#itw

Within that shallow grave, where soot and blood mix into mud, where monochrome encompasses the skyline, Desscaras lays beside him. Equally in tatters, the pool of burgundy beneath them is a shared thing. It's funny, back then, when she'd signed her name, gotten him to do the same, it had been the one thing they couldn't claim.

A family in name, in paper and flame and contract, but comprised of two alone, no relatives to share.

Now, as it drips, drips, drips together, congeals in the temperature-less atmosphere, there is no one to claim they don't share blood as well.

Desscaras rises first. She's always had more stamina, more magic, more experience, more. And she'd sworn it then, and again when the inevitable end had been upon them. To be a decent adult. To fulfil that promise. To be something, for someone. She wouldn't leave him to this alone. While the burden couldn't be taken, at least, she would be there.

A death is a death, no matter what kind. It would be inevitable anyway.

So she rises, as she promised she would, despite the aching protest of every molecule in her body, and she turns to Ichi. Eyes gritted shut under the nothingness— not light, not dark, just nothing. Warp. Ruin. All is nil.

She has no mana. No healing spells, nothing to dull the pain, to repair the damage. But Desscaras has run on empty for decades, and she will not stop now.

Not even the end of the world will stop her.

Shaky, unsteady, she kneels at Ichi's side. Watches the dust particles flicking through the air, dislodged by his slightest spasms.

It's not that it's easy. It's that there's nothing else she could think to do.

Desscaras leans down, wrapping her arms around Ichi. One head behind his back, one behind his head. The debris slips into the long, deep slashes in her arm, and she doesn't flinch.

Bracing one knee against the warp, Desscaras raises to stand, balancing on a broken heel sinking into the ground beneath her.

As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but destruction. They had promised that day, hovering above Hoitaka as the pines swayed not from the wind but by the sheer magical energy crackling through the air. True to the World Hater's words, all Desscaras could see was twisted into unliving abomination.

But Desscaras stands, Ichi in her arms, and begins to walk. Through the endless sea of bones, through the eternal graveyard.

Though her voice is shot, tongue slipping through the cracks in broken teeth, and a steady stream of blood trickles down her chin from her torn lips, she whispers;

"Come on. Let's go home."

There is no breeze to ruffle his dark, matted hair. No light catches on the edge of his eyelids. But with the weight of the world having fallen from his shoulders, Ichi gathers the strength to nod into Desscaras' chest.

"Home," he echoes, buried in what remained of her gorget.

It is not a place that exists anymore. There is no location for them to return to. The only remnants of "home", are a piece of paper that's turned to ash, a vow that's committed to memory, and a burn mark permanently etched on both of their chests.

Desscaras tightens her grip.

They leave a trail of blood stains like rose petals. Departing not as heroes, nor messiah, nor saviour; just one tattered little family, step by step into the endless ending.

“Hey! Give it back!”

Desscaras grins down at him in the way she’s prone to doing; teasing grin seeming to be the only smile she’s capable of.

“Nu-uh. Brats playing with scissors get their scissors stolen.”

Ichi crosses his arms, glaring up at Desscaras as she looks over the knife’s edges.

“It’s not a scissor. It’s my knife.”

He holds out his hands expectantly, but Desscaras doesn’t drop it into his awaiting palms.

A flash of annoyance visibly flares through Ichi’s body.

“What, you can send me off to hunt Majiks but I can’t cut my own hair? I’ve been doing it since I was six. I’m not gonna hurt myself.”

Desscaras narrows her eyes.

“Well excuse me for trying to help you. If you fuck up your hair, the styling witches are gonna be pissed when they have to prepare you for appearances again. You've got an image to maintain now.”

Ichi grimaced. The overpoweringly floral scent of twenty cans of magic hairspray still clung to the inside of his nose. The thought of spending any more time than strictly necessary trapped in a chair while a bunch of witches poked at his eyes and pulled at his hair was far from appealing.

“Hmf." Ichi crosses his arms, bringing up his knees to crouch in a manner reminiscent of a disgruntled cat. "It’s getting in the way. Long hair is an inconvenience.”

Desscaras grins slyly, in competition to display even stronger feline tendencies than Ichi.

“Oh, really? Sounds like a you problem.”

She raises a hand towards her head, where her own perfectly maintained, intricate hairstyle falls just around her waist. Each curl is, as always, pulled exactly into place. She leans over, braids swaying to the side slightly.

“That’s not the same.” Ichi says bluntly. “Your hair is all braided and stuff, so it doesn’t get in the way.”

“Well then! Problem solved. Just tie up your hair.”

Ichi frowns, pulling at the cord keeping his meager ponytail pulled back. Yanking the old string free, his hair springs loose, puffing out as it falls a touch past his shoulders.

“The hair at the front doesn’t reach,” He explains, shaking his head about until all his hair is lying as loose as it can. It puffs out in pieces, rough cuts slicing through dry, brittle hair, a mess of frizz and static.

“Yeeesh.”

Ichi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It could be a hell of a lot better too.”

Unable or unwilling to dispute this, Ichi shrugs.

"Anyway, I can't tie it up all fancy. Whenever it gets too long in a spot I just cut it off."

Desscaras grimaces.

"That explains far too much."

"It's worked this long," Ichi says, striding forward and reaching over towards Desscaras' hands. She steps back, raising her arm above her head just slightly out of Ichi's reach. He might be able to reach it if he jumped, though at this point he knows Desscaras would just move it again.

"Come on!"

Desscaras crosses her arms, tucking the blade by her side.

"Nope! If you fuck up your hair then I'm the one getting an earful from Decora."

Ichi resists the urge to growl at her, knowing that doing so would only strengthen her position on calling him a dog.

"If you're so concerned, why don't you just fix it then?"

Desscaras' eyes scan over Ichi's head, flicking from the edges of his hair down to the roots.

"Alright," She says after a minute, "Today's your lucky day."

"…huh?" Ichi says dumbly.

"The effortlessly beautiful and immensely talented Desscaras will fix even your birds nest of hair! You should be thankful for this rare opportunity."

While Ichi just keeps standing there, wide eyed and slack jawed, Desscaras walks herself over towards the small chair in the corner. As sparsely decorated as Ichi's room was, it at least had seating for one guest, and there was no way she was sitting on his bed.

She picks it up by the back, carrying it over to the edge of the carpet and setting it gently down just by the edges of the golden trim. Tucking Ichi's knife into one of the many hidden folds in her clothes, Desscaras promptly sits, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well?"

Ichi blinks.

"Wait, I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"Well, you thought wrong. I don't have all day, yanno."

Desscaras motions Ichi over and obediently, though still slightly taken aback, he follows, moving over to kneel properly on the carpet in front of her. He faces away from her so she can reach the back of his head.

"I'm not cutting it, I'll just tie it up. Properly," Desscaras explains.

In the end, Ichi doesn't really care about his hair. As long as it's out of the way and he's not outright bald, he wasn't picky. It didn't matter what she did with it, especially if it means he could avoid more time with the styling witches prodding at him. If someone had to do it, at least there were no issues if he complained at Desscaras.

"Okay."

As she takes hold of the first chunk of hair, Ichi stiffens, straight as a board.

“Relaaaax,” Desscaras drawls, “I’m the best at everything.”

Ichi only hums in response, but relaxes his posture just slightly. It takes a conscious effort, and he finds it strange. It really doesn't matter what he looks like, the end result is of no concern! Yet, the under current of extra awareness remains present.

She starts at the ends, carefully running her fingers through stroke by stoke.

“Aren't you supposed to use a brush for this?” Ichi commented idly. "That's what Kumugi does."

Desscaras scoffs.

“That's because Kumugi actually cares about her hair. Hell, even Gokuraku's hair is combed, on occasion. You on the other hand? If I tried to put a brush to this mess right now I’d trigger your reflexes for sure, and I’m not in the mood to deflect an attack right now.”

Ichi snickers.

"I thought you were the best at everything?"

Desscaras pulls her fingers through a knot a touch harder than is necessary.

"Just because your little outburst would be like a mosquito to me doesn't mean I'm fond of swatting at insects."

Ichi doesn't have a reply to that, and Desscaras continues to comb through with her fingers. It's an odd thing. Putting aside the singular display of pettiness Ichi had probably been asking for, she's… gentle? He can feel it, sure, there's motion, the quiet shuffle he can hear behind him. But it doesn't pull, it doesn't hurt. There's a certain care, a consideration Ichi hadn't come to associate with Desscaras, silently displayed with each little knot she unravels.

To acknowledge it aloud would shatter it.

The old grandfather clock in the corner ticks, ticks, ticks forward, and Ichi finds his breathing has slowed to match it.

"Hey, Desscaras?" Ichi asks idly as she pulls through another knot, "Can I have my knife back now?"

"Haah?"

"I'm not gonna use it! Just to hold."

Ichi feels the light exhale from Desscaras scoffing against the nape of his neck.

"You're way too trigger happy."

Ichi huffs, feeling the tug against his scalp as the chunk of hair Desscaras is holding goes taut with the strain.

"I just like having it on me. It's weird when it's not within reach."

"Nothing's gonna jump out at you inside your own room," She says, matter-of-fact.

"I know. I want it back anyway."

Desscaras sighs, "Fine, but if you even try and cut your hair with it, I'll have Decora's newest trainee try out every styling spell she's learned on you."

A shiver runs down Ichi's spine.

"Okay," He agrees, and Desscaras fishes the blade out of her hidden pocket, finally returning it to it's owner.

Ichi can't help the grin that rises to his face upon being reunited with the weapon. Fingers trace along the wooden handle, worn down to smooth after all these years. Freshly shined, his reflection looks back at him. It takes a significant amount of willpower to resist sharpening it again then and there. Only by reminding himself how annoying Desscaras' expression would be when she teased him for it did he manage to power through.

"You sure are attached to that thing, huh?"

Desscaras muses anyway, rendering Ichi's self restraint entirely worthless.

"Well, it was a gift." He retorts, indigence seeping through.

Desscaras hums above Ichi's head. If he tilts the blade just right, he can get the slightest view of her face, half obscured by his own head.

"What, from that former mentor of yours?"

Ichi blinks.

"Minakata? No, I got it back at the start, when I got brought up to the mountain."

Desscaras reaches around the edge of his face, pulling back some of the longer strands.

"Ahh. A going away present then."

There's a sharp clip to her words, the ends of the consonants bitten off. Through the knifes perfect reflection, he can see the furrow of her brow— though Ichi presumes that has more to do with his hair than his statement.

"…You get any other gifts from them?" Desscaras asks after a moment. With her hands wrapping Ichi's hair around her fingers, she skirts around all that's buried in his brain.

Some things, Ichi understands. He understands that being abandoned in the woods is generally not normal. He understands the looks the villagers had given him when he'd mentioned his circumstances—at least until he'd grown wise enough to stop bringing it up. He understands that Desscaras had seen his hut, and that she knew some things about him, but only some. For all that she teased him for being feral, he can't recall her ever touching on the circumstances that had lead to it. And that he does not understand.

He can make some guesses, and it's far from something he's concerned about. She'd never really mentioned anything from before either, so it evened out.

The idea of asking lingers around his shoulders. Of acknowledging a time before acclaim and fame and Desscaras, the Abyssal Witch. In his periphery, there is the subconscious awareness that there must have been a before. If only for a moment, if never in name, there had to have been something. No one comes from nowhere. There had to have been a family before him.

Neither of them will mention it, not without prompting anyway, and to inquire onto the other's secrets invites intrusion into your own. For Desscaras to prod like this… how badly did she want to know?

Ichi swallows.

Did he get anything else?

A little bit of food, and clothes that don't fit him anymore, and perhaps by proxy a lifetime of survival knowledge, and a few dozen scars. Really everything about Ichi, every little moment could be traced back to that day. In that way, everything he had become was a gift from them.

"Not really," Ichi says.

Desscaras ducks her head down, tying off the end of something out of Ichi's sight.

"Welp, I'm done here."

"H-huh?"

Desscaras dusts off her hands, standing.

"Your hair? I'm done with it."

Ichi lets out a breath he hadn't realize he was holding.

"Oh. Thanks."

Without prompting, Desscaras fishes out a mirror, emblazoned with the Association's emblem on the back, and hands it over to Ichi.

"Pretty good, huh!" She says smugly.

Sure enough, Ichi's hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. It's honestly not that different from his regular wear, save for a few changes. Firstly, she'd managed to wrangle all the stray tangles into neat sections, all pulled together so they flared out the other side of the golden charm holding the ponytail in place. For once it seemed more like a firework than a collection of weeds. A few long sections of his bangs had been twisted and wrapped around to reach the back. Most notably, on either side of his head, twin braids pulled back around, meeting at the ponytail and disappearing into that golden ring. A few smaller gold rings enclosed around sections of braids, glinting in the light.

Absentmindedly, Ichi reached a hand up to one of the ornaments. They were cool to the touch.

"Careful with that," Desscaras chides, "They're magic items, so they can adjust size to fit your hair better. If you fiddle with it they might slid off before you're ready to take em out."

Ichi nods slowly, but Desscaras has already turned away, squinting over at the old grandfather clock.

"Yeesh, is that clock right? Moneygold's gonna be so annoying, ugh."

Already looking over her shoulder as she walks towards the door, Desscaras says, "We got a meeting with Moneygold in like, four minutes ago. Come on. I gotta go find Mugi, but go on ahead. "

"Wait—" Ichi tucks his knife into the sheath and stands, still holding the mirror, "You forgot this."

"The mirror? Keep it. I got like, a dozen. Shit, you should have one of your own anyway… Do not let Togeice know you didn't have one before now."

She takes one step out the doorway—

"And the hairclips?" Ichi asks.

Desscaras pauses.

"When do you want them back?" He asks.

Though she doesn't look at him, doesn't move from where she's standing, she's silent for a moment. Then, with a voice softer than Ichi could recall from her—

"Keep those too. They're uh, a gift."

He can't picture what sort of expression she's making.

Without waiting for a response, Desscaras slips off down the hallway, presumably to drag Kumugi off to Moneygold for whatever nonsense she was calling them for.

Ichi proceeds out of his room, standing in the doorway and watching Desscaras's back disappear into the long winding halls of the association.

He glances down at the mirror, to his own blank expression staring back at him, and back over to Desscaras. Pale lantern light catches on one of the charms in her hair, glinting gold.

A gift, huh?

Ichi shoves the mirror in his pocket, and runs off down the hallway, heading the opposite way.