#rogabitque

Nobukatsu must have been caught in this tree for nearly an hour, maybe two. Long enough that he was starting to get hungry. At least there were plenty of peaches stuck up here with him to keep him company.

Nobukatsu gave his cape another tug. It was just as stuck in the branches as the last time he’d tried. He sighed out in defeat; he wasn’t willing to try ripping it just yet, not while there was still hope that he could escape intact.

At last there was a spark of hope: someone was passing by underneath.

     They’d only greeted each other before in passing, but Arjuna doesn’t remember most of it. He doesn’t remember forced words he’d given with a smile, for those had been a dime-a-dozen. Truly, interacting with others in Chaldea had been tiresome. What he does remember, though, is this Saber’s overwhelming loyalty when faced with the one they both called Master. And so when he’d polite-fully requested Arjuna’s advice, the hero had answered cordially in kind.

    Still, it’d been hard to keep a straight face in front of such... bland taste. But true to himself as ever, Arjuna managed to remain calm and collected, the tight grip on his spoon wavering only slightly.

     “I’m not sure where to start, really.” For truthfully, there were no words for this ill-fitted dish. Nothing worth saying out-loud, at least, and Arjuna rose from the table gracefully before duty called for him to taste again.

as far as each sector of the city went, i doubt whether sherlock holmes preferred one over another, for each of the separate boulevards were, in their own way, chaotic. there seemed to be little order to them, despite the obvious segregation of greenery from industrial, culture from crime. but even in that, the lines grew too blurred upon occasion, with crime leaking into almost each of the sectors regardless, and with the sour attitude of the criminal portion bleeding right through into even the allocated ‘ green ‘ sector. but they had their focal points at least, a reason to go should you feel the need. whilst so much of his time was spent within the four walls of his apartment, pulling back within his armchair and thinking, calling people up upon the provided wired telephone should he ever really need to ask something, there were a few things which did prompt holmes to leap from his chair and abandon the apartment at his leisure. there was always so much to do in the city, what with the abundance of criminal activity, the mysteries of the worlds beneath the surface, then of course the chaos the people themselves created out of mere existence, the providing of abilities and conflicts that could only happen when such forces combined together. it was akin to heeding his master’s call within the promise of a fight, that breed of immediate alert & action the very same, but on a much larger scale.

the concert hall was a rather small sort when compared to the grand scale of the apartment blocks and other establishments. i recall looking upwards and noticing how the buildings to shoulder it leaned inward, as if to corner the musical centre and establish some form of dominance. it was a pretty building; white stone and marble with detailed images of the arts etched into the front. the door was heavy, oak wood suggesting that the design was more archaic than the structures of the modern world truly were, with their glass roofs and circular designs. it was a classic picture, one which holmes seemed to be rather fond of. perhaps it reminded him of a time when he’d visit the orchestras of london, when he’d steal himself away for several hours without so much as a word, to sit within the audience and relish in the sounds he enjoyed the most. he bought a ticket and entered the venue, cane clicking against the steps as he went, until his feet met with regal crimson rugs and the feel of the theatre washed over him. he was a man for idly remembering forgotten, halcyon eras, but he felt rather closer to home walking the halls of the place, admiring the decor as he went. 

he had taken a seat towards the front of the action, the orchestra only moments away from beginning their set. i recall looking across, witnessing how already holmes seemed so well within his element, eyes half-lidded and smile creeping easily upon his features. he seemed relaxed, comforted by the presence of so many musical instruments, and when the conductor finally began, i swear i could have heard that erratic heartbeat of his pounding through his chest. 

it was on the steady promise of the string’s coda which the pretty scene of the orchestra came to a sudden and surprising close. whereas folks had been merry in their audience of the great music, there was suddenly fear across all of the faces of those present, concern etched into their expressions with women clutching their bags and the gentlemen rising to their feet in an instant. a wicked scream had ripped through the venue, loud enough to silence the conductor from his work as he too spun around wildly with eyes so full of terror. it was, in moments such as those peaceful and pleasurable ones, that one was not a fool to forget the true horror of their situations, to release their pre-existing notions of concern and fear, to embrace more neutral or even positive expressions; the elation and happiness which music provides a certain distraction to say the least. but right there, in that very moment, all peace was stolen away and that same worry which plagued them previously, only returned posthaste. 

the servant was first upon his feet, his comforting musical experience shattered but the cogs of his mind already spinning. “ stay here, i’ll see to the guards by the door. “ the people of the concert hall were all too happy to let someone else intervene, to let someone unknown chance a look beyond the door, holmes ran up the spiral stairway and back into the main corridor where was greeted not by the same doormen as before, but by flickering lamps and swaying shades. armed only with his cane, he proceeded slowly down the passage, eyes flickering to and fro as he stepped out into the grand lobby. he found, instead of a group of confused attendants, a gathering of strangers all pressed close to the closed door. beyond it, a blank, dark sky of evening. “ what’s happened? “ holmes interjected, approaching the group in good time. but instead of receiving much of a verbal explanation, one of the civilians pointed beyond the window. there, with its eyes a bright a yellow as flickering gold, prowled a wolf far larger than natural. a beast with ruby rivers staining the front of its matted fur. 

TWILIGHT SUNG A CHORUS of freckled and splattered lights; starts twinkling in the heavens like lazy, watchful eyes as the night stilled and seemed to hand in anticipation. alas, so little did move upon that chilly eve. instead, a lonesome man did linger and sit consumed by the internal strife of his thoughts, wondering how it was he’d come to be as he is, though he was rather sure of the question’s answer. he thought upon days lost and forgotten to time, but unforgotten to a man who never seemed to lose track of the pain he’d burdened with himself for so very long, as if he himself was locked within a collection of moments. haunting, broken moments.

he supposed, as the wind rustled the trees overhead causing the fairy lights to wave softly, that he deserved to feel that poisonous loneliness. that even amongst the merriment of a festival, he should sit apart from it like the unwanted rat the feast. but he did not sigh, nor did he weep. he sat as still as a statue and merely listened to the sounds of the night tremble in their slumber.

once in a while, the silence was disturbed by a passing figure, late home from the festivities of the dance and lifting their shoes within their hands as they skipped across the pavement. but they paid him no mind, perhaps never seeing the knight sitting there, locked within the shadows of the garden. alas, it was how it should be. he felt unclean in a way, despite the ‘ normal ‘ clothes he felt he did not deserve, the smartness of the suit and tie lost upon the rugged and tired-seeming knight they clothed. his hair, a rugged and matted flow of lavender locks both an elegant frame to his thinned face and also adding to the wildness of his visage. neither a man of valour or beauty, framed in that wretched light.