astray

crescentjoker:

Ukyo’s hands curled—fingers grasping gently at his coat as they hung at his sides—nervously waiting. The time passed incredibly slowly; at least, to Ukyo it seemed to. The drawn out silence only filled with tension as Ukyo’s apprehension got the best of him. It didn’t look like he was angering the other in any way—but the lack of response was making him question even the smallest of things. Had he been unclear? Was his grab for attention off-putting? Should he have slowed down his speech a little? "Um…" he hesitated to speak again however, knowing that he would most likely panic once again. The little sound did erase a little of the tension from Ukyo’s shoulders though.

And yet, as he finally caught on to the lost look on the girl’s face, he could only guess what answer was to follow. Then again, many people would call him clueless—his attention so hard to attain when he’s focused, perhaps that is the case in this instance? Rather than consume himself in worry, the man tried to patiently await a response, all the while his eyes trained onto the woman looking somewhat to the sky. It was a crushing statement that followed—but Ukyo couldn’t expect everyone to know their way around. This was a busy city with people coming and going often, after all.

"Ah… I’m sorry." Ukyo retained his smile, albeit guilt-ridden for putting pressure on the girl."… Do you know where anyone is that could help? Or… are you—" he paused, wondering if it would be rude to assume the other’s case; she didn’t seem the type to state so, and if she had no idea where anything was that Ukyo was looking for—did she know her way around at all? Though, she might have a better memory than Ukyo and could remember her way home at least… or so he hoped. Having two lost heads together was, probably, no better than the one.

Perhaps it didn’t hurt to ask after all.

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"Are you… maybe… lost, too?"

Perilous conversations with people she could only call less than acquaintances were inevitable given the circumstances that preceded her resurrection, but as they exchanged uncomfortable looks with both each other and whatever item of scenery that could function to assuage the unspoken tension in the air, a feeling of self-awareness glossed over her thoughts and laminated them in perplexed uncertainty. The slow succession of his words and the minute movement of his muscles did not inspire guilt in her incredulous thoughts, but it did assist her in recognizing herself as naught but the antithesis of a cynosure, which resulted in a sensation of encasement by social obligation.

Her gaze floating elsewhere, her fingers mimicking the twitches of his, Madot carefully formulated the words to keep face, the status of her bewildered sense of locality being her problem and her problem only.

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… … … … … No… The quietness of her response could not hide the way she drew out her ‘no’, nor downtrodden decline of her inflection at the end of the word. I’m— I’m tactfully unaware of my surroundings.

In spite of the palpable ambivalence in her response, the dream girl returned her stare to the man who stood above her, both of her titian eyes conveying the inward tenacity to brazen her claim out instead of admitting to what was really true. Among a litany of other things, her year in the dream world taught her that believing in your lost sense of direction confounds every following attempt to reconcile with the path that got you there, befouling realistic thought with the idea of never finding the way back. This city, however large, is not infinite, which always means there is a method to restoring direction.

Wayward Imagination | Natsume + Madotsuki

takashisyuujinchou:

"I’ve had mixed experiences." He remembered one youkai in particular whom he had seen several times. They had played together several times, until he had realized that she wasn’t actually tangible to others. After that, he had left in a whirlwind of tears. Honestly, he regretted it as he reflected, as she hadn’t done anything really wrong. It was strange, he hadn’t thought about her for years. The bad experiences had certainly impressed themselves upon his mind moreso than the good ones.

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"There are spirits that I did love, but most tended to be less than kind." Though, that being said, his most frequent tormentors had certainly been of a human variety. The youkai had not bothered him too much aside from startling him or chasing him. Other children his age had the ability to harm him in a much more permanent manner. In fact, the incident that had led to his adoption by the Fujiwaras had been a result of a particularly cruel group of bullies.

"Although, I guess I didn’t mind the spirits so much as the reactions people had to me interacting with them. They thought I was lying and tended to bully me because of it. I always wanted to stop seeing them so that people would leave me alone."

In contrast to the girl, Natsume cast his eyes downward. He found that even after all this time, the remembered cruelty still stung.

And suddenly, Madot was listening with a patience that seemed eternal. Commonality alerts the mind, makes it listen — and such is nothing close to a science as much as it’s the easy achievement of an avid audience, however fleeting.

But as his story progressed, she became conscious of her inability to hold onto even a semblance of her austere nature. Something else was eclipsing her straight face and altering her stony muscles, creating difficulty in holding attention and causing discomfort when she tried. This was not a new sensation, but the memory of it had grown old enough to be discreetly jettisoned into the void, and not even contextual prompts could lure it back out.

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I brought up bad memories. Her words had lost their pallid cadence, wilting by the command of her autonomic mind. Empathy, banished into disregard by fear of its insights, is not something she could remotely call a practice of hers, but she could comprehend the severity of something if she has experienced it herself; the work of the ignorant is a scary thing.

I’m sorry.

Lost Flower { Intro/Open }

a-maiden-of-flowers:

Finding the apartment she was staying at didn’t take too long for her to find.Most of the apartments where in a general area so she was sure one of them was where she was staying, and truly one was. She made sure to take her things up to the apartment room, picking one out for herself out of the rooms available. The apartment was a really nice one, it even had things like a stove and fridge in it. She knew that she was to have roommates but she couldn’t help checking one things. She looked into the fridge to notice it was certainly empty. Either she was the first to arrive, or they hadn’t had time to pick up anything.

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"This won’t do.." That’s when she made it her job to go buy things to make the fridge not barren. Though she wasn’t sure if they’d be okay with it she felt like she should.. and well she’d apologize if they had anything against this idea of hers. Making her way outside she really did remember something. Thought the apartments were easy to find, she had no clue where the grocery store was in this city. Maybe she should ask someone, but oh how she didn’t want to bother anyone with her troubles. Well she’d have to try to get one of the passerby attention and apologize to them if it truly was a problem.

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" Um, excuse me. S-sorry if i’m bothering you, but do you think you could help me for a second?.."

The streets were beginning to make sense. They no longer connected with the coherency of broken syntax and defining details finally spoke to her, and although Madotsuki had yet to acquire a panoramic mental map of the city, her small, red shoes would guide her with the taciturn conviction of her contextual, yet practical, memories. Thing became much more enjoyable once she knew that this way led to the park or that way led away from the hospital, which she was still neglecting an ordered return to, and she soon earned the label of vagrant from herself. A byproduct of being an itinerant is the discovery that sleeping under the stars was a sinecure of its own right, its ineffable influence distinctive by individual; when she slept in the grass and trees, the spirits in her dreams began to move more freely, almost as if they were learning to live.

Therefore, with her memory exponentially growing to accommodate for the equations that are the roads, she was rendered fervid when the first opportunity to display her knowledge was presented—or so she assumed that’s what this woman wanted, as that’s the most popular reason to call for a stranger’s attention in this city. But something else whimsically flit across her thoughts as her auditory input aligned with its visual counterpart, somehow pacifying her haste to present her knowledge.

Aesthetic resplendence derailing the dream girl’s intellectual conquest, this slight distraction manifested as the gradual appearance of a pink tincture upon her cheeks. It was an odd sensation, something that she couldn’t identify, and something only a younger girl could feel for an older one. 

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Pretty…

… Sure.

Wayward Imagination | Natsume + Madotsuki

takashisyuujinchou:

Her reaction may have been as odd as his initial comment, it was certainly a reaction to his story that he hadn’t heard before. Not that he had heard very many reactions, but the point, in principle, still stood. It made him wonder again about the circumstances surrounding this girl. Perhaps she had some sort of interest in ? Or was simply more interested in the idea of more tangible youkai than in his likely imagined ones? He supposed it made little difference, in light of her following words.

She spoke with the voice of experience, rather than his own relatively unsure tone in reference to spirits. That was enough to lend it considerable weight, but it was also an idea he hadn’t considered before. He had always simply assumed that the youkai gravitated toward him out of either curiosity or to harass him. Certainly, they often made themselves very visible to Natsume whenever possible, much to his younger self’s dismay.

Rather than allow himself to drift of in thought once again, he decided to engage on the subject. Even if no solid conclusions came from it, he wanted to use this opportunity to speak with a rare person who seemed to understand his situation much more than he himself did.

"I suppose that’s true. To most people, youkai are like a mist." Transient, and often obscure to the initial glance; that was one of the few things he was really sure of regarding his imaginary creatures.

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“You sound as though you know this from experience, rather than conjecture.”

I do.

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I love my spirits, so I know lots about them.

To some all-knowing being with a godly grip over the information she only vaguely spoke of, her words may come off as questionable, if not merely the mutterings of an unfortunate misunderstanding. In her realm of logic, the creatures of her dreams were spirits and she did not consider herself an arrant fool for believing so, that opinionated investment sitting atop a foundation of sentiments, clairvoyance, and permanence, but a fall from the atmospheric tier her pride sat upon could usher in a more eclectic viewpoint—not that she’s anywhere close to venturing from her fixation, though. 

As she saw it, only a spirit could generate the image of a person who exists conceptually.

Concrete and the peripheral sight of where he stood composed the reflection in her eyes, the darkness making the sidewalk’s bumps and irregularities dilute into the picturesque smooth stone of industrial and aesthetic advancement. They stood where the light of the streetlamps could not see, which she was grateful for, as her dreams made her think that those lights were eyes, shining only at night because that’s when they are awake. Sacrificing the ability to distinguish the lineaments of his face for privacy was a worthy trade, for she has always felt particularly perturbed by her delusions regarding streetlights.

Looking up, the red fabric he clutched valiantly stood apart from everything else his contour contained.

I made a guess that you love yours, too. But I was wrong. Why is that so?

School? Boring, booriiing | A-ya & Madotsuki

kodoku-no-usagi:

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What was worst than having to read a book that your teacher said the students have to read? And after finishing it, you had to do an essay based on that boring book. A-ya didn’t want to waste his money in such a thing, so he just went to the library instead. He thought other students would be there too reading that book, but he was lucky and that didn’t happen.

Though, any student could get the book now, because A-ya was practically sleeping on the library. The book catching his interest? Don’t even dream. If it was a book that could catch his interest he would already have read it, maybe.

A-ya gave a sigh, and put the book besides his head that was now laying on the table. He wish those kinds of book didn’t exist, but there are people who get their interest stuck on them and he wonders how, too.

Honestly A-ya was waiting for someone to just sit nearby him and get the book so he could take a break, and by that he means go home and just search for a summary on the internet. He turned his face to the right side, no one approaching. Turned to the other, no one- Ah. There it was, someone approaching him.

'Hope this person will get this damn book already.'

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He had been under her watchful gaze for a long time.

From the isolation of her small table she vigilantly balanced taking notes from her own choice of literature and observing the status of the book that lay sadly before him, his perpetual slump eventually coming to mean a longer and longer wait. Although she had her own cover-bound collection of words available for reading, understanding, and retaining, its contents had been dramatically and voraciously siphoned from its pages during the few hours she has been here, submersing both into her memory and her notes, and she wished with a desperate affection to move onto what this book only gave her the context for: a record of Aztec history.

The level of Madotsuki’s avidity for Aztec culture, history, economics, ect cetera had an altitude that one would normally observe in sports fans, and her enthusiasm had only loneliness to keep it stoic. With passion being what drives people to continue turning pages, hers transcended beyond what a 400-sum page account of history and religion could attempt to pacify her with, her ability to distill inferences and latent chains of events giving verse to the reading and encouragement to her endeavors. And now that she was broken from the autocratic parental rule, nobody could take away the knowledge she sought anymore.

She needs that book.

Callous urges taking the better of her, she ripped out a piece of paper from her notebook, wrote something down, collected her things and then approached her target. Although his gaze was halfway to the afterlife, she could discern the slight movement of his eye to mean recognition.

Sitting across from him with a ‘hmph’ muffled by her pursed lips, she shoved the paper his way. It reads:

that book isn’t in use, is it?

kusanaqi:

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{♕} “I wouldn’t say it’s not kind, but maybe…not as gentle.” Though that was a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

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This whet her curiosity, although a large fraction of its composition was bewilderment. Hm…? Like a storm without the boom?

Jun 23 · 4 weeks ago · 3 notes

betternotfallforme:

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To : Madotsuki

From : Kanji

- Actually, where do you get this picture?!

- Who ARE you, even? You a frog, too?

To: Kanji
From: Madotsuki

> maybe i am

> i'm the first of many

> toshi is in danger

> hostile frog.jpg

betternotfallforme:

To : Madotsuki

From : Kanji

-The hell?!


-How did you get my number?!

-I’m taking you down, punk!

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To: Kanji
From: Madotsuki

> i'll take u down first

> frog attack.jpg

who is the douche with sunglasses || birthday & madot

dyingvolts:

The girl radiated an aura of someone who, for lack of a better description, didn’t radiate any kind of aura. Such was a peculiarity in a city where everyone had their own unique kind of personality, painting the place an array of different colors. However, to continue the metaphor, this girl seemed colorless.

And that piqued Birthday’s interest. 

He lowered his sunglasses a bit so violet eyes could examine the stranger without a darkened layer of glass affecting his vision. “I pride myself in being able to see in the dark,” he said with a playful smirk. “Though, I guess that pride is misplaced, since it took me this long to realize my card might be under your foot, little miss.” 

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His sunglasses resumed their place, again obscuring his eyes as well as his own vision. The deck sans one single lost card was placed back into his pocket before he stood up and approached the girl. “As much as I want my card back, I’m also interested why someone like you, little miss, is out so late at night. Isn’t it past your bed time?”

His words held no ounce of malice. Rather, a childish and sly tone characterized his voice. After all, he was just an adult concerned about the progeny of the future. 

There are instances where she thrives on the theory that reality is delible. Illusions are easy to believe with contextual cues that loosely play along, and, in this instance, her mind slipped into a calming perspective in which his eyeless face hid nothing more than girlishly long eyelashes that only sunglasses could mend the embarrassment of. And to perpetuate this reality, she glanced away at the descent of his lenses, the color embedded in his irises rendered irrelevant to her anxiety and the spectral memory of his point in space filling in for where her sight could not pair with her ears. Regardless of her focused distraction, however, she could not suppress a small twitch upon the futility of her game coming to light, responding to such by retrieving the card from the ground and fixedly staring at it as he approached.

The flimsy surface Madot held between her fingers bore the mark of the queen of hearts, her regal ink portending the arrival of a kindly woman with fair hair, but only predicting such to those who choose to coerce meaning into the most simplistic of things; prophecies and forecasts demonstrate nothing beyond an economical employment of fatalism, reading naught but stupidity from those who noiselessly approve of the Barnum effect’s vague words.

—Opinions aside, the queen’s presage was quite wrong.

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If the point of ‘bed time’ is to revive the mind, there are other ways to reach the same goal. Like looking at the stars. There is a short pause in which the dream girl lifts her gaze from the card. Have you seen them yet?

Jun 19 · 1 month ago · 3 notes

To: Everybody
From: Madotsuki

- i found someone's phone

- i'm taking pictures of frogs

- frog.jpg