#ssagiso

ㅤ ㅤ He wanted to tell her something. Perhaps it was his slightly anxious gaze, looking away whenever threatened to meet hers. Or the way his mouth opened a little, just to close again a moment later without making any sound... Something in Rohan's body language screamed for her, asking for attention so insistently that Reimi was forced to confront him at once for all. Nothing could have prepared her for that answer, though. Her turn to plunge into an awkward silence, trying so hard not to imagine that grotesque scene. ❝ I suppose this is your brain’s way of processing everything that happened. ❞ Truth be told, she always wondered how a four-year-old's mind could flourish after witnessing a horrible crime. Even with the bad memories repressed, the emotional scars were still there — visible in the way he saw the world and interacted with it. ❝ If I could sleep, I’m pretty sure my dreams would be filled with even more terrible things. ❞ Since the dead cannot dream, remained for her a conscious and continuous effort not to succumb, something that seemed impossible at times.

ㅤ ㅤ Those harsh but honest words spoke directly to her heart, more than he could have expected. Wasn't that exactly what happened to her that fateful night, so many years ago? Her life sacrificed to save another one, someone who was not linked to her by blood ties but soul mates, destined to meet again in the future. She never regretted having died for Rohan, and the certainty that Narancia would do the same for anyone in the gang reached her right away. Bucciarati in particular — the lord and savior of that small group of strays, abandoned and rejected for different reasons but collected one by one and placed on a new path. She found a space between his welcoming arms as well, without feeling any different from the others despite being of another kind. Would Reimi die for him, if she could? The answer was already on the tip of her tongue and it scared her a little. ❝ This is a kind of promise that is not made lightly. ❞ Her voice ever so gentle, pink eyes wandering his features and finding all the signs of truth. A source of admiration indeed, if the factors that led him to declare this so seriously were not heartbreaking per se.

the situation had been bizarre, to suddenly recall his childhood and it’s happenings now when it had been nothing but mundane save for the memories his mind locked away at an age much too young. he hadn’t even recognized her at first, but it was an undeniable fact that she had been the reason rohan lived. he wouldn’t admit it easily, growing up meant most people developing sins past the innocence of childhood, rohan’s would happen to be pride. sincerity often proved difficult, but reimi would be one of the few he tries to get over his pride for honesty.

‘ apologies aren’t needed. ‘ he exhales an exaggerated sigh in reply, typical of his dramatic mannerisms, instead having one hand leisurely pressed against his hip while his other hand simply rested beside his sides. ‘ though, it’d be an inconvenience to be stuck with you forever. ‘ he bluntly adds, on face value coming off harsh and without consideration, but subtly he meant for her to be able to finally move on instead of being tied to the alleyway for a decade.

rohan would admit he couldn’t imagine being stuck haunting a place that was the carbon copy of where they were murdered, somewhere few would ever venture to, unable to finish lingering regrets tied to a previous life, merely sentenced to watch the victims increase and being unable to do anything. he wasn’t inherently religious, but even the mangaka could proclaim it to be cruel. 

ㅤ ㅤ A knowing smile appeared as she lifted her gaze once more, her head tilting slightly to the side while pink eyes studied him more closely. Rohan was a sweet child (at least in her point of view, which was not the most unbiased to be honest) but he always had personality. It was not really a surprise that he spoke his mind without fearing the reaction of others. Still, Reimi worried about the situation, she didn't want him to isolate himself because of this behavior. It was a defense mechanism, she just didn't know against what — the absence of childhood memories comforted her, but the thought that that night had traumatized him in some way was constant.

ㅤ ㅤ She received those words with graciousness, dispensing the harsh tone to enjoy only the sincerity of his motivation. ❝ It’s good to be stuck with someone than a place, just for a change. ❞ How much easier it would have been! Being deprived of company was the worst part of all those years in the alley. Reimi liked, needed to be surrounded by people — the act of loving the neighbor was what kept her strong. ❝ But you’re right, it would be an inconvenience. You have your whole life ahead of you after all. ❞ It was not fair to deprive Rohan or any of the others to build their own futures. She knew that they wanted the same thing for her, although this situation was infinitely more delicate.

A preliminary question? Has curiosity finally bent you to care for my opinion, or has boredom truly rotten your sensibilities to even ask me such a thing? 

Feigned or genuine, such traces of intentions blur with each encounter between the writer and her assistant. The two exist within proximity of another in a disordered bedroom. One with an unmoving pencil, tucked between fingers, and the other in an aimless sweep with the broom in her hands. Reserving her initial perplexion, brows furrowing already a sign of her surprise, the taller of the pair glosses over the books that lined that tall shelf in her superior's room.

Rays of the late-night city life of blue and white lights illuminate the dark bedroom through the tall twin, granting Sophie better sight. Though, to say it is an improvement would be a lie. The author's expressed carved by the LED lights of her laptop screen. Moss green eyes beseeching answer behind thin gray frames. Her indifference in tone contrasts the unreadable frown.

Monotony has taken a seat in her mind, a wary conclusion Sophie makes at the still untouched manuscript resting on the table. The minute details of each other are as important as it is dangerous. Even the computer screen is opened to a blank document; the enter line awaiting for writing blinking at a delayed interval. 

Under a microscope's lens, Sophie is a specimen on a Petri dish for Eto's amusement. Her frigid dance partner had been the scalpel of her intents. Pointed edge screeches and scratches the glass dancefloor; the two partners never touch another but always a breath apart from another. 

"Author, how considerate of you to inquire such a matter," she finally answers, catching herself staring a bit too longer than usual into the grey greens of Eto's eyes. Have you finally developed a heart and sentiment? How I wish, but that is far from the truth. "You shouldn't spoil with such favor, dear," sarcasm rich from her lips but kept at a minimum, "I might start to think you're fond of me in a human way."

Discarded sarcasm leaves her as her gaze softens, eyes retreating back to the pale windows. 

Is not what they have now a fairytale? The clumsy yet wildly successful novelist Sen Takatsuki, a marvel and beauty for all in her eccentricities and her stern and quiet assistant, Sophie Hatter, a plainly yet towering sight next to Sen. Always at the ends of her shoes, like an animated shadow, the assistant gives chase and critical reminders of due dates and schedules while the writer yawns and nods her head, her mind drifting elsewhere. An arrangement like no other, where professionalism soon blurred into domestic - where Sophie's next bed had been in the family room or shared mattress and where she made two full plates of breakfast in the cramped kitchenette. 

It was all nice to believe in, but it wasn't true. 

"A fairytale is a nice framework, a nice thought," her words elusive as ever as her mind drifts. "It's a lesson and comfort, something that many seek out in trying to understand around them. It brings happiness and realizations too. We learn awfully a lot from reading either way." 

In the illusion, Sophie reminds herself of the razor-sharp talons that hold her while pinning her down, roughly kissing her some nights. She reminds herself that a morsel of happiness is only but a rotting and delectable torn arm waiting in the fridge for the author. 

That the same lips that whisper against her neck can easily grow wider and wider with sadistic pleasure - that jaw popping and extending wider and wider until rows of teeth tease her cervical muscles. Before devouring all flesh and veins underneath, gushing blood, all to sate an impulse from hunger. 

It was an ending, wasn’t it? A happy one for someone, she supposed.

But, there was nothing salvageable for a no one like herself. There was no such thing as a passage or word worth someone's memory for a storyless girl like herself.

“Must the reader need to know what happens after the ending? When you finally close the book, all you see are glimpses of these characters in only a fragment of their life...For the most part, at least. Not all books are the same.”

“Humans are a hopeful kind, the moving kind. If they manage to find a promise of happiness somewhere, in whichever way they turn, they’ll head towards it. Someone would be able to find their own happy ending without experiencing it yet. That’s the drive inside us. Whether it’d be in the optimistic route or nihilistic route, well, that’s determined by the person.”

Always about the others and never about herself. Miss Hatter, will you care to ever share something about yourself? 

 Melancholy now dresses the small smile on her face. Her eyes return to the Author. 

“But all that are words of an old woman, Author. I’m not sure what value you’d find in them.”  

Yet the longer she watches Eto at her desk, the longer her smile loses its control and prettiness. It grows tired and tired as her heart pangs and aches in her fragile ribcage. 

Wanting, wanting, wanting - wanting her, wanting that chance, wanting that sliver of happiness. But she cannot want. 

A Token of Affection

@ssagiso

6. How many siblings did they have? What was their relationship like? Were they an only child who wished for siblings?

          WAHISIETEL HAS one sibling, a younger half-brother named Sliske. Mahjarrat don’t really have familial bonds like humans do, as blood relations won’t save a person from being sacrificed. But Wahi and his bro were pretty close by Mahjie standards. They were both deemed as broken and faulty by their mother, and essentially took care of each other. Sliske was giftedly powerful even at a young age so people were scared of him once he made it known. It stopped a lot of the harassment and bullying Wahi got by proxy. In exchange, Wahi, being the older sibling, essentially acted as a parental figure. The world was out to get them both, but they had each other.  

     OVER the years their relationship has become a bit strained, but as much as he hates Sliske’s actions as of recent, he is still his bro and will do what he can for him. 

13. Are there any moments of their past they keep secret?

          A LOT of his history on Freneskae is kept secret from outsiders. There weren’t many secrets among Mahjarrat back on their homeworld, but with the introduction of new races and a new world, a lot of them wanted to try and start over. What humans see is a proud general in Zaros’ army, immensely strong and incredibly smart. He refuses to let people know about his previous life; being forced to kill at a young age and how he was treated as a lesser member of the tribe. He is respected in Gielinor, even by the other Mahjarrat now. If someone were to find the emotionally sensitive subjects, the shame would eat him alive.

nonverbal memes

@ssagiso

Poor thing, bless his heart for trying. From the looks of it, he tried to make macaroni and cheese, but somehow managed to burn the noodles. Still, it looked edible enough so she was able to nibble on it a bit.