  worries  of  the  day.  This  was  a  moment  for  her  to  find  that  bit  of  calm  that  she  always  longed  for,  a  YAWNING  SILENCE  within  the  breadth  of  her  thoughts,  voices  gone  silent  in  the  presence  of  Death.  There’s  a  warmth  in  her  eyes,  ADORATION,  for  one  so  often  viewed  as  a  father  in  many  ways.  Her  gaze  flicks  aside,  along  with  a  silt  of  silvery  crown  for  a  specific  twirl  performed  [  whispering  voices  of  JEALOUSY   &   AWE  fading  away  from  her  surroundings  ],  carried  by   the  music   &   nothing  else,  it  was  as  if  they  danced  on  nothing  but  AIR,  unhindered  by  anything,  anyone.

    Palm  slips  ‘gainst  his  own  as  the  music  takes  on  a  softer  tune,  the  sylphian  woman  drawing  closer,  forehead  gently  resting  ‘gainst  his  shoulder  with  eyes  falling  shut  as  the  music  runs  through  them.  An  easy  flow, back   &   forth,   like  waves  lazily  lapping  at  a  sandy  shore.  There  are  other  people  that  have  finally  decided  to  join  them  on  the  floor,  but  all  of  it  is  so  easily  DISMISSED,  when  cheek  is  pressed  ‘gainst  his  chest  with  a  smile  that  touches  ‘pon  her  lips,  while  not  devoid  of  that  sadness,  it  seems  LIGHTER  than  it  had  ever  been.