Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@cryonicsynth-blog
i n t r o d u c t i o n :
Muse:
Name: kagamine rin Nickname(s): twinnie, rinny, little one, little chick Birthday: december 27, 2007 Relationship Status: undefined Random fact: she can’t grow
Mun:
Name: carlena Tumblr URL: avtechnos / kookun (hmu) Relationship Status: singol pringol Random fact about you: i also can’t grow
cryonicsynth.
` && that wasn’t an insult. but doesn’t that bow break dress code ? `
Pick the lesser of two evils: going without her uniform, or breaking this code? Hang tight, bow-snatcher, for she chooses the latter. With the power of the ventriloquist, her head tilts so subtly that the cloth appears to twitch under his gaze. “...???”
pistanthrophobia
(noun) Pistanthrophobia is defined as the fear of trusting people. This fear is conceived from negative experiences an individual endured in a former relationship(s). Trust is perceived as one of the most fragile connections and understandings humanity builds, which is why Pistanthrophobia must be overcome to live a fulfilling life. (via ryusxnka)
“–.. Rin, I..”
It was as if this mirror was infatuated with the concept of broken light, rejecting it– rather than accepting it, in order to distort the image further and further through every fragile layer of glass. Like gazing into an abyss, almost. Hm. Funny. Mirrors were supposed to promise an idealistic reflection based on one’s subconscious. The mind was to shape oneself into something desirable so looking upon it would not be so painful, but this was not it. Something screamed to her, break it, break it.
Silence accompanies the motion of foreheads meeting, warmth to follow to compensate for lack of words. They must be plucked carefully.
“I can’t speak for my actions. My situation is the opposite, you see? I’ve thrown away my heart in order to keep my head between my shoulders. I’ve numbed emotions in order to survive, but I question whether I’m truly living, or just breathing. I can’t tell you if the risks are worth it. I want to say they are, but my lifetime of heartache tells me otherwise.”
The more words are spoken, the more the lines between them inflate. They grow apart but she's never felt so congested. Breathe in. Gulp. Breathe out. Why, breathing is just as good as anything. “I’m so sorry...” Voice faint. “The big man put the fish in the air and the bird in the sea.” One resorted to what the foreign land showcased, but consumed the unfamiliar's toxins. The other waited and waited for a chance to return home, fated to starvation. Both stances cruel. The story of one she knows not beyond that. For the other, she knows of a stomach so empty that it believes heartache is better than being eaten away unto nonexistence. But who is to judge whether that’s right or wrong? Maybe this is what they truly shared -- the lack of a concluding answer. Caught up in abstract thoughts, debating on uncertainties. “Have you... ever considered putting an end to it?” Heads together, she hopes the other can fill the void. In return, her hand patches her mirror’s chest where the heart should have been -- to compensate for her inability to supply it, she’ll block harm for the moment being.
“It’s not that I forgot, Papa...” I simply didn’t have a reason to.
Unanticipated: he chuckled. Tiny hints of a whine to bend a feeble laugh from his lips. It wheezes as his muscles relax to release the tension he had kept all morning. This sudden sense of laughter is enough to end his breath when he takes in more air to replenish his fill. “I’m jealous,” he said teasingly. “When did you learn to sing so well?”
“Don’t know... all I recall is learning from the best.” As if dropping the “s” bomb gave way for the remnants to escape, her facile nature sneaks to the surface. That, or it’s the simple matter of how contagious mirth can be that fixes upturned lips. She wonders if this mirth pulls on his too now that the tone's established. With her finger back in shape, it idly traces its own "o"s on the fabric. “Would you like an encore?”
Minding my own business.
That’s the answer he’d normally give to anyone asking this question, sometimes with the addition of a hissed ‘any more questions, Sherlock?’
( But, he thinks, she deserves a better answer. )
“Busy.”
“Life, training – the usual.” No one really cares about detailed descriptions of what happens during two years of absence (he doesn’t, anyway).
“You?”
Through the mask of indifference she claims to see that change has lodged itself within him. Else she thinks she would have been hit with a less pleasant phenominon by now. “Lucky you.”
“Me... I’ve only found one new acquaintance. His name is Mister Rut. Not too sure if I may dub him a friend or foe...” He, though, is one of the former. She’ll listen to whatever he has to offer, given that he does not hesitate.
“You would still be lost. But at least, you would have that.” If nothing else. “Perhaps it isn’t wise for two lost souls to guide one another. Yet all along, we have always been treading along similar paths, haven’t we? Don’t you miss being happy?”
“You know the feeling better than I. You’ve traveled so far and wide, felt the seasons' merciless reign... I’ve only tread a little of where you’ve gone. Yet still lost, while burdened by the paranoia of what I’ve missed.” Shaking.
“I’ve lost my mind but my heart still rattles. Am I speaking nonsense? Pfa. Forgive me.”
“Heavy.” It feels so heavy.
Eloquence never mixes well with this one. So her knees drop behind her counter, and she becomes a blanket with what’s left of her warmth. Contradictions seem to be the best she can do.
“Inexperience is the precursor. One step above ignorance, bravery for daring to discover a knowledge most would rather not. Would you like to retreat, and protect yourself? Or go on, and risk losing yourself to reality?”
“Bravery... you’re so kind with your words. But what can it do for someone who’s already lost? Even if I... if retreating is favoured, protection would then be just as hard to find.” And what of you? Would you allow your journey to be a path for two?
Ignorance is bliss... but what of inexperience?
ついぴく落書きまとめ3
ｎｅｕｒｏｔｉｃｓｙｎｔｈ:
Curiously he peers at an angle not quite meeting visuals on the one behind him. Such response was required for this light, rhythmic tapping against the surface. Deliberately intentional, not just the whims of nonchalant apathy to fill in loose time. Decoding effortlessly the beat of a familiar tune, those same motions he performed against table tops years ago in order to master the very first song he was asked to sing. It is quite nostalgic, but his voice is without words to be sung as of now. Instead he remained still, neither music to fulfill.
Finger out of breath, her voice takes an unexpected cue to dance. It’s a little awkward when she twirls a few lines with her tongue, but the show must go on. Lo and behold! She defeats the motto so easily: not even a minute in and she stumbles on a note. Her voice, this song... T’was never her part, after all. Hence it is by some magic that she was able to attempt in the first place. Makes her grin subtly. “Sorry,” word slips and falls, inevitable as gravity.
“So you’re still a pain in the ass. Good to see nothing changed in the past 2 years.”
“…long time no see, I guess.”
Has it really been that long? That long without change?
“Well...? What have you been up to all this time?” The questions are plenty.
ｎｅｕｒｏｔｉｃｓｙｎｔｈ:
Hunched slightly after a nudge from behind leads to wonder in the mind. Now configuring, a very old memory presses against his back. He dares not to look over the shoulder. Words, now awkward at the curl of his tongue. All the things he ought to say had long vanished anyway. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I can stay.”
Same to you, all right? If this is her imagination, she dare not open her eyes. Times like this a voice can sustain a much stronger role; though slightly incoherent due to position, the one she hears is powerful enough to string the breath back through her. Now what to do? Apologies must be outdated. So throw them away and reach for other pieces in nostalgia's playbox! A finger lifts to meet the body, gently tapping its back at the beat of Fire◎Flower.
⸢ cryonicsynth ⸥
❝ I’m looking for inspiration. ❞
Avery picked up an object, tossed it around in his hands and then set it back down. He was in an art slump, so to speak. He needed something to inspire and motivate him once more. Even though it was the summer and he was as busy as ever, he just didn’t have the energy. Green eyes looked at the other.
❝ Can you help? ❞
Looking for inspiration? “Make that double.”
The days counted since she has last been under Euterpe's wings are lost. Returning now would be a long journey of doubt and uncertainty - would she grant them the muse they need despite the lack of worship? Not to forget the alternative of thinking outside of the box; that maybe Euterpe isn’t the one out of the nine appropriate for this.
Regardless, there is no other art she can offer than music. “How about a song for the mood? Whatever it is you're feeling.” She sits down cross-legged, tentatively awaiting his answer.
