soldiers in the night

The end of her silver rifle continues to face the girl of the shadows — she is infuriated beyond the norm. Her voice pierce through the silence of the night and it’s the tone and how she enunciates each of her word that gets the realization to dawn into her mind. Crimson red tainted her hands and they craved for more just like those of Kiyomi’s. Eyes narrow, studying the alike with keen eyes before her arms drop back to her side. No golden bullets will be wasted today — not to a hunter who craved the blood of supernatural beings.

All she sees is darkness, ink black filling in the crevices of her vision and it teases her, plays with her mind, and gnaws on her fading sanity. That doesn’t stop the hunter with a strong will, however, and she trails the stranger back to her voice, easily navigated by the bright gleam of silver that coats her weapon. Her mind shudders at the sight. Rifles don’t swarm in her area of expertise because she sees them as a setback, their size too large for her small taste. She likes lightness, she likes sharp, jagged silver and strong, thick plastic. Maybe they are quite the same, in the essence that both swim in the bottomless shadows and crave for a hint of danger, but there are many differences that show not all hunters are alike. 

The trail of words that leave the woman’s lips go through her ears and out, the greatness of her attention focused on the mulch earth and sierras of land. One of her boots graze back and forth on the ground, as to brush away the colors of the strong tones and distant personalities. She notices the change in sounds in the woman’s voice, from harsh to soft in one swing. A corner of her lips curve in a smirk. Odd. “Do you now?” she says with firmness, her thoughts and patience done with meaningless chatter. “Don’t worry, I won’t take your opinion to heart—” She pauses, hand grabbing onto the handle of her argent arrows in a hurried reflex. There is something that disrupts her speech, her senses on high, the pace of her heart beginning to rapidly increase. 

The sound is relatively close, ears picking up on the faintest of sounds. Thump, thump, thump. They sound like footsteps, loud in the silent of night and whoever it belonged to was bold, rather extremely risky. The hunter throws a glance at the stranger before retrieving her bow. She knows the sounds all too well, its familiarity obvious in her mind. This was the thrill she enjoyed, the rush of excitement pooling in her strength. "Unless you deal with werewolves, I’d suggest you look somewhere else," she says bluntly, in a rush of words, readying her instruments to shoot a test shot into the air. 

          Though, her request seemed simple enough. She looked genuinely hopeful, and the brunette male felt a responsibility urge strike him. Clyde weighed out the options quickly, and found that this couldn’t burden him any more than much else. So, without looking back at the possible stalker on her tail, he brought up a casual smile as if he knew her for years and dropped his earphone to curl his arm around the young woman’s shoulders, pulling her a little closer to his side and they continued on their way in the direction he set out. 

A heavy weight leaves her shoulders as she sees his compliance to her sudden request; a faint, low sigh escaping the confines of her chest. The young female is glad she chose such a good person like the stranger besides her, because if she hadn't, she would have to escape the borders of her box and find some spontaneous way to drive the unknown pair of eyes off of her scent. That would be much harder than her current situation, an unfortunate escapade waiting to happen if she had quickly changed her mind in order to calm her nerves that twisted themselves on the grittiness of her bones. 

Dalia doesn't mind the arm that dangles around her shoulder, even though she finds it an irritation when her personal space is broken. It was a move she was willing to take, to throw off the dark shadows and mysterious mindsets. Her head lowers in a nod at his statement, sight focusing on the backs of the pedestrians in front of her. "Anywhere will do," she simply replies, a small thing of a laugh traveling in her voice. "And thank you. I honestly wouldn't know what to do if you ignored me." The petite smile on her face grows in size, in genuineness, and her eyes shape into crescents.  

Shiroi Onna. The woman dressed in white. A heartless witch as how normal citizens would call her for using her ‘magic’ for the wrong and killing one person to another until almost everyone has their knees shaking in fear, wondering if they would be next. This Shiroi Onna was currently one of Japan’s top mysteries, sometimes referred to as Shiroiko and while some consider her as some sort of myth, insisting that she doesn’t exist, most believed that she does. Thinks that she’s hiding somewhere, chanting some spells of sort for her next attack.

A snort escaped from Yuko as she listened to the two school girls who were chatting rather than eating their gyouzas right behind her, wooden chopsticks stabbing through a piece of her own meal and munching onto it gingerly. Myth? Hiding in the forest? A witch? Maybe she should leave a clue saying that she’s just human on top of her victim’s corpse the next time she ends someone, mention that she’s merely giving them divine retribution for doing unforgivable crimes, though she herself isn’t really an exemption for ending so many lives, and that she’s definitely not hiding in the forest because, just like now, she’s hanging around in the city eating pork dumplings with extra onion.

And truthfully, it was starting to get boring; her identity being misunderstood into something else all the time and the fucking police taking far too long to realize that this woman dressed in white is just your average everyday barista that works only on certain days and spends the rest in the same gyouza house she always visits, filling her stomach with pork and vegetables until she couldn’t eat anymore. This is exactly why Japan’s doomed to end soon, she thinks. Dumb police, stupid citizens — there’s no hope for it.

One loud sigh fled from her lips when she had parted them to eat another piece of gyouza, only for her chopsticks to halt mid-air and her attention to shift from her most beloved food to someone else — a new customer to which the restaurant’s owner (slash cook) had greeted to with a loud ‘Welcome! Sit wherever ya’d like!” and as if losing all of her appetite from just that, Yuko slowly lowered the wooden utensil  down to her plate.

Odd.

It felt as though the whole air around the once merry and lax restaurant had changed and the SPEC holder could almost feel herself stiffen as she awaited for the newcomer to come closer to her. Closer, and closer, and closer and—

The area is no different than the countless of countries she's explored before, but the many signs at the airport crushes the eagerness that builds up inside her chest. There are characters she's never laid eyes upon and the small words can make out don't help. Her stride remains confident, though, and her auburn eyes rake through the crowds at the airport to find the exit. She's going to have to memorize the setting before she executes her task, a habit brewed by many years of wishful journeys, and hails a taxi to the unknown hotel room she was assigned to. Her superiors are mum on the details of her missions, a play that gives her much pain, and finding her way through strange paths is going to be difficult.

The first stop she makes after she pays the cab driver heavily is at a small restaurant--or what she assumes as a restaurant, judging from the fragrant smells and bustling chatter. The young female leaves her baggage idly in the front, unknown of the rules and regulations the ordinary establishments in the country have. With a saunter and pursed lips, she enters, sight soaking up on the many goers that filled the booths and stalls. She could tell it was crowded, a rush hour possibly, and regrets her decision to choose the specific location after the many recommendations her cab driver offered. 

Someone greets her and she stares almost doe-like; wide eyes as her answer. Her head slowly dips in a bow before she hesitantly starts walking around, the sturdiness of her boots making loud sounds on the floor. She's used to greeting and helping strangers back in the district that her apartment was settled in, but this time, this time she was the unknown passerby that wandered around until someone would notice her desperate call for help. Dalia walks past tables and tables, her ears picking up jolly laughs and loud talks. She doesn't notice a feminine voice calling for her attention until it's a second too late, torso turning back until the rest of her body does also. "Me?" she says in accented Korean, before realizing her mistake and shaking her head repeatedly. A few moments later, she only nods as her teeth clench in embarrassment.

      In celebration of 200+ followers in only 22 days as of today, 23/08/2014, I’d like to say that’s such an impressive amount of people that followed Clyde & I, his mun ;u; I want to thank every single one of you that has made my short experience with one of my most successful muses so memorable — and here is to a billion more memories as every day passes!

      Just wanted to take some time and appreciate the roleplayers that significantly impacted me: whether it be by their writing that has or hasn’t directly involved my muse, their character in general, or simply because I know both mun and muse and they can never be replaced in my heart. Thank you so much for being absolutely incredible in every single way — and don’t stop what you’re doing, because you’re perfect at it!

      To the ones that inspired, motivated, and moved me, this is for you. 

♛ — admiration ; adoration ; attraction .