#qjiro

he thinks she would have scolded him . really , being out this late in a world unkind and unfair and here he is, alive, tall frame sitting hushed in front of a grave that should be sitting somewhere else. somewhere like home, not here. anywhere but a place like this where life is treated so pointlessly. where phainon smiles seamlessly throughout the day but when alone with the quiet of the dark and his mind something more akin to a perfect storm.

cyrene was the type to find joy even in being by herself. the type to have a quiet kind of confidence that even if it was more lonely, she always had a magical way to cheer herself up with or without phainon. it was phainon who hated being alone. alone in the vast seas of his mind where nightmares and self doubt took root once childhood stopped like the ticking of some clock they thought would never end.

if a presence is there, one he suspects is a blurred line between a friend and an ally, a familiar face, he doesn't quite react right way. just thinks of her, an empty marker with her name etched into it as fine as he could in a land that wasn't even their own.

when he turns, smile flickering like a dim candle on his face or some half mast ship, even he can't quite hide the melancholy in his eyes. something that wouldn't see the light of day if q hadn't arrived by happenstance, he's sure. after all phainon is careful with what he does when his restless mind takes over. it shouldn't be possible, but here they both are, in the dark, one finding another, and the other not wanting to be found.

the other unable to stop thinking that even if she was fine with it, how lonely cyrene must be buried in the dirt; and phainon still that little boy nipping at her heels with giggles, dreams, and arms full of toy heroes she promises one day he'll be like.

all the while not being anything like that boy at all.

there's a long silence before he simply nods to him; and while it's jarring to see someone so bright in the day like this, perhaps more jarring that his vibrant voice is quieted and still, like a pool of water no one has touched for a long time.

" can't sleep either, huh ? "

location prompts ( accepting ) / @qjiro .

"I'm fine, Mr.Q."

Unconvincing words, considering that deep-seated frown on Kuronaka's face refuses to leave. She hopes that he won't ask further— that he'll stop asking about her condition since defeating Minato City's number. She hopes that he won't ask about the face he's making, thinking about how he sacrificed himself. She hopes that he'll leave her to rot in her feelings.

As much as Q is her friend— one of her few friends, really, considering how little she remembers— she hardly knows him. Kazuki and Q both aren't the types to make others privy to sensitive information. Kuronaka could count the things she knows about Q on one hand. In fact...

He likes plants, penguins, cucumbers, Mr.Kazuki...

...Nope. She can't recall anything else. Why should she even consider talking feelings right now?

various  sentence  starters  from   THE INVITATION

@qjiro asked: " I killed him. it's over. " // also for hina teehee

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 proclaimed like an achievement, or even like something that's brought him any satisfaction. They simply are, and Hinagiku watches him remove the cloak he's thrown on over his uniform letting it fall to the ground in a heap. His hat is set aside, and then in the middle of the floor of his chambers, Ojiro simply... stops.

Hinagiku's knuckles creak as her hands tighten into fists.

Against her better judgment, she slips from the shadows, footsteps soundless as she approaches. Still, she knows that he realizes she's moving, the set of his shoulders shifting into something wary. Perhaps he thinks that she'll try and kill him in response, since Lord Tenshin had been the one to assign them to him but Hinagiku simply steps around him and into his view, head bowed. Her hands reach for him, halting when he flinches, and continues only when his fists loosen marginally.

Carefully, she takes each hand pulling off the gloves- still bloody, half-flaking, half-congealed- until only his bare hands remain. Then she reaches up and takes off the mask, not meeting his eyes. This process proceeds as she leads him to his bed- coat, boots, a couple of buttons of his undershirt undone- and then she disappears after making him sit down. Returning with water and a washcloth, Hinagiku cleans off as much of the spatter from his face and hair as she can. Glides the fabric over the skin of his palms, as though this is the first time he's killed someone.

(It's not, not remotely, but this time is different, isn't it?)

All the while, she's silent, until she finally sets aside the water and the washcloth, and carefully, hesitantly, takes Ojiro's face between her own hands.

"You did what you thought you needed to," she reassures, and there is no judgment, no pity, only Hinagiku's unfaltering honesty. That is all she can offer, because she cannot bring herself to even pretend at sympathy for a man who had whittled her Ojiro-sama down to this. "A hand that hones a blade without heed to its danger cannot place blame for where it cuts."

And while she may have no sympathy for Tenshin, she has more than enough for Ojiro. her hands move from his cheeks and through his hair, and with only somewhat hesitant motions, she allows herself to pull him forward into a light embrace, loose enough to escape, firm enough to (try and) comfort.

various  sentence  starters  from   THE INVITATION

@qjiro asked: " how well can you know someone if you don't know their past? " // for hina <3

"𝐀𝐇… 𝐎𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎-𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀?" 𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐊𝐔 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 taken aback by the sudden question, pausing with her knife in mid-air. Bringing it down on the cutting board with a sense of finality, she takes a few moments to compose herself, frowning slightly as she stares at the onion she's dicing pensively. He's not the type to ask questions for nothing, her Ojiro-sama. And if he's bothering to ask her rather than someone more clever, someone smarter, means he wants an honest answer, not one that sounds pulled from some expensive, musty textbook.

"...as well as they let you, I guess," she replies at length, returning to the task at hand. Somehow, the steady sound of chopping underscores her words with a sense of weight. "But I think that goes for anyone, at any time... no matter how long they've known another person. Sometimes..." Pausing again, she sweeps the onions into a bowl, and grabs some mushrooms next. "Sometimes people hide. Not everyone is honest. What's most important, I think..."

A pause, her mismatched eyes turning to meet his over her shoulder, a restrained little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth- the honest kind she only ever gives him or her brothers- and her head inclining to ask him to move closer. Once he does, she reaches out, carefully, and drops a small melon gummy into his waiting palm.

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜

dialogue prompts . ( * )

it's not just habitual, it's in his very nature to place himself last. but given the sincerity of a stranger he's yet to know - and he at least credits himself with the faces he has come to know and keep one eye open for, phainon can only offer what he hopes is a reassuring smile .

" much appreciated, thank you! however, mine truly aren't so bad. i'm more concerned about yours. " given fate had brought them together, facing corroded kin of dead gods as enemies; the deliverer feels the weighty familiarity of guilt. at being cared for. at being given kindness. as if he hasn't quite deserved it yet. maybe he never feels he will.

he wonders where he's from. had the trailblazer or dan heng been joined by another nameless ? it's a rarity and certainly a 'miracle' to the chrysos heirs and amphoreus at large that they have the two from the astral express willing to aid their cause; but phainon isn't naive either. it's unheard of for any travelers beyond the sky titan's merciless wall to somehow join such an isolated land; much less appear so as if manifested. his head swells with questions as much as golden blood spills from a deep gash in his shoulder, beneath his left pauldron.

most spill red blood, and most live and die hopefully not spilling it. those 'blessed' and equal measures 'cursed' spill another. phainon wonders if all the heirs struggle with the nature of deciding where the line lies in what direction they feel it. his professor surely would have choice words about it.

a hand runs through snow white hair; gentle blue eyes holding a certain stubbornness of one far too insistent to place others before himself .

" it could get bad, i admit, if we neglect it. but could we perhaps compromise ? " his tone doesn't lose its levity nor the underlying friendliness to his nature. he can't say he fully trusts him; doesn't really even know his name, it's too strange to have another phenomenon happen twice.

" let's find some place safer. the injury is far less than what it could be, right? i'm adequate enough tending wounds, and there will be more to come, i'm certain, but would you be willing to trust me to return to the holy city ? it's the safest place on amphoreus." the last place; grove of epiphany aside and the black tide wouldn't wait for long, not anywhere.

his smile turns wry, as if to diffuse the tension. something phainon thinks is much needed in the wake of fallen servants to equally fallen gods that had obstructed their path.

" i'm not declining your kindness, stranger, but if you can bandage them just enough to last a trek, perhaps i can answer some of the questions you might have. " a twinkle of knowing in eyes far more perceptive than genuine warmth would bely.

" your eyes hold plenty of them, and consider it my repayment to you for helping me. you've my gratitude. " trust doesn't come easy these days, but one who risks their life despite looking quite out of place in this world is hard to come by; and the man questions if miracles can happen a second time. it will be up to aglaea to see what word he actually defines with his arrival. phainon however, thinks his actions speak far louder than his seemingly quiet nature.

" i think it's a fair trade don't you ? but we ought to go. titankin aren't prone to sitting on their laurels all day." he quips casually; as if this is an every day ocurrence for him, and it is, before rising to his feet.

with a measure of cheer a bit misplaced in an area without the light of the holy city, he cants his head, like a curious animal accessing something new with all the warmth of someone unwilling to leave him behind or see it a debt unpaid.

" let's go, shall we ? i promise i'll make it worth your while. "

he'll think of what to say and how to make sense of things as much as he imagines aglaea will have words to say on the stranger clearly lacking a sense of awareness of his surroundings. maybe his trailblazing friends might recognize him?

as he walks ahead a few paces; long strides from tall shoulders; he turns once with a quieted, benign smile in a place all too dark for any traces of such light.

" i'm phainon, by the way. of aedes elysiae . it wouldn't hurt to exchange names, at least ? " especially given phainon felt responsible for him now. hopefully there would be answers in okhema.

well, one could only hope, and hope was more precious than any blessing in a dying world like this. / @qjiro