——✍;;{ ✉ }

            ❝ If you told me you were coming over beforehand, I might have. ❞ No, she wouldn't have. The door closes behind Ryan as she slips into the apartment, glancing toward the apparent visitor.

            But what can form those notes, stirring in the brisk scent of autumn?                          Stringed softly, they evolve in an epic undertone.

            But what can form those notes —- if they are nor a song nor a melody,                      but the long, unfinished piece of Melody’s tumults?

              She is a creature of ugliness, to be frank.               Her fine art is made of blood, and her music--                her music is the screams & cries of enemies. 

               ” most would just ask. ”

               ❝ Most are idiots. ❞

                             && she meets his pout with an expression                              somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.                                A pause, and a short, harsh chuckle.  

                " wha — "

                                he threw a few glances around, now rubbing                                 his temple. and despite the hit hurting, it didn’t                                 get rid of the song still playing in his head.

          ❝ Well, yeah. ❞

                       She's never been known for her manners,                         either.  Gaze remains intently on the other,                        the  little  beginnings  of  irritation  quickly                        building within bright orbs. 

              ❝ Don't tell me that's a fucking                      cartoon you're mimicking to get out                     of cleaning up this mess            ❞

     The sensation is a foreign one, as if he’s looked into a mirror and witnessed the reflection emerge into corporeal manifestation. This creature he knows not, has never set his sights upon it before, yet one look into its features, into those cold depths of guiltless eyes tells him all that is necessary: there is none else he knows more intimately.

               They are brothers, friends, lovers.

                                               They are one in the same.    

    His recognition is mirrored in the other-- perhaps she's a little bit smaller, perhaps they don't look too much alike... but they're a part of one another, they're the same. This much she knows by simply looking at him. Smallest of smirks tugs at the corners of her lips, and she answers without hesitation: 

                                                          ❝ Both. ❞

    The suggestion doesn't daunt her, things like her and him, they don't ever really die. The smaller of the two taps the top of her cigarette box before holding it out in a rare offering. She's not the kind to do favors for others, but-- he's not really an other, is he ?