. . . 𝗠𝟬𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗟 : is a dependent blog presenting the portrayal of 𝗞𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜. thirty year old oracle who died and came back. themes of body horror and general malaise throughout. written by alice. belongs to bearfm.
... # EP1.01 CLOSED STARTER setting: int. bearhold community hospital / night. with @immorta1is. tw slight body horror ( dislocated bone )
tapping his fingers against the cold metal, kaito surveyed the room. he was surprised he wasn't sweating and pacing, but that was probably because he never actually saw the inside of a morgue when he was dead. the thing that drug him back from the afterlife was kinder than that. saved whatever poor soul was preparing his body from the horror show of him rising right then and there, so he didn't get all flustered and nervous like he was sure he would do if he was shoved into any kind of box.
instead, he just sat, with his feet swinging back and forth, on one of the cold metal gurneys. he was badly finger-tapping out the beat to i gotta feeling by the black-eyed peas, badly, because, it was hard to do with one hand. the other arm hung uselessly by his side. he was sure it wasn't broken, just knocked out of the socket, but it was hard to tell. it hurt, yes. whatever brought him back made sure to wake those nerves right up, but the parts of his brain that reacted the pain didn't come back too well.
survival instinct. what use was it to him? it already failed. so when he was messing around at the garrison earlier that night, things got a bit rowdy, and he knew exactly who it was that could help. sera had been great. she'd known all about the rainbow of fluids left in his blood from his funeral, and seemed to always be working when he needed her, even if she did give him lip often about abusing her expertise. and he did feel a bit bad, he should bring her flowers one day.
kaito was attempting to use his phone to google local florists when the door opened. “ah, what's up, doc?” he said cheerily, going to give her a friendly wave. the clatter of his phone on the ground made his face twist a little. right, one hand.
she hears the question and her eyes glance around her – had he been talking to her? the woman standing behind the bar? serving drinks? when savannah realizes he’s, in fact, talking to her — she can’t help but to let out a small chuckle. chalking it up to be an apparent ice breaker as opposed to a serious question.
“ depends .. do you count being here three days this week as often? ” savannah questions back, hip leading against the side of the bar – at least while there was enough time for small talk. “ that’s real sweet of you, baby, but if you’re gonna be buyin’ me anythin’ then it’s gotta be a water. otherwise it’d be my first and last week gettin’ to stand behind here. ” giving the bar's top a light tap with her fingers as she speaks.
“ah, the man got to you first.” kaito smiled pleasantly, digging loose bills out of his pocket to pay for his next round. he knew who he was pretended to be had become … however you wanted to see it. he was fun to laugh at and with. a good time even if he was a little strange. at the very least, this was something to do while he figured out what the heck he is now.
“kaito, by the way. you'll need to know it if they ever put me on the ban list here. bouncer's been threatening it for months but honestly,” he tilted his head and inspected his nails. “i think they like me too much.” kaito inspected her, eyes softening a bit.
“hey, if i bother you too much, just let me know. there are a couple folks working here that can be afraid to tell me to fuck right off, but i promise you won't get in trouble.” he pursed his lips, fidgeting with the edge of the bar as he spoke candidly. “no use being the funny one if no one's laughing, ya know? but i'm here a lot! so sometimes it's not the time.”
— there were plenty of regulars that elfie had spent imprudent amounts of time with and never learned the name of ; pool boy being one of them. seeing a very stocky, red-faced and agitated man abandon the table after ( presumably ) losing more money than he'd planned on, elfie leaned her palms onto the smooth walnut table and smirked, her head swinging from the sore loser back to her new table-mate. "never stop taking money from my patrons. it's my favorite tv show."
— one of the waitresses, hired for the event & paid an extra fifty-dollars to keep bringing elfie vodka-sodas with lemon, tapped her on the arm and placed another chilled glass in her hand before scurrying off to the other patrons before elfie had a chance to say thank you. "kaito. you've told me that before. i'll probably forget it by morning, but thank you for reminding me anyway," elfie shrugs and tips her glass up for a big gulp before she dispenses it on the nearest high-top table. "elfie," she simply responds, grabbing the rogue cue ball and placing it in it's proper position. "i'll let you go first. and don't bother pretending to be bad at pool, you're literally here almost every night."
“you know i'd never stop.” he winked, leaning over the table to shoot a break shot before standing up straight. kaito had often pretended here. not always maliciously, or for profit, but people liked him better when he played the fool. he liked himself better that way. “and i won't go easy, si t’as pas peur.” the message was clear to very few in washington state, but kaito had known that they both understood. translation: if you're not afraid.
of course, his french had always been messy. he'd been speaking it since he was a child, but he spoke japanese first. the french r and the japanese r were both similarly unique, but entirely oppositional in execution. most people thought he was just bad at french, and explaining it usually took all the fun out of playing the fool.
he chuckled as he watched her replace her drink. “you know, i'd love someone following me around with drinks. and, hey—” he clutched his heart, feigning offense. “—hey, it's not every night! sometimes i go see a play. i'm a very cultured man, you see.”
open starter — ( starring : wren hwang ) @ first frost party , alley behind the garrison.
teachically, wren is on the clock. he's on his break but he's on the clock. the place was buzzing with life and wren should be on high alert, but instead he's behind the garrison smoking his second cigarette. with the recent attacks, he's been on high alert. everything felt jacked up by two-thousand. it's not like wren wasn't used to high tension situations, he's a hunter. all he knows is high tension situations, but this felt different. this felt more real.
which is why he's picked up smoking again. he was five years clean until the attacks started. now, he's smoking nearly a park a day. he says he'll quit soon but there's no conviction in his voice when he says it.
wren's head snaps up when he hears footsteps in the alley, cigarette still hanging from his plump lips as he does so. he leans forward to get a better look at who's coming, taking the cigarette from between his lips to between his fingers.
"what are you doing back here? there's a whole party inside." the same could be asked of him since he's techically supposed to be working. still, wren pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on, fishing in his jacket pocket for the carton of cigs he nearly finished. there are two left. he raises the box up to the person who interfered with his break.
"i'll give you one if you don't tell elfie i'm back here."
wren looked about as nerve-wracked as kaito felt. familiarity drove him to drop his head and shoulders, exhaling a long and exaggerated breath of relief. they had history, mostly consisting of wren manhandling him out of the garrison when he got a little too rowdy. still, it's hard not to appreciate the routine.
“oh thank fuck! i traded my last cig to the new girl on bar for an extra shot. poor thing, whoever counts the drawer tonight might kill her.” his eyes trailed down dramatically, feinting sadness, before outstretched hands led him towards the cigarette wren offered. “oh well.” kaito shrugged, clicking his tongue as he placed it between his lips.
“got a light?” he asked briskly, muffled slightly. even though he knew he lost his lighter days ago, he padded his pockets for show.
LOCATION: great bear wilds
FOR: kaito murakami ( @m0rtel )
a nightmare as sinclair tries to shut their eyes once in a blue moon, the ability to be in slumber was something they needed still, yet not like humans do. though it was something they dreaded the most, memories of still what still felt like yesterday makes their skin crawl, they've always somehow put the rage living in them back to its silence, yet this was unfortunately one of those nights they somehow just have become stronger, and sinclair has struggled to fight it. so distract themself they attempt, their mindless run taking them to the woods, preferably away from anybody that could be unintentionally hurt from their crossfire. regrettably someone else had the idea to be at the same place as their voice makes sinclair jump, immediately having them pinned against a tree as a reflex. "w-who—what—what do you think you're doing?" they ask, through gritted teeth, a handful of their shirt in hand tugged hard whilst there was still a part of them fighting against the thirst surrounded by their rage.
open spaces had calmed him. air waving through the trees, light beaming down on him. the opposite of death. the opposite of a coffin. crowds reminded him of it, being crushed and smothered and surrounded, so he often needed to calm down after it. still, even he felt nervous in the woods in the dark.
he wasn't from this side of america. the wide fields of the darkest and tallest trees were new to him. shadows felt longer, an esoteric atmosphere winding through paths both well-trodden and not. he'd ventured deep into the less traveled pathways when he saw them. a person, eyes closed. he had barely opened his mouth to speak when a quick rush of air had his stomach lurching. then a pain in his head from where he connected with the tree.
opening his eyes had him shaking a bit. he sunk into himself, squaring his shoulders against the tree behind him and the thing in front of him. “taking a walk! christ, man, i didn't know anyone else was out here. i swear!” his fingers gripped onto their shirt, a foolish attempt at any sort of control. “i'm sorry. okay? i'm just taking a walk!”
elfie — ꒰ open starter ꒱ ⌗ first frost party @ the garrison
— half a decade of ownership at the garrison, and elfie still finds herself feeling like a stranger in her own bar. sure, she knew the faces and names of at least half the people at the party, and had talked to at least twenty of them at this point, but it was all done on autopilot — most things were when you were two centuries old. still, the human buried somewhere deep inside her forced effie to seek out companionship like a ship on a foggy night, floating around until she makes out the merciful relief of a lighthouse. finally, the sounds of cracking pool balls lured her to the red and green felt tables. after grabbing her favorite pool cue and chalking the top, she turned to the nearest and least populated pool table, and pulling a tenner from her front pocket to set on the corner of the table. "mind if i join you?" she asks the other, her brows raised as she gives them a lazy smile. “don't worry, you'll win. i've been playing for longer than i care to admit, and i'm still lucky if i even hit a ball.”
he'd honestly been hustling the man he was playing with. townies were easy. just let them destroy at the first game and they'll think the rest is just luck. he'd gotten forty bucks out of the guy before she approached. they knew each-other. he'd sat next to her at the bar for nights on end and she was nice to him. in her way. paid for a few rounds, let him talk and talk and talk and talk. so, he'd immediately scratched his plan and leaned on the table as his poor victim stomped off.
“please, you know i'm not very good either.” kaito crackled the knuckles of his fingers before re-racking the balls. he fondly remembered them playing together one saturday night. kaito had a strategy with hustling pool, mentioned above, but it was similar to the strategy for making friends. let them destroy you. he'd made a fool of himself, even went a bit too far and sent a ball flying across the bar. they hadn't even kicked him out for it that night. “i'm kaito, by the way. i don't know if i ever told you my name. i usually forget it after the second round anyways.”
... # EP1.01 OPEN STARTER setting: the garrison / the first frost party. with @anyone.
kaito had forgotten what people did when they were cold. he wasn't stupid, he knew about jackets, but the mannerisms of it didn't come naturally anymore. he watched a few people a little too closely as he sat at the bar. they held warm drinks in their hands, closer to them than normal to try and sap its heat. they huddled with their loved ones, shoving fingers into pockets and under clothing.
it wasn't that he didn't get cold anymore. quite the opposite. he was embalmed. then buried. he was always cold. necro - anemia, he called it. wires crossed, he held his coconut rum on the rocks like one would a cup of coffee and faked a shiver as he whipped around to the person sitting next to him. he hadn't talked to anyone in the ten minutes since he ordered the drink, and the silence had become unbearable.
“come here often?” he said, irony dripping from his voice. a cold dead thing searches desperately for warmth and laughter. like a child not loved enough. the dramatics should have died with him, but sometimes that's all that's inside. the corpse that had been kaito murakami smiled and tapped his glass to the bar - top before downing it. “i'm all empty, next round on me?”
starting to breathe is a strange feeling. it's not like drowning, where your lungs are scratching for hair. at least, not at first. because you didn't need air a second ago. you weren't alive a second ago. you woke up in the dark, a silk-lined wooden coffin surrounding you, and you can infer what's beyond it. you're in your dad's suit, the one he wore to your college graduation, and things click into place a little slower than they should have. it was clear now. you were dead. NOW YOU ARE NOT.
KAITO MURAKAMI, 30, HE+HIM, PLAYED BY KENTO YAMAZAKI. POST-MORTEM ORACLE. WRITTEN BY ALICE.
legal name ... kaito murakami.
meaning ... kaito, meaning "sea" and "to fly." murakami, meaning "village above."
date of birth ... 14th of april, 1994. "
date of death ... 26th of february, 2021.
cause of death ... car accident.
age ... thirty.
species ... oracle.
place of birth ... ithaca, new york.
astrological sign ... aries.
moral alignment ... true neutral.
enneagram ... type 5, the investigator.
occupation ... chronically unemployed.
current residence ... apartment above laundromat. bearhold, washington.
three positive traits ... clever, loyal, perceptive.
three negative traits ... isolated, vitriolic, sarcastic.
languages ... english, japanese & french [spoken at home.]
sexuality ... bisexual, kinsey scale 4.
education ... bachelor of arts in art history [cornell university]
piercings ... formerly had a lip ring on the left side of his lower lip, was removed for his funeral and healed during his resurrection.
tattoos ... a kitschy vintage tv set on his inner forearm, now faded and slashed through.
family ... jun murakami professor of business at cornell university, father. ayame murakami deceased, mother. colette bélanger murakami fiction writer, step-mother. utp bélanger murakami, half-sister.
history ... kaito was born to japanese immigrants in ithaca, new york. his father, jun, was a professor at cornell. unbeknownst to kaito's mother, ayame, he began his affair with colette during the pregnancy. so it follows that while ayame's death while giving birth to their son was oh, so tragic, jun must have felt a bit of relief. he and colette were married soon after.
even though he spoke french and colette read him to sleep, kaito knew she wasn't his mother from a young age, but it didn't really stick until his younger sister was born. when all he heard was half-brother, and aren't you glad to have one of your own, and how does ayame's boy feel about it. in truth, it was probably the first thing in the world to really piss him off. he was nine when he started letting it show. he'd made colette cry at bedtime one night and jun was furious.
his teen years were pockmarked with rebellion. bleaching his hair, skipping school, stealing his dad's cigarettes. when he was fourteen his step-mom started publishing books, and whilst cornell paid well, the double income definitely helped. suddenly he was a rich teenager who spoke three languages and hung out at a college. at the height of the indie sleaze period, he was getting a little popular.
when he graduated high-school, his dad made sure he went to cornell. it was an ivy league, and he was a smart boy. even though they had a few hiccups through the years, jun was sure he'd straighten out. until he majored in art history.
it was around this time the visions started. his internship at the johnson museum of art had him cataloguing historical art pieces from all around the world. he'd touched a painting one day and in a flash of light he saw that someone had forged it. no one believed him, this college kid with a c average and a penchant for taking more smoke breaks than there were hours, until a verifier overheard him and took a closer look. he was right.
the visions never stopped. and they weren't just about art. he'd bump into a guy on the street and find out he was a serial abductor. it was horrible. it began to drive him crazy. when he went to his father about it, jun had thought the same thing, and kaito couldn't control the visions enough to prove it. they tried treatment when kaito grabbed his step-mother hard enough to bruise, desperately attempting to coax out a vision. nothing worked. eventually, after kaito embarrassed them at his graduation, jun and colette kicked him out when he was 24.
he spent three years couch-surfing and working odd jobs trying to get on his feet. kaito had resorted to less savory habits. he'd go to a bar, strike up a conversation with any single he could find in hopes he'd find a place to stay the night. he was riding home with one of these people when a vision came too late. a semitruck hit them when they ran a redlight.
kaito was buried next to his mother. six feet underground, his parents made speeches about how the dirt would tuck him into rest at last. but someone was giving him those visions, and for reasons kaito didn't understand, they wouldn't let him die. he had to crawl his way through six feet of packed soil, but he followed fading visions from there to a small town in washington. then, the visions stopped altogether.
he learned about the supernatural in bearhold. he learned he was probably an oracle, but he was nothing anymore. kaito was dead. but walking. and his body was alive but not really. his skin had a tendency to form back together after a time, and he was always cold. probably from being embalmed. his blood was a strange color from the embalming too, lighter than the natural dark red, and technicolor fluids floated on top like an oil spill.
he didn't really need to work, so kaito spends most of his time at a bar in town. he's trying to figure out what he is, even now. he's trying to figure out how he got to be this way.