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they   recognize   it,   of   course,   the   way   she   talks   through   discomfort   –   the   effort   in   her   smiling,   pulling   her   cheeks   up   in   a   way   not   quite   genuine,   the   way   she   talks   just   enough   to   fill   the   silence   but   isn’t   really   saying   anything.   the   insecurity   finds   a   foothold,   begins   to   climb   its   way   to   the   front   of   asher’s   mind.   was   their   relationship   really   so   strained   ?   it   had   changed,   certainly,   but   maki   didn’t   hate   them…   did   she   ?   a   laundry   list   unfolds,   the   words   how   to   get   back   on   maki   matsui’s   good   side   scribbled   atop.   step   one,   out   of   necessity:   figure   out   what   maki   matsui   is   upset   about.

“You should know better than to insist when a lady is very clearly avoiding the question.” She tutted at them, still giving no answer. Openly avoiding it, in fact. Did your manners die with you? “But if you buy me something cute from one of the booths then maybe I'll consider forgiving your little faux pas.”

festivities had always put her in such a - well, festive - mood. it was a remnant of her mortal life , the one she had clung to in the three centuries she had been alive and existing. clarissa had loved every occasion or opportunity that had allowed her to dress up and forget she's not like the majority of the quiet little town. she liked humans - she'd been one , after all - so she had always taken their frailty and open heart with a gentle smile and kindness. what she was should not change what she'd been.

perusing the booths set up by the residents , dark gaze fixed upon a pastry.

now , whoever said she should resist the temptation of apple pies spiked with cinnamon had obviously never tried a home baked one.

quite ironic for a vampire to still have such human taste , but while the food was not fulfilling it was satisfactory. whether or not she had a soul was debatable , but if she did ... then mortal food was food for the soul.

" did you ever try it with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream on the side ? it's really good. " clarissa said to the person standing close by. " trust me , it's divine. "

“Obviously I have.” Oops. Okay, so, that was bad. Not very nice. Not very charitable. She plastered the smile on twice as wide, like she'd be able to force the cheer to be real. Somehow it felt like her mouth was working double time, despite all the doom and gloom hanging over her on a daily basis. “Have you tried anything else yet? I can tell you which booths to steer clear of.”

silence   was   not   a   friend.   it   was   uncomfortable,   it   was   prodding,   it   was   dangerous.   she'd   learn   from   a   young   age   the   monsters   that   lived   in   the   shadows,   that   attacked   in   silence.   maybe   that   was   why   nothing   about   her   was   quiet.   mere   steps   echoed   in   spaces,   voice   travelled   throughout,   thoughts   that   never   stayed   inside.   there   was   comfort   in   sound.   it   wrapped   around   her   like   a   safety   blanket.   she'd   never   deny   that   she   was   a   chatter   box.   but   that   meant   she   knew   when   someone   tuned   out   of   the   conversation.   sometimes   she   didn't   care,   the   conversation   would   go   on   until   she   decided   to   end   it.   this   time,   she   questioned   whether   maki   had   heard   a   word   she   said   in   the   last   five   minutes.   deadpan   expression   as   she   sips   on   the   drink   in   hand,   the   others   words   not   making   a   crack   in   her   armor.     “    you   were   soooo   not   listening.   i   caught   you!   and   that's   just   a   lie,   nothing   i   say   is   ever   uninteresting!   you're   telling   me   you   don't   care   about   my   plans   for   the   zombie   apocalypse?    ”       words   coated   in   shock.   she'd   been   thinking   on   the   scenario   for   the   last   three   days,   laid   out   four   different   plans   in   case   the   time   ever   came,   she   didn't   understand   how   that   wouldn't   be   interesting   to   maki. 

“You're interesting, it just doesn't always extend to conversation, and that's fine.” She reached out and booped the air in front of Aisha's nose, just to be annoying. She wasn't ready to make any actual contact just yet. “But fine, tell me about your apocalypse plans. Personally, I'd just let myself get bitten, I think. Why delay the inevitable, you know? And then maybe I'll bite you just so I'll have some company.” She grinned at her hypothetical, at her joke, hoping that it wouldn't become her reality one day.

“Worried? Never. Flattered, maybe.” Maki leaned over the table, like she was confiding something. “Just thought we should see each other a bit more often. Present a united front, you know.” She winked. “So the newbies know they can't mess with us.”

“Masochist, then? Can't think of any other reason why you'd bother sticking around if you don't see the charm in dirty bars and the small town... hospitality.” She wasn't smiling now. Didn't see a point, not with this stranger. For that's what he was, what they all were—strangers. And Marrow just didn't get strangers.

What secrets do you want to know? Obviously it was “all of them?” That, she asked with an exaggerated flutter of her lashes. “But if not, then I'll settle for what your intentions are. I'd really rather know upfront if you're trying to lure us into joining your cult or commune or whatever. And, just to make it fair, I'll state that my intentions here are very much going to be hostile until you can prove you deserve better.” She punctuated that with a real, genuine smile, just to show she meant it.

''thank you, maki. but you can save your backhanded compliments for someone who actually likes you.'' you are praying, better said braying at the wrong place of worship. you'll get no answer here. it's not a deity that speaks to you, or someone god-adjacent, but a void. void and a woman; one and the same thing. ''i'm sorry. that was mean. i don't know what has gotten into me.'' or what has, somewhere along the way, been forcefully removed. something must've come undone. a stitch or two that grew too loose. or stubborn ribs that no longer wish to house the same old lungs and heart.

Try to puzzle this one out: Maki Matsui was not kind by nature. That was something God-given, and God had abandoned her somewhere in the womb, too busy hovering over her sister's shoulder. So, Maki knew kindness wasn't in the cards for her, but she wanted it anyway. Tried, anyway. Only, no one recognised it as kindness when it came out of her mouth. So, tell me, what's a girl to do?

Try smiling.

Maki was becoming distressingly familiar with the interior of the bar. Something about the mood lately—the sense of community that she rejected and revered in turns now having become something of a sanctuary. It helped, she thought, that she could no longer be 'other', not when there was Father Romero and his entourage, not when there was the dead-undead walking around like people. So she was in now, and it didn't matter if she wasn't a churchgoer like her dutiful sister or a kind soul like her sister, or like her sister at all. Because at least she wasn't like them. The others. Thank the lord for that.

asher’s   not   sure   –   has   maybe   never   been   sure   –   how   to   handle   maki   matsui.   she’s   older   than   him,   but   somehow   in   comparison   to   her   older   sister   miwa   (   may   she   rest   in   peace   ),   they   have   always   thought   maki   seemed   so   young.   maybe   it’s   her   delicate   aesthetics   or   maybe   it’s   the   way   miwa   always   seemed   so   much   …   more,   nearly   mythical   in   marrow   –   asher   liked   her   plenty,   but   asher   recognizes   a   kind   of   his   own   anxieties   in   maki.   antsy,   maybe   even   desperate,   to   be   seen   appreciated   loved.   they   tried   to   give   her   that   once,   offered   her   a   hand   to   hold   –   they   still   aren’t   quite   sure   where   it   went   wrong.

She took a breath, then turned around with a smile, skirt billowing around her above the knees. “Asher,” she acknowledged. “Ash,” she tried. “Ashes.” It was a good thing nobody chose to get cremated in this town. “Mmmm, nope. Not a good name for nicknames,” she decided, glossing over the ashes. “Oh, it's fine, it's not like I was looking for you then anyway.” And the church, it was beginning to unsettle her a bit. She imagined all the dead sitting in the pews, pale and glassy-eyed and different, and shivered.