#systematrical

Tucking her arms beneath the sleeves of the loose cardigan she’d tossed over her shoulders, she keeps her eyes on him, waiting. She’s determined not to leave until he’s down there beside her, because she knows he’ll stay up there all night if he could.

“Then, I’ll stay here until you do.”

spring showers are nothing like summer typhoons. the rain batters the ground, smothering the earth below, and the little sprouts from spring fight against it bravely, standing tall. like little warriors, they take to the task with pride, drawing in its remnants and nutrients from the ground.

erika almost forgets herself, the sleeve of her kimono dropping to just barely touching the page below. she lifts her brush, letting it rest to better picture her writing. it’s a rougher than usual, but no less legible, matching that of her imaginings.

ah, but none of the text.

it’s regrettable, but she tears the page in two and sets it aside along the rest of the rejects, which is growing into a generous pile.

perhaps, she requires a break.

erika stands and makes her way out of her office, walking along the inner building of the estate. the heavy rain reminds her it isn’t all her imaginings, and she stops at the waiting area where she finds a page left on the table by the phone. 

how curious.

she takes a seat at the table, carefully folding her legs beneath herself. the page only has a single phone number on it as well as the name of a certain elite member. a small smile finds itself onto her lips as she decides, on whim, to give the number a try. 

‘good afternoon. this is erika from celadon city. i was hoping to speak to wataru. thank you.’    

(( yea i’m alive… barely… next week is month-end so it’ll be harrowing :’) but here we are. yay for chaz unleashing his chazziness on the world ))

She doesn’t answer him right away, taking her time to find the right shaped rock at the river’s edge. Knees bent, she crouched low to the ground, pecking at the rocks. Their shapes weren’t fitting --- they weren’t round enough, flat enough --- the bumpy texture brushed against her finger tips terribly.

“No, not really,” she says eventually, off-handedly.

The rock hunting isn’t interrupted in the least by the answer, almost as though she were only half listening to him. (She isn’t though; she’s paying him far more attention than she should and missed the perfect rock at least twice now.) Then again, she’s not one to sit still for long about things like this. 

Her determination does grow, and she finds just the right rock to skip. It earns a smile as it rolls in the palm of her hand, flipping between the space of her fingers. 

The rock stops at the crook between her thumb and her index finger, and she eases it in to place, reading herself.

“If I did, I probably wouldn’t hang out with you.” 

The rock flies out of her hand, skipping against the water’s surface. 

Once, twice, three times. 

And then it sinks.

Send me ✔ and I will bold my preferences for your muse! [Accepting]

My muse(s):

Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

☢ - my muse doing something they know they shouldn’t

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks, swirling the cup of double espresso with a dubious look.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” Cassius’s voice echoes down the phone line. “It’ll help you finish this fuckin’ project briefing. Worst you can do is give yourself tachycardia, right?”

“…Right.” Thanks, Cass. Very reassuring.

In one movement, Molayne cracks open the energy drink, pours it into the coffee, and downs it. Bubbles sting his nose, and the taste is something that should never be unleashed on another human being. 

Malie City is quiet tonight. After a day of researching the library’s archives on Bill’s behalf, Molayne’s ready to head home, waiting on a still street corner with a few other people for the bus back up to the observatory. It’s slightly late - that’s not unusual - so he busies himself with checking his phone, replying to a few texts and letting Sophocles know he’s on his way home.

As he slips his phone back into his pocket, shivering slightly from the cold, something lands on the lens of his glasses.