closed starter for @utterxdesires

If someone were to ask Jacob what he loved the most about being an actor, he probably would have told them that it was the fact that he got to travel the world for work. But as much as he loved to travel and live in different countries for a few weeks or months at a time, it was safe to say that the last few months had been particularly difficult for him. Not that he had not enjoyed having the opportunity to film a romantic comedy that was set all over Europe, but considering the fact that he finally had some sort of a romance in his own life that had been put on hold for the time being, Jacob had come to regret the fact that he travelled so much for work.

Needless to say, he had spent his entire time he was away thinking about Juno, and the undeniable feelings that he had harbored for her. While they had kept in touch over the last few months, the time difference had made it so that text messages had been their only form of contact. As the days went by, Jacob had begun to miss Juno, to miss holding her in his arms, to miss kissing her, to miss showing her how much he had wanted her. Juno had been the first person who had treated him as a person rather than an actor, letting him let loose at her favourite pub after the interview, and paying attention to him in a way that no one else had. It was only a matter of time before he had realized that he wanted to hold onto her, to not let go of someone like her.

Perhaps that was why he had called her as soon as he had landed, letting her know that he was back in town, asking her where she was because he wanted to see her right away. He had stopped by the flower shop on his way home from the airport, picking up a bouquet before he had his driver drop him off, and the moment he had laid his eyes on the woman who had rocked his entire world after months apart, a rather wide grin had found its place upon his lips, and he made his way over to greet her with a kiss on her cheek, offering her the flowers. "I know that I took off immediately after we had sex, and the timing wasn't right. But I want you to know that I could not stop thinking about you. I want to do this the right way. I want to get to know you, properly. How would you like to go on a date with me? And I don't mean a home-cooked brunch, or a tour of my home, followed by a one-night stand. I want to take you out on a proper date, where I pick you up from your home, and take you to my favourite spot in town, where we can have a candlelit dinner, and talk for hours about anything, and everything, and then we can go for a walk along the beach, and I'll kiss you under the moonlight, carry you back to the car. I want to do this the right way, Juno."

status : CLOSED. location : parleaux beer lab, before sunset. tags : @inaducursehqstarters

kilian sits comfortably under one of the weathered canopies just outside the parleaux beer lab, a hazy ipa sweating on the table in front of him. his fingers are coated in black from the charcoal pinched between them, sketching under the glow of the setting sun. lost in his craft, he finds some semblance of peace despite the subject of his sudden artistic inspiration. the details of the shaded drawing capture the intricate features of his best friend, lost in the fire that took their lives. they'd spend their friday evenings at breweries like this, decompressing after a long week of classes and enjoying the company of their closest friends. it was time taken for granted, so now he basks in every moment. relishing in each sip of his drink, recalling memories of laughter and deep conversations, and growing stronger in their bond with one another. now, the table is silent and only one of them remains to carry on the tradition. almost like clockwork and eager for a distraction from his grief, he spots the other step out of the brewery. a smile pulls at his lips and urges him to wave them over, setting aside his sketchbook and wiping his hands as clean as the napkins allowed. " hey ! are you meeting someone here ? 'cause i could use some company if you're not. " kilian says with confidence, before motioning to a seat at his table and leaning a tad closer to them, his tone taking a more playful turn, " besides, i'm getting pitiful stares from the other patrons here for drinking alone. if anything, i'm making it look cool . . . right ? "

@bloodbared // plotted

Temperance wasn't sure what it was about him.

Richter had never made much of an impression on them before. But they'd sailed through high school without a care in the world. They hardly noticed anything or anyone. He'd probably been there, and they just hadn't been paying attention, and then they'd left town.

Unfortunate circumstances led them back home, but that didn't mean they were going to give up on the Youtube grind. It was what was paying off their student loans, of course, so there wasn't much choice either way. They were back and looking for new leads on anything paranormal and they found him.

Temp had sat through the interview easily. Asked all the right questions at all the right times. Responded appropriately. Laughed when they were meant to, all the great things an interviewer did, they did. Things had a tendency to come easy to them, after all. But they were more than just enjoying the interview, they were enraptured by it. By him.

Maybe it was wrong, or weird to be so attracted to a man telling them about all the spilled guts he'd seen but they couldn't help themself. There was just something about him. Maybe it was their similar interests? Maybe it was having someone so engaged in what they were doing and saying? They didn't know. By the time the interview was over, Temperance was practically squirming in their seat.

They smile at Richter, glancing back at their camera set up. They stand and move to turn it off. Normally they'd leave it on to catch some post production, maybe some b-roll, anything like that. But not tonight. Tonight, they were going to shoot their shot. And who knew? Maybe luck would be on their side.

"listen." Their voice is casual. "i'm not normally so bold..."

Not on things like this, anyway. They'd only ever had one partner sexually and that had been one of the most awkward and uncomfortable experiences of their life.

"but like... i think you're really hot. and that was an amazing interview. and as much as i'd love to get to work on post-production... maybe." They stroll over to him, lightly lay a hand on his shoulder. "maybe we could spend a little more time together tonight?"

Kat doesn't know what's wrong with her lately.

It's infuriating. If she doesn't know the problem, how is she supposed to solve it? ...It can't be that she's getting scared. She decided a long time ago that she was going to find her dad, and that it didn't matter what happened to her... Never once has she wavered on that decision - in fact, it's the thought of giving up instead that fills her with a stomach-churning kind of fear.

But it's the small things she's noticing. ...Nothing is as fun as it used to be. Anxiety buzzes inside of her for no good reason. Sometimes, she feels as though nothing is real, and she's hit with a fleeting sense of desperation that makes her want to run back home and sleep until everything's fine again...

The worst part is that she's been putting off thinking about her plans. Even though she was so excited about this latest ritual, it feels like that excitement has drained away into nothing for no reason at all. Even Annie has noticed her bad mood as a result, teasing her about it a little, though there's genuine concern underneath that, too.

But today, she's not going to procrastinate anymore. The person she's seeing is supposedly a witch, and Kat's going to get something out of her for sure. Most people don't react well to talk of occult rituals, witch or not, so she'll have to be a little sneaky, but that doesn't bother her at all.

"Hey, this stuff isn't bad!" she exclaims, taking another gulp of her drink. She isn't lying, either - she's genuinely a little impressed. "Looks like you do really know your stuff after all. But hey, you can't blame me for being skeptical."

@magurisu ( starter! )

Tapping into his divine powers has done a number on Arya. Not because they're new and his body is still adjusting to the learning curve, not because they sapped his strength or tired him out, but because Arya's biggest issue is accessing them in general. Before he found out his maternal heritage, he couldn't even name all twelve zodiacs or figure out when Mercury was in Microwave or whatever it's called.

So, when tapping into his innate magic didn't work like he wanted it to, Arya trained in ways he knew he would excel.

Diving into a barrel roll to dodge an onslaught of auto shot arrows, Arya holds up his shield at the last second to block the second wave. He stays on the move, breaking into a run to move through the obstacle course. Once he gets behind a tree, he chance a look around the trunk to see the arrows already nocked and locating their target, but a few noises sound too close. Arya quickly brings his shield over his head to block the barrage from above, rushing forward through the rest of the course.

By the time he reaches the end, he's breathing heavy, and his ankles hurt. Sure, the arrows didn't have sharp tips, but they still hurt on collision--and for gods sake, he gets it. Protect the Achilles heel.

Arya goes to retighten the straps of his shield on his forearm, scanning his surroundings as he does so. For a second, he thinks he sees a very familiar face but there is no way in hell he's seeing that face. His mind is obviously playing tricks on him. Hell, is Mercury actually in Retrograde? Arya's eyes narrow, and there's a feeling that blazes in his chest.

No. Nope. It better not be him. Arya straps his shield a little too tight to his forearm and goes back to the beginning. Without another glance in that direction, he starts the obstacle over again.

@raging-ale

I miss you! I miss you! I miss you! Trust that your heart will always guide you true Soar up as high as @spectacular-solarflare's dreams can fly!

"No, no..."

The tanuki was walking in the rain. He held a clear umbrella along with wearing an insulated rain coat. His eyes were closed, not the best idea, but his mind was all jumbled up. It meant he didn't see a thing in front of him. Shoes press softly on the sidewalk, a gentle splashing sound each time.

Thoughts were on how to design a lens that could do everything. Take a well defined picture of the sun, while simultaneously being waterproof.

B O N K !

Should have been paying attention. Kounosuke walked nose first into a crossing light. A sharp cry of pain was emitted, as he held his nose for a moment. Rubbing it a few times, the tanuki came to the realization that he wasn't the only one here. How embarrassing.

"Sorry you had to see that."

Shaking his head, mostly in an attempt to get the dull ache to go away, he smiled.

"Well, anyway. What brings you out on a day like this?"

Being the friendly man he was, there was genuine curiosity in his voice. Strangers were just friends you hadn't met yet, right? She may not have looked like what society considered normal, but who cared? Goodness knew Kounosuke had been judged when he was younger, generally for his size.

That was the past. He was fully comfortable in who he was now, round, soft body included.

"You'd better be careful not to catch a cold! My name's Kounosuke."

He struck a pose straight out of an anime.

"I'm a photographer from the stars! Hehe."

The tension from the chase still haven't left xyr shaken body, even though they are in a safe space together for the past few minutes. Back in Father Lucas' home, Micah closely analyzes the being who calls themself the Doctor. Their existence seems to be beyond Human or Supernatural─ ancient and celestial, a significant speck that holds the endless storms and stars of time and space. Micah is fascinated by them, though, finding that xe isn't the first Antigod that they have met, xe can't help but be cautious. Antigods is a covert species. Most beings don't just know. "Who were the first two Antigods that you met?" Micah softly inquires the Doctor, sipping xyr mug of hot chocolate that Father Lucas offered before leaving them alone, a seeking in comfort.

"Again, I deeply apologize about the trouble." The 3D sentient shadows that ran after both the Doctor and xemself before they've stumbled upon each other, Micah soon slaughtering them with xyr swords. Xe notices a quiver of xyr hand in anxiety and sets the mug on the kitchen table, takes a chocolate piece from the tray. The offer still stands for the Doctor if they wish to eat some sweets. "There's been a several months worth of ongoing incident in some countries where these shadows and reflections became sentient and engaged in invasive behaviours to their sources." Since the Doctor isn't a Human, xe can explain these confidential details to them. Xe isn't working with Break Beyond Force anymore, so xe can't always hide anymore.

"Then they became more malicious over time. It's... how that chase happened." Despite the fact that there's so much that xe can do in times like this, guilt bleeds into xyr voice, everywhere. Micah flinches at the burning in xyr eyes and wipes the tears. Xyr Awareness has been blocked so xe wouldn't know their origin out of respect. Yet, now, if the Doctor can sense what xe is, Micah can at least ask @tenfoldrage this.

"If I may ask, Doctor, what are you, exactly?"

& 𝐑𝐄.  AURALINE & LEOPOLD WAYNE / @violentdesires

COME WHAT MAY . it was a vow leopold and auraline made to each all those years ago — when she was just a simple girl and he her guardian . when the world was such a perfect place and all they had were each other . a vow never forgotten even as the seasons changed ( winter to spring , autumn to summer ) . as storm clouds gathered , a river wide separating them for a time . even then their love never died . it never would . not even with the end of time . and it did take time for them to get where they are now . by each other's side once again , everything revolving around each other as it was meant to be . yet even after all this time , she never knew that it could feel like this — like she's never seen the sky before . not until she watches her warlock climb those steps , each one closer to her , his eyes bright like the glowing moon . as he stands by her side in front of her court , taking her hand in his , making that same vow . come what may . not just for her , but to her people . to be their king . the king that they need . the king they deserve . her heart sings to him and she knows he can hear it : telling him that she is giving him everything . everything that she is — from that simple girl she use to be to the queen she is now . the tears in her golden eyes reflect back every single memory that took them to where they are now — the good and the bad , and all the good that has yet to come . and when their lips meet , the stars collide overhead ; she vanishes in his kiss , sealing their vow once again . come what may .

with crowns on both heads , they turn to the crowd , standing together . and auraline knows that the greatest thing she'll ever learn is this : to love and be loved in return . together , they are stronger . singing out their song . come what may . and their love , their vow , will strength her court . their court . the celebration that follows moves with such perfect grace — leopold spinning her in his arms , over and over again , the two dancing among their fae until she's dizzy with ' i love yous ' and come what mays and she's out of breathe . she pulls him away from the crowd , feet still dancing as she leads him out of the room and into another — an empty balcony away from prying eyes ( guards standing at the entrance , doors closed to give them privacy , a moment finally alone ) . her cheeks are flushed as she looks to her king , hand still in his . ❛ so how does it feel ? having all of this as yours ? ❜ she asks , free arm gesturing out to their land below them , trees and the hidden creatures in them spanning till where green meets the night sky .

continued from here ♡

@eroslike

before things come together they have to fall apart. most situations in her life have a tendency to work out that way. just when the young mother is beginning to reach that point of pure exhaustion, stars align so she can see him again. anali doesn't hesitate to take the opportunity and call ethan to relieve some of that tension that might or might not be trying her sanity. just when she's about to snap that she's too goddamn tired for his shit she finds another irresistible reason to stay. the attitude is staying too, until it's temporarily fucked out of her. typically, she disliked it when people called her that. not because it's untrue, but because most say it with contempt. this time, the way he said it drove her crazy because he said it in a tone heavy with lust in every syllable. whatever snarky remark was on the tip of her tongue to bite back at him with dies when the tip of his cock enters her for the first time in far too long. the grip she has around him is a tight fit like the hold he had on her, a thick forearm unyielding against a delicate throat. his voice is hot against her ear, stern and clear enough to cut through the uneven whimpers and moans as he finally bottomed out inside her. a warm hand splayed over the lower part of her torso; anali wondered if he could feel his length pressing against his own fingers as he stretched her out on his cock. the salacious thought lingers in her mind for only a second before his hips settled into a ruthless, steady rythm. anali was already crying out each time he ruts into her. but when his hand travled down to toy with her glistening slit, then back up to her buxom breasts her cries turn into choked screams. the striking brunette spasmed around him as he buried himself so deep her eyes fluttered upwards. her brain was working hard to form the conntection necessary for her mouth to string words together as an answer. "m—mmhn, 'feels like a lot. this feels like exactly what i— a-aahh, needed!"

starter for @thiefofcrows!

She didn't spend much time in Little Ravka if she could help it; it made her melancholy and homesick, not for the country that she had never seen, but for the distant land of a half-remembered childhood where she and her mother had lived in a cramped one-room tenement a few blocks away, before Lizabeta sold her labour to a mercher to support Sigrid and then found that her new master had no place for a Grisha indenture's underfoot brat. She couldn't remember if it was a better time or not, but it felt enough like one from her hazy memories that it was best forgotten.

However, it was neutral territory. The gangs didn't operate much this close to the Ravkan embassy with its Second Army representatives, well-trained Grisha with no interest in indulging Ketterdam bullshit on their doorstep, and the cafe did have very good tea, a cup of which sat untouched before her while she tried to look calm and relaxed. For all his reputation as more than a little unhinged - a well-earned reputation, as she understood it - she had never heard of Brekker escalating a negotiation without provocation. She had no interest in provoking him, and if she did, Breina was tucked into a booth on the other side of the cafe with a small mountain of blini to keep her occupied, so it wasn't as if Sigrid was on her own. So why was she this anxious?

Well. For starters, there was the general chaos the Razorgulls had been host to over the last few weeks. Conrad's disappearance had unsettled them all - and Sigrid had had to play up a concern felt for an entirely different reason as she tried to get it under control and made a show of hunting for who was responsible. The dutiful daughter to the man who had imagined himself her adoptive father, who, thank the Saints, was now dead and gone on the Reaper's Barge. She and Breina and Tore had kept their heads cool for six weeks, and nobody seemed the wiser as to what had happened that moonless night by the canal, least of all Conrad Gull's mourning compatriots.

And to continue, there was the matter of Tore's little sister. The thirteen-year-old Fjerdan Grisha was what really kept her up at night, worried out of her mind about how on earth she was supposed to keep Vigdis safe. Had Sigrid been so young when she was thirteen? She could swear she'd felt like a grown woman even then, had certainly been treated like one, but maybe that was just the price of a childhood in Ketterdam. You grew up fast, or you didn't get to grow up at all.

There was no clock in the cafe, so Sigrid couldn't tell if she was painfully early or if Brekker was late, but either way, the waiting was excruciating. He had agreed to speak with her, and if nothing else she was sure he was good for that. With a sigh she kicked at the legs of the empty chair across from her, just in time to see the cafe door open out of the corner of her eye and Dirtyhands himself in the doorway. She waved to catch his attention and sat back in her chair, willing the tension out of her body as she took a sip of her (drinkable, finally) tea. "I was worried you'd gotten lost," she said conversationally, and then grinned. "Should I have given you directions as the crow flies?"

@imprvdente // starter call. 

The tour has been a bittersweet affair, to put it lightly. The rush, the celebration, and Katniss, on his arm, tucked against his side, threading her fingers with his, loving him… But the love isn’t real. He knows that now, and wishes he didn’t. The celebration is just as false in many of the Districts they visit; the quiet, drawn faces of the crowds, so full of hate for the two of them, remind him inescapably that their living meant so many other deaths. As if the nightmares, or the numb, unfeeling prosthetic where his leg used to be, would ever let him forget it. Putting on a smile for them seems such a violence… 

Returning to the Capitol for another interview as the Victory Tour winds down is similarly fraught. It is a relief to be back among faces that congratulate his living, not condemn it, but he can only be a spectacle here. These are not his equals. He may be first class among the Districts now, but he will always be worth less than any Capitol citizen. He stands in the no man’s land between the two now, he and Katniss both, and alone. But maybe not irrevocably. 

This interview is for the cameras, of course, and it’s Caesar that sits across from him, but with another — the victor that’s worked her way to the host’s seat: Fish. Perhaps another victor is the only one capable offering him an insight into his new position. Does she feel at home in the Capitol, truly? Or is the estrangement just easier to bear here than in her own Districts, where she is reviled? Could Peeta achieve the same? Does he want to? 

“Glad to be here with you,” he starts, welcoming the swell of applause as he takes his own seat and waves to the studio audience, “all of you. I feel a little outnumbered between the two of you. You know, the ride to the studio’s the longest I’ve been without Katniss in months. We’ll see how long I last.” His smile is conspiratorial, the banter, an invitation to his hosts — an agreement to put on a good show.

@therapardalis, indy jones starter

The university had been kind enough to grant Pavel's extended leave of absence without it negatively impacting his path to graduation. He was fully ready to argue with them and sit the final exams right then and there to prove he would be fine, that the few weeks he needed off to return to Russia for personal affairs would not set him back, but the deans could not argue with top marks and additional research efforts on top of it.

One less headache to worry about.

He'd spent about eight days of this extended leave dealing with the legal affairs of the responsibility thrust upon him by his great-grandfather's passing before leaving it to lawyers and stepping back. Cleaning, paperwork, junk removal, taking care of the estate—the responsibilities grew like the heads of a hydra, two more for every one he tackled.

Pavel did not need a home full of ghosts and junk—it was part of the reason why he ran to America to pursue his education in the first place—he only needed money to cover what the grants wouldn't and keep food on the table.

Selling it all, however, meant unboxing things, throwing out what wouldn't be worth the time and effort, and sorting through the rest on the off-chance there was anything he wanted to bring back with him. There had been an old wooden box in particular, one explicitly mentioned in the paperwork, that demanded Pavel's attention. Four days after he plucked the legal burdens from his shoulders, he finally had the chance to sit down and pry it open.

The leather-bound notebook was first to catch his attention. Flipping it open, Pavel was met with walls of text, some in what he assumed was his great-grandfather's handwriting, the rest in a language he had no hope in deciphering. The letters curved in ways he was unfamiliar with, but he could tell just at a glance that it was old, older even than Old Slavonic. There was something heavy wrapped in thick burlap, the fabric dirty and frayed.

Pavel couldn't help but unwrap it, only to furrow his brows at the strange item. The contents were just puzzling enough to delay his return to America even longer in favour of finding this woman mentioned in the journal, this Thera Pardalis, who supposedly worked in England.

So for the fourth time since this all began, he boarded a flight, bound this time for Heathrow.

If I never have to get on a plane again, it will be too soon, Pavel thinks as he turns down the first block to his right, a plain black backpack slung over his shoulders, heavy with the weight of the box's contents. Customs was a nightmare, the accents were something new to get used to, and he hardly knew left from right in a place like this.

London was a huge sprawling city he'd seen only briefly as a backdrop in films or in old photographs about the wars.

For a man with such a strong sense of direction, this was hell. He'd asked three different people for directions to the British Museum before finally reaching the extravagant building that looked like it belonged more in Greece than here in London.

Hurrying inside, Pavel tightens his hold on the strap of his backpack and approaches one of the museum curators. He asks after this woman, this Thera, and is promptly waved off to the next room with only a description of her to go off of.

Following those instructions, he spots a woman that appears to fit the description given to him standing by one of the exhibits and approaches. "You—You are Thera? I am Pavel Chekov. I have questions; I need to speak to you."

starter for @invidentius

Music is pounding through the speakers, bass low enough to feel in his chest, stirring his heart into a new rhythm. There's lights painting everyone in alternating colors and shadows. It's all brilliantly, noisily alive and he doesn't have to try to think of how to fit in or watch what he says. If people here judge him for some reason, so what? Even if being in this hole in the wall, nothing of a place were to be heard about in the 'high society' bullshit circles, it wouldn't change a thing about how they treat him.

Makes things so much... Easier. Lets him breathe. Appreciate being alive again like he rarely gets to. Like he should get to. He lets it carry him through song after song until he absolutely has to get something to drink.

Sliding through the crowd up to the bar its a shock to see a figure he recognizes. Granted, not one he's gotten to actually meet personally before. He knows from personal experience not to put too much stock in the rumor mill, but it does mean him and Luthor are both on the outs of that circle in general. Which may be something worth exploring.

So fuck it, he's going for it. What's the worst that can happen? 'Oh don't think about that.'

He slides into the spot that opens up next to the guy, puts his arms on the bar, waves to the tender to get a drink, then turns to offer a smile and his hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Jason Wayne. I'm going to be awkwardly honest; I know who you are. I did come to talk to you because of it. It's got nothing to do with any of the reasons why I'm sure your parent or mine would want us to talk. I completely understand if you have no clue who the fuck I am and doubt every single word out of my mouth. How's your night going?"

♡ ♡ | 2 Hwangs down // @rising-dawn​

though it was sad, deiji had gotten used to spending christmas without the rest of their family. she was the first shipped off the brighton, and the first to run off and become a trainee. it was daisy’s life long dream to put distance between her and her parents, but it came with the price of jia, molan and dawn. and for awhile it was a sacrifice she was willing to make, dodging family zoom calls and leaving group chats when the holiday season rolled around. but once dawn entered the industry that inherent loneliness she felt navigating it only pushed her to make sure he never felt that way. 

this year they were touring again for the holidays and while last year they were able to get a break this time her and their youngest were stuck in phoenix for the holidays, absent two of their sibling clan. but daisy hadn’t wanted the year to close out in desolace and after deciding their matching hermes bracelets being delivered to his hotel room with a bow was shabby work as an older sister, she opted on at the very least, treating him to a few drinks. the desert air at dusk was chilly but the roof top bar at the cotton tail lounge was peaceful while still being a fun place to hang out with her baby brother.

“here,” she said, putting her cosmo down on its coaster, reaching into the chanel purse for the little leather box with gold detailing, “merry christmas, and happy new year my youngest child. i got myself one to match.” deiji guided it over the wooden table with her elaborate, red acrylics, a smile bright on her matching red lips.

Mikey can feel himself shaking.

He hates it. This weakness - this fear and the heart-pounding terror that, at times like these,  always emerges from so deep in his core that it feels like it defines him. He’s supposed to be strong. How can he be a leader when he can’t carry the people he loves through their pain and beyond? He can barely even manage to stand on his own two feet, let alone protect the people he cares about.

He’s always been weak, and he’s always hated the weak. The weak can’t do a thing. If they just tried a little harder, fought a little more, then they’d be able to protect themselves and the people they love... but they don’t even try. The weak make excuses, and bring nothing but misery to those around them, and there’s no-one out there weaker than Mikey.

He can lie, and deny it to himself, but... at times like these, he knows the truth.

But that doesn’t mean he’ll accept it. No matter how much it hurts, he’ll stop his body from shaking and put a smile on his face as if nothing is wrong... because Baji deserves it, after all - he’s the one who really suffered here.

As he enters the hospital room, Mikey feels his heart come to a stop. It’s just for a moment, as he sets eyes on Baji - who’s alive, he’s not dead; oh god he could’ve died too - but a barely-strained smile forms on his face regardless. He’s scared, because he doesn’t know if Baji will be happy to see him. But..

“Baji. ...You really scared everyone, you know.”

@prxenuntius​ ( starter for baji! )

@ayahimes: ❝ I hope you aren’t underestimating me just because I’m cute. That would be a big mistake. ❞

The Yashiro Commission was not a place he was all that familiar with. Truthfully, none of the Tri-Commission’s Commissioner Estates were. Or Estates more generally. He’d grown up in an orphanage with holes in the floor, and slowly worked his way to becoming a samurai with the help of his adoptive father who ran the place. The closest he’d ever gotten to a place like this was during his training. And, well, look at how that had turned out.

Ronin didn’t have a great reputation within Inazuma, and for good reason. A samurai without a clan, let alone a lord, was nothing more than a weapon unmoored to any master, willing to cut anything in its way. Perhaps he was no different. After all, his clan had meant to execute him, and he’d only barely escaped because a guard who had known his father was willing to look the other way. There were now only a small number of things stopping him from descent into frivolous violence like the many other ronin wandering the islands. And he could count them on less than one hand. They were, simply: his own sense of honor and the knowledge that the real murderer of his adoptive father was still out there somewhere. Frankly, he didn’t even quite care about clearing his own name or saving his own reputation so much as he did about just finding out why it had happened in the first place. 

So he made some assumptions. Anyone who had lived in a place like this their whole lives was unlikely to be of much use to him, at least not any further than any information they could provide him, were they even willing to do so. Even in that case, he had to be careful about how he went about asking for the information. Even letting on his real name could be the end of the line for him if the wrong people with the wrong knowledge heard it. Why would this girl know anything about a murder in a small village so many miles away? Why would she be willing to share it with anyone if she did? Why would she even let him stand where he did if she knew who he really was?

Perhaps he was underestimating her. Or, equally if not more likely, perhaps she was mistaking his hesitation for underestimation.

Still. He knew his place. 

“Apologies,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not sure I should involve you in my business at all.I wouldn’t want you to get dragged into something that you may know nothing about as of yet.”