Samurai

"---Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin." Law Route Flynn Housing: ----- [[Affiliated with ---------.]] --CURRENTLY INACTIVE--

[tajujinkaku]

suffocation - isabeau | flynn

[tajujinkaku]

She dimly heard his words through the red fog, comprehension coming a few seconds too late for comfort. He had come so close - she would have flinched away if she could, but the pain had shut down most of her control. It had taken all of her will to not cry out.

And he had given her his scarf, without hesitation. Her anger was wavering now, dissolving away into doubt. Was she truly right to direct it at him? Perhaps it was mere circumstance that had forced his hand. But could she trust that assumption? He could have hidden depths that even her perception could not plumb…

Before their whole world fell apart, she had been able to understand his silence. To read it, in all its textures and tints, and to be able to communicate with him simply through subtle gestures - it was something she treasured. But he had closed himself to her, then, becoming unreadable. Blank expressions, blank silences, and perhaps a blank heart, too.

She tried to force some healing magic through her fingers, displacing the electric sparks that had long been burning welts into her palms. The pain from her scar lessened, the fog clearing - not completely, but enough to allow her to think again. And she knew that she could not stay angry at him for long. She loved him too much.

He was right. It was all over now. But what was there to be learned? Her own uselessness? A complete, utter failure for her to even do one thing properly? And what of the people obliterated by his hand? There was nothing to be done, nothing that could be done. Only ink-black despair remained.

The brunette struggled to bring her vision into focus, watching his eyes for any sign of genuine emotion.

[blancfortis-blog]

Those brown eyes of hers. Even from the smallest contact, they once were able to crack open the tightly lidded box that held his emotions, forcing a smile to his lips in the least. But now, the search she had begun hadn't need to go any further, there was nothing. Nothing in the sense that that "box" had been shut and locked away, the key thrown into oblivion to prevent the release of cries from his soul. Perhaps, just perhaps she had noticed the hint of guilt that clouded those green eyes before they turned away from her attention.

His hand hovered over her own, resting on her slender fingers briefly before he rose back to his feet and returned them at his side. His presence was, since the beginning, a mental disturbance to the other; this time, the male deciding back on his original attempt of regressing to a secluded area. It was simply time to leave. Retrieving his Samurai sword from it's idle position, he stepped away from the female and into the direction of his chosen room. 

"If you need me, I will be in my quarters" he disclosed, should Isabeau ever have a reason to reach out for him. Those were his final words, the tone as dull as ever; Flynn entering the bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

[tajujinkaku]

dealings

[tajujinkaku]

Helen had been monitoring Werewombat Ward 7 for quite some time now.

It was very interesting, how these two humans managed to elicit such intense emotion in each other. Especially the woman. In Helen’s mind-sight, she was practically an inferno. Too bad that her love had caused her to become embroiled in two other aspects of the emotional spectrum. 

The woman (what was her name? Isabeau?) exhibited a standard trait of female humans. To wallow too much in such an emotion would be voluntarily hurting themselves - how illogical. Pathetic, even.

But she was a key, now. Her weakness was leverage for negotiation.

The puppet made her way briskly down the corridor. Flynn was already there - she could tell. The violet light was weak in him, being obscured by blazing green, but it was present nevertheless.

"You are Flynn, I presume?" Helen stopped a sensible distance away from him. " I sent the letter. From your presence here, I take it that you are willing to hear me out?"

[blancfortis-blog]

The voice of Burroughs followed by a female's had alerted him, Flynn shooting a glance directly at the source. He could have sworn that very tone was incredibly similar, almost mimicking Isabeau's; yet the stature of the other was nothing alike. It must have just been a trick of the mind, nothing else; the amount of rest he had was quite small after all.

Brushing the thought away, he lifted himself off the wall and into a straight posture, the male maintaining the distance she had placed between them. "That is correct" he states, his voice holding no sort of emotion. So she was the one to provide assistance and healing to his fellow Samurai, very well.

"Yes, you're free to explain yourself" he granted, waiting patiently for the other to speak of her plans. He was curious of what exact healing she will provide to his roommate and 'former' partner and what his participation required. His approval to cooperate all depended on her manner of clearing his inner doubt.

[jonathandammit]

To be completely honest, Jonathan easily welcomed the silence. Maybe it was because his friend never spoke much, and he was used to pretending that things were right and nothing needed to be said the quiescent hum of noiselessness.

Or perhaps, he just didn’t want to continue to dwell on it.

"Have you seen anyone else we recognize?" Jonathan asked, brushing past the topic of their mortal actions and sweeping it someplace where the dust was thicker and ashes of thoughts collected. "Or did you recently arrive here as well?"

(Of course he just arrived here don’t be nonsensical)

"Well, we should live in concinnity now. Perhaps we should go find our rooms?" Jonathan turned to Flynn, putting on another smile. Instead of forgetting about the living and breathing, his thoughts wandered back, and he wondered what would become of their memory; were they to become cenotaphs in a forgotten corner, or remembered in the same lore and fairy-stories that were the little exposure they attained?

[blancfortis-blog]

Just like the other, he accepted the silence. He, after all, lived a majority of his life in silence, it was a simple sense of familiarity. Even if it was broken by the delivered question, Flynn paid no mind. Another nod of his head was followed after, his eyes shifting attention to elsewhere "Yes, Isabeau is here as well. She happens to be roomed with me."

Living with the female had both it's pros and cons, each day being a new battle to keep whatever of friendship they had left intact, something that proved to be much more difficult than fighting demons at a daily basis; a true challenge. Nonetheless, those thoughts, he would be sure to keep to himself.

"...Where did they assign your housing? I can assist you." Albeit he was not all too familiar with the city grounds, the apartments were conveniently placed in a district. Had his sense of direction failed, surely Burroughs could provide support with the little mapping information the AI had gathered. 

[roboshoujo]

[tajujinkaku]

dealings

Someone slipped a letter under the door of Werewombat Ward 7. It consisted of a single piece of paper folded in half, with words written in an elegant script. It was inked in violet, and concise - not only in words, but writing - sharp flourishes falling into place in every line.

Flynn.

I have read the recent article in the Sh’tori press that pertains to you. Do not be alarmed. I am not here to mock you, only to engage in a proper civilized exchange.

I know of a way to heal your lady friend.

But of course, it is not exactly easy. I will require compensation - of a type which is accessible to you with minimal effort.

If you are interested, be outside your apartment at 7am tomorrow.

There seemed to be no sign-off name nor return address.

[blancfortis-blog]

Bending over and retrieving the suspiciously placed paper, Flynn nonchalantly lifted it's fold and began to read the written contents. Ah yes, that recent article, such a embarrassment to be pointed out in that manner--even so, whom exactly was this sender and what sort of compensation? Questions flooded his mind as he considered the decision of accepting this strange offer. It was all so sudden, could it be trusted? Simply stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket without a word, the Samurai turned from the door and regressed back to his room.

--

6:57 am

With his back rested on the stony surface of the building wall, the male awaited for this individual to arrive as requested on the letter. He had accepted to meet them at the assign hour in order to seek more information--for Isabeau's sake. If the claim of healing her would prove to be true, then by all means he would comply. Of course, before anything is truly affirmed, there needed to be details.

A set of green eyes scouted the area for anyone who seemed to draw near him. The writer was of a masked identity, Flynn having no idea as to whom it may be, yet it was best to keep watch--if he can keep his eyes open long enough. He was stuck in a mildly groggy state for he had little to no sleep the previous night. His mind had been running the entire time, turning like clockworks with no signs of stopping; even now it silently worked. Just for a moment, a second was all he needed to rest his eyes...

Master, there is someone approaching...

[tajujinkaku]

suffocation - isabeau | flynn

[tajujinkaku]

She perceived her surroundings as disjointed frames - fragmented images and sounds, as if watching a distant world through a window of broken glass. It was a world she did not want to be in, not so much of a world as an aftermath of something that should have never been. It was a train of events that she had tried to fight, failed, and paid with her life. 

And now, for him to be here… was this not a cruel joke played by fate? What else would be demanded of her before she was finally free from this terrible torment?

His words roused her somewhat from her conflicted state - if only to ally the two opposing factions into a doubly intense one. It was an emotion targeted at two entities, but a single emotion, nevertheless.

Once upon a time, hearing him speak would have brought her great joy. In a world filled with grey areas, he had guided her, and in the process she had finally learned to form her own point of view. It banished her uncertainty, and would have done much more - if not for his own descent into cold amorality. 

How ironic, for her certainty to turn her against the very person who had helped her find it.

So, he was sorry. But now, what difference did those words make? The deed had already been done, and there was no turning back the wheels of time. 

Are you saying that it can be forgiven in the name of God? No… that is loathsome…! Even if God were to forgive, I would never pardon this atrocity!

To give in to her heart would go against everything she had learned from him. And yet, if she persisted, it would destroy whatever little chance that remained for reconciliation…

… she found that, deep down, it was indeed her wish.

How loathsome, indeed.

A particular sensation detached itself from the background clamour, scouring a path straight to the forefront of her thoughts. It was pain, yes, but different from the others. Not one cast by the liquid ice of despair, nor the scattering of pinpricks that she had relied on to distract herself. This one burned, incandescent, consuming every shred of her remaining self-restraint to try not to scream.

She shakily raised a hand to the scar that had marked her suicide wound. It came away red.

Was she going to die a second time? Faced with such cruel circumstance, it seemed like a much better choice. There would be no more pain, whether mental or physical… only merciful, blessed silence… nothing.

[blancfortis-blog]

Just as he thought, there was no response towards his apology; not a phrase nor a shift in expression. He hoped that it wouldn't be the case, that she would say something, whether it would be in acceptance or not. But it was alright, he expected the cold treatment from the beginning, there was no disdain held towards her. It was well deserved.

Tearing eyes away from Isabeau, Flynn stood up from his seat, the thickness in his throat preventing him from speaking another word. At this point, offering his confession was all the Samurai can give. His presence alone afflicted the female and there was simply no more to say. Perhaps he can clear out his mind in his room, where he cannot hurt her further. 

That was his idea, at least until a shot of red had came into peripheral view. The color was vibrant and glossy, coming on her fingers and painting them. It could not have been her scarf, the thin material was still placed on the table and untouched, with that it could have possibly meant---His head cocked to the side, a stern expression on his features as emerald eyes identified the crimson, not only on her hands but on her neck too; the mark of her suicide.

What exactly was she waiting for? For one whom was skilled in healing, the other could instantly close up her wound and stop the bleeding; none of the latter action being taken by the brunette. It was almost as if she was a statue, a being of no life that simply sat on the couch blankly.

There was no hesitation for Flynn to act, however, the male taking off his own scarf and lowering to his knees to wrap the white neck-wear around Isabeau's injury, hoping that it will limit the blood flow momentarily. "Are you going to sit there and allow yourself to bleed to death?" he questioned, a serious tone taken in his words "Wake up."  Was she regressing to her doubtful stage? "You cannot rewrite history, you can only learn from it and move on..." he had muttered thoughtlessly, a disciplining statement that he himself needed to practice.

[jonathandammit]

The question Jonathan had been dreading resounded from Flynn’s lip even more loudly than it rang in his mind. The million answer he’s thought up to reply to the damning words were, most likely, for his own conscience; Jonathan hissed at himself, for thinking of such selfish reasons to justify that they were right to forget about Walter and tear his sacrifice asunder?

"You didn’t do wrong, Flynn. Absolutely not!" The Samurai asserted a bit too strongly, the memory of honeycomb walls surrounding them in light returning. "I was the perpetrator to pick a fight with Walter’s ideals. If we had never clashed, perhaps, we would’ve never driven him away… and my ‘sacrifice’ to fuse with the Heralds was nothing more than a cowardly refuge, now that it is clear death was only postponed for you. I took the easy way out, and forced you to carry out the will with the weight of death over your head. There’s definitely nothing you’ve done wrong!"

What if I got it wrong, then…?

"Besides… in lore and ancient ‘Chinese’ culture, from the old books from my father’s Monastery, only the angels and gods live in Heaven. All humans are sent to Hell, but, there’s a good Hell and a bad Hell. This place… well, we’re not being tortured, are we?" Jonathan evaded.

[blancfortis-blog]

He had flinched at Jonathan's sudden strong tone, each word spoken by the other seemingly tormenting him. Jonathan wasn't at complete fault here as he was saying, the samurai himself was guilty for allowing himself to be moved by the Heralds and the ideal of East Mikado being preserved with peace. Dipping his chin to his chest, his gaze following along as Flynn pulled on the collar of his blue jacket. He couldn't allow his friend to take the blame, it wasn't righteous; yet if another word was spoken concerning the topic, it could only further agonize the both of them.

A soft exhale was let out, green eyes turning back to the main attention, mixed feelings hidden in them. There was just so much to digest at this very moment, he would need quite the amount of time to sort things out; but the point Jonathan had noted did raise his curiosity. As a Casualry, books of that kind were extremely rare in the Village of Kiccigiorgi and even as so it was difficult to get hands on. Tall tales about Heaven and Hell were most common among families and their children. Could this be the Good Hell that was mentioned?

With a nod, Flynn complied with the other "I suppose so." At least, in the time he has been here, there hasn't been any discoveries of torture to the civilians and he hoped it stayed that way.

[tajujinkaku]

Hey, samurai girl!

Isabeau: You hear sharp cackling from somewhere in the distance. The source appears to draw nearer - coming from above, you begin to realize - and soon you feel the weight of a small creature dropping above your head. The imp cackles again, throwing a small, circular object onto the floor and smoke rises, enveloping scene. It does cover the entirety of your vision so you can’t see, but you hear the words:

“Trying to kill magical girls, are you? Okay I getcha, I’m giving you even more magical ways to kill, girlie!" At this the imp vanishes, jumping away from your head as the smoke begins to fade.

You spot this object underneath your feet:

Inside you find small packets of different colours, each labelled with the words:

"E X P L O S I V E  G L I T T E R"

[tajujinkaku]

[ I’m going to answer in lieu of my muse since she’s probably going to electrocute the imp on sight or something. ]

[ /tosses package in corner of ww7. Maybe Flynn’ll find it >D ]

[blancfortis-blog]

A  random box lying in the corner? Pink and decorated with a nice ribbon, this surely did not belong to him. Wondering what the box would contain, Flynn carefully picked it up and opened the lid to observe it's contents, raising a brow at his discovery; little packets of shiny coloured grains, each labeled with Explosive Glitter. What was this glitter---and these were explosives?! The samurai stiffened at the realization that any sudden movements could end his life a second time and take a part of the housing along with him as well. 

Who would even set this here? Perhaps it had belonged to Isabeau, she was the only one whom lived with him and this was decorated quite nicely. Yet, Isabeau and explosives? Hm. Placing the box on the nearest table with caution, Flynn took immediate leave, but not before scribbling something for the female, granted that she would take a look at it.

                      ---Might this be yours?

[jonathandammit]

Jonathan felt the lava plume beneath his feet, with a familiar uneasiness settling in his mind. Before he got the chance to look for anyone, or take off into the new world by himself, Burroughs began to whirr into life again, screen flashing and face surfacing with her usual expression.

> Master, I’m picking up signals of another Gauntlet nearby.

"Another Gauntlet, you say?" Jonathan said enthusiastically, though the uneasiness still continued to coarse through him. "That’s good news! Could you please check for who it is, Burroughs?"

> Scanning…

"…"

"…Burroughs?"

It was quite ironic to get surprised by Flynn’s rare voice, when he was trying to avoid such a situation by consulting Burroughs. Jonathan’s feet shifted towards the source of the words, and a smile peaked on his face (with the uneasiness shoved to the soles of his feet, but that way he felt like he could fall over and break).

"Flynn! It’s good to see you too-" Suddenly, his expression fell, and his fingers stiffened. "Though… that means you’re deceased as well, I presume…?"

(It wasn’t like he didn’t expect it. Rather, the true reality that so many lives were in the grasp of his hands and he threw them away including his friend’s was finally sinking in.)

[blancfortis-blog]

A slow nod from his head motioned the response to the inquiry, the faint smile from earlier now gone. Despite feeling quite alive in this infernal city, he was informed of the area being a place of afterlife and of course, he would never forget the dread as he watched the Great Abbadon begin it's work during his last moments; being told of his expiration was truly unnecessary---as for his own friend's.

Seeing that the other's visage had faltered as well, Flynn briefly glanced away and focused elsewhere, speculating if the question he wished to raise would be improper to ask at the very moment. But then again, when would the time be right other than now? Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, an action now out of pure habit, the Samurai went ahead and took the chance.

Making eye contact with his companion, Flynn began "About this place, what do you think?" Albeit the fact that an imp had spoken during his own arrival, the very location appeared as hell; a majority of the functions fitting many description that are depicted in tales. If both were in this city of fire, both had agreed to help the angels to rid of demons, it couldn't have been some coincidence. "Did we...do wrong?"

[goodtypography]

Order Chaos from Calligraffiti: The Graphic Art Of Niels Shoe Meulman

[jonathandammit]

The moment he saw fire and lava, he panicked.

The moment he saw an Imp, he basically attacked it.

It was probably not the best way to introduce himself.

"A t-thousand apologies, sir!" Jonathan uttered over and over to the imp once he understood the rules he was under. "Are you sure this isn’t Hell?" "Are you a demon?" "What circumstances are required to arrive here?" "…Are my friends here?" He rattled on over and over till the point it growled, shoved the name of his room scrawled messily on paper into his hand and stomped off, leaving him having to find it himself.

> I’m going to register that as a new quest.

"Burroughs!" He exclaimed, only just realizing that his Gauntlet still functioned. "Am I glad to see you’re here."

Jonathan looked at the paper in his hand, and looked around himself once again. Then, the Samurai gulped.

It really looked like Hell, alright. But the Imp was sure to drill into him that no it wasn’t Hell, but demons wouldn’t say their homeland is the place of tortured sinned souls, would they…? Or would they?

"How pathetic of me, to not even be able to predict the minds of what I was supposed to rid the world of…" Jonathan muttered, trying to look for signs pointing to his new home. "Burroughs, could you perform a scan for… other Gauntlets?"

> Already on it, Master.

"Ah, thank you!" Jonathan said, though it sounded more like pure habit by now. His eyes looked over the landscape, body stiff in the heat and unfamiliarity. Wormwombat Ward 10…

Perhaps he should start walking… or ask someone for help?

> Start walking > Ask for help

[blancfortis-blog]

> Master, I thought you should know, I'm picking up signals of another Gauntlet nearby.

Hm, another Gauntlet? How sudden, yet predictable. Those whom possessed the Gauntlets, at least his fellow prentices in particular, were known to be dead and this was the afterlife after all; having one of them turn up was almost expected. Hoisting himself up from his seat on a bench, Flynn immediately raised his left arm towards him, imparting a request for the AI "Burroughs, can you identify the owner?" 

> Scanning...I've checked and according to my data, it appears to be Jonathan.

Ah Jonathan. The upholder of law and order, his good friend whom had been chosen as a partner in to decide for the future of East Mikado. If the other was nearby, as Burroughs had noted, it would be quite the opportunity to meet once again with him. His gaze was now lifted and in search for said Samurai, looking for a familiar face in an unfamiliar crowd made up of humans and demons alike. Demons, those creatures which were to be eradicated for peace, and now here he was once again among them. It was right when Burroughs had addressed him did Flynn catch sight of something.

> Should I contact him, Master Flynn?

"No, don't. I believe I have already spotted him myself, thank you Burroughs." That blue uniform was instantly recognizable, not only because he wore one himself, but it was the very figure of a Samurai--no mistake. Returning his arm at his side, the male proceeds to approach his comrade, his expression stoic as always yet there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "It's good to see you again, Jonathan."

[blancfortis-blog]

*wants a lightsaber too*

//Okay late to the party for that, but I exploded exactly 50 times with my last reply and it's really late here so I can be excused, right? :'D Well anyways, I'm heading off to bed. I have Jonathan's open in my drafts because yeah heh.

If anyone else wants to thread, feel free to let me know! For now, good night y'all~

[tajujinkaku]

suffocation - isabeau | flynn

[tajujinkaku]

Burroughs had already detected the presence of another of her kind. However, the AI did not know what to do in such an instance. Was it even safe to inform her mistress about it? She was behaving in a radically different way from most other humans. Especially given the identity of that other Burroughs' master...

The mistress had been unconsciously producing sparks from her hands. For Burroughs' safety  she had coaxed the mistress to leave her gauntlet on the table. If she was provoked any further, even distance wouldn't protect the piece of hardware from electrical overload.

She decided to stay silent. 

> perspectivechange.jpg

Isabeau looked up as the door opened. Her conscious mind had finally managed to anneal enough for her to think, just barely. But it only registered a fraction of what happened next, and only had time to condense two thoughts into existence.

No. It can’t be.

It’s him.

And then it shattered, fragmenting not only her vision, but what little self-control she still had as well. Not even her subconscious mind could withstand the resultant torrent. It scoured away all things rational, leaving raw, exposed emotion. And pain.

Her instincts took over -  the part of any mind that was a callback to primeval times, the one that regulated vital processes far beneath any sentient being’s notice. And it told her to run. To flee from the one who had wounded her, and left her as a broken shell of what she once was.

But something equally visceral halted that train of thought in its tracks. It occupied the grey area between emotion and instinct, and had control over both. It told her to stay. To place her faith in the possibility of a reversal, and something that just might heal her mental scars.

Now, not only were her emotions conflicted, so were her instincts.

She did not know what to do.

Looking down at her hands, she dimly registered electric sparks flashing in and out of existence. So they were responsible for those pinpricks of pain - compared with her inner turmoil, focusing upon them was a release. The tears came again, and she was trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind.

[blancfortis-blog]

Even without a spoken response, her reaction towards his presence was clear enough of her own instability, the tears on her face evident of how broken she was because of him. Shifting in place and averting his gaze that once was on the female, there was tinge of guilt that nagged at the back of his mind, a notion wishing to speak out an apology for their differences and manner of approaching; yet, was there really a need for one? His ideals of removing the Filth that was Tokyo, abides only for the best of Mikado, the Kingdom he was to protect---their Kindgom.

The tension and silence in the air become so thick, the process of thought and wording was even becoming a task, Flynn brushing off the indifferent opinion with a soft sigh. The two were once friends, companions along with other fellow Samurai whom worked together in missions---things cannot continue to regress, now was the time to mend; repair the tear in between them. Easier said than done of course, had it been up to his heart, the male would preferably leave the scene. Rather, he wished that he could receive some sort of advice or instruction on what to say and do; if only Burroughs would provide some aid, but even the AI had gone quiet.

Figuring that standing in place would be of no use, Flynn commences a step and strides over, the sound of his boots against the floor filling the void of silence. Removing the belt that held his sword, he took a seat on the couch where Isabeau sat, giving both himself and her enough personal space as he sets his weapon down on the floor beside him. The sparking coming from hand was noted, an eyebrow quirking in concern. Nonetheless---

Turning his attention to the brunette, Flynn quietly studied her from his seat; green eyes fixed upon her trembling form, only briefly looking away when they had caught sight of the scar on her neck. It seemed as if things were to progress, it was his turn to be the speaker, however reserved he may be. Hardly confident in his words, regardless the Samurai drew in a breath and began "Despite that our disagreement is now in the past, my apology perchance is insignificant to you. But I do want you to know is that I am sorry." 

Sorry for everything? Perhaps. Mikado was at peace because of his sacrifice, the initial goal (minus the part of his death). He couldn't be sorry for that. The newly acquired remorse lied in the suffering that his actions had made others go through, those including Isabeau. One can only wonder how many more torn souls rested in the city due to the male's deeds.

[blancfortis-blog]

//So, even though I'm slow as heck and there are never enough...would anyone like to thread? Flynn only has one and uh, yeah. If so, just holla~ I'll make some starters too ;D

[blancfortis-blog]

Give me Burroughs and I'll pay you with drugs

meet me at werewombat ward 7, there gimme the goods

"I’m sorry but I will not give you my Gauntlet, nor do I want your drugs."

[blancfortis-blog]

Your fringe is funny, mister

[tajujinkaku]

suffocation - isabeau | flynn

She did not know what to do.

After what had transpired, her conscious mind had shut down. It filled her mindscape with the mental equivalent of white noise - meaningless sensations and images, designed only to occupy any available space. Any coherent thoughts she tried to form slipped out of focus, like water through her fingers. 

Drip.

She was vaguely aware of her surroundings - the living room of an apartment completely empty, one she had all to herself.  A native had led her here, evidently disturbed by her lack of response. Burroughs had stepped in to fill up the void in the conversation, and the AI probably knew much more than she did. But that didn’t matter, not anymore.

There were no demons here. Thus, no reminders.

Drip.

The silence pressed in on her from all sides, driving away any thoughts that struggled into existence. 

A table was in front of her, a black shape that occupied a quarter of her field of vision. A splash of red interrupted it somewhere in the centre. Her scarf. She was not sure whether to leave it there or not. 

There were pinpricks of pain scattered somewhere on her palms - she had probably injured herself unintentionally - but their existence was welcome. They drew her attention away from that other pain, an agony inked exquisitely into her veins and kept delicately in check by force of will alone. It was something that could not be summed up in words - a pain that was merely mental, but somehow exerted its influence as if it was physically present.

Drip.

As long as she did not remember, it would stay lurking in the background, behind the glass wall that her subconscious had thrown up. As long as she did not remember, it  would not have happened.

[blancfortis-blog]

Dead? Well of course, that information was already known. Just as Merkabah had been tainted with the filth of demons, so had he and deserved death to preserve the clean world and order for Mikado. The very event was crisp in Flynn's memory, each flashback as if reliving the deed. The Whites, Jonathan, Isabeau, Walter, and the Great Abaddon to eliminate Tokyo; but that mattered little now and laid in the past. May the Kingdom live with lasting peace, albeit being a shame the prentice would not being able to witness it himself.

> Master, you're spacing out again.

The familiar voice of Burroughs had teared him away from his thoughts, green eyes lifting to see a door now in front of him, words scripted on a nameplate specifically noting: Werewombat Ward 7. Ah yes, he had asked the AI to scan the unfamiliar area as an imp directed him to were this Werewombat Ward was. This must have been the assigned location to where he must stay in this afterlife.

> There is also something I have to tell you...

At this point, Flynn was just too exhausted to pay any attention to what Burroughs may say, simply wishing to rest his tired body upon a bed and fall asleep; although, it always noted important information worth taking notice of. Turning the knob of the apartment door and stepping into the housing, his gaze caught sight of something--someone he'd never expect to see. There she was sitting upon a couch, appearing out of place with everything else in the home; the red scarfed Samurai. 

Did she know he was here or...was she to live with him in the same quarters? Questions began to accumulate in his head, none seeming to have any clear answers; a thickening tension adding on to make matters difficult. In what manner could he approach, the brunette was a fellow prentice and it certainly was interesting to see the female once more; yet with that incident, how would she react? Closing the door behind him quietly, Flynn took a few steps inside, maintaining a straight expression as he let her name pass his lips.

"...Isabeau?"