This is an independent and selective dash only sideblog for an Original Character from an in progress webcomic series of stories called “The Grand Scheme of Things”, specifically "Degeneration".
MUN
I go by bibi. (30+ and female she/her). PLEASE tag graphic gore and Spiders for me (Spider-Man is the only exception to this).
ACTIVITY
This blog is potentially semi low in activity due to health conditions. Please be 21+ prior to following me. Personal blogs please do not interact without permission.
CONTENT WARNINGS
This blog will contain heavily triggering and mature topics. triggers include: mentions of sexual abuse and trauma, mentions of suicide, murder, death, genocide, war, substance abuse, blood, and possible body-horror elements. Please proceed with CAUTION when reading certain threads and posts. Triggers are tagged and will not be romanticized. In Character does not equal Out of Character.
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art credits : myself
"Hey!" his sticky fingers worked faster than any objection could be relayed. Puffing out her cheeks into a pout, she slides her basket of fries close as a lesson learned. "Not always! I'm not as naïve as you think!" Her whining hardly makes her case any more solid. "I look small, but I can pack a mean punch." Grinning, she sits up straight, flexing both arms to display toned muscles.
Good, she learned her lesson. Though when she flexed, you couldn't help but be impressed- you had a bit of muscle yourself, but it wasn't easy for people to maintain. The fact she was so proud to display her efforts was telling of the type of person she was. Though brawn had little to do with naivety.
So, you chuckled, perching your elbow on the counter with a lazy smirk as you responded, "--Oh yeah? I'm shaking in my boots."
Playful sarcasm laced your response before you finished your cigarette, shoving the singed butt into the ashtray to the side, and lifted your hand up in greeting.
"--I think we've talked enough to exchange names, yeah? I'm Kazic-Feel free to call me Kaz if it's too hard to pronounce."
When you crossed paths with people you couldn't hear mentally or read at a glance, you were dealing with one of three outcomes. Another Psychic, an otherworldly being, or someone with incredible focus to keep their mind clear. However, given the fact that you couldn't see any strands or hear anything around that individual led you to believe it was one of the former scenarios.
Which is why you kept your distance for now, instead focusing on the menu above head in the café an acquaintance had suggested you go check out. The woman you couldn't get a read on could wait; your sweet tooth was calling. Specifically a cinnamon dolce latte. God, the thought made your mouth water, closing your eyes as you approached your spot in the line with a dreamy sigh. Though you seemed to bump into the girl in front of you. Promptly, you went to apologize, "--S-Sorry about tha-"
You blinked; she hardly budged, even her own attention evidently somewhere else. "--Ah."
You decided to try and reach a lone finger to poke against her shoulder from behind, clearing your throat so that she could hear over the idle noise surrounding the two of you. "--Hey, sorry. My bad, but I think you're next in line."
"--You don't look like you're from around here. New to town?"
Regardless of how you looked at the guy across the counter, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
Almost as badly as you did.
It was easy enough to tell a newcomer when they came by; always would be so long as you were tethered to this city. Arkham drew in all sorts of people; usually heretics and the like, but every now and then someone truly out of the blue would appear. Right now that seemed to be the case with him as the line behind him was growing impatient with your conversation. They could wait, most of them were here to order a single coffee and loiter for hours anyway. Most probably to stare at you and give you discomforting thoughts to try to ignore. So, this guy? He could take all day if he wanted to. You'd much rather glimpse the thoughts of your "fanclub" getting annoyed instead of whatever perverse thoughts they'd cook up today.
You beamed towards the man, gesturing towards the menu above your head.
Now this wasn't something you saw every day. You knew Midgard was technologically advanced, but walking, talking robots? They couldn't help but surprise you when you saw any in person. The young woman next to her seemed as out of the ordinary as her company, too.
You stayed in place, leaning against the closest surface, a building, as you called out to the pair.
"--The locals don't always follow the laws around here. So you better triple-check before crossing. Don't wanna end up like mincemeat."
One too many times had you heard cars crash, followed by sirens shortly after. You didn't want to witness any in person if you could help it.
“Other options? All you ever have done was ask for that—!” Sophie’s brows knit as her grip on his shirt loosens. Prior commitment to contain the intoxicated escapades of Kazic is now on the back burner.
Cinnamon still reeks on his breath. One question refused to submit to the silence: how long, how long, how long?
Containing herself was the other challenge. Proximity, accursed closeness, her concentration flickers between the drunken flush over his cheeks, his wet lips, and his hand—
Sophie tries to reel her head back, feeling his hand manipulate her closer. She groans as the inquiry arises again, practically tasting his drink in her mouth.
“Neither.” Her hand wedges between his hold on her, pushing it away. One large stride back, Sophie scowls at Kazic.
“That is all you have asked of me. It is the only question you have for me, sober or drunk.” Her breathing steadied as her gaze, though unwavering, hardened the longer she looked at him. “After all this time, of everything you could ask me…you decide on that? Only that?” Her jaw tightens.
“As is—” She huffs, throwing her hands. “First and foremost, I refuse to act on anything when you are inebriated! Why would I—” She fans her hands to herself. “Ever do that to you?” She shakes her head, incredulous. But she soon re-approaches. “Even if you were sober, is that really where you want to start?”
“Not once have you spoken to me.” An accusatory finger pointed at the chest. “Never have you looked me in the eye and expressed to me the truth. All it is ever been—all you ever done—is toy with me with this question”
“Like all I am to you is a kiss.” The finger jabbed at his chest slowly lowers. Anger ebbs, exhaustion remains in its place. Shoulders finally slacken from the unbridled indignation.
“Not me.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. The words came out choked, small and defeated. “Just..a kiss.”
When her hand pushed you away, you couldn't help but still.
Shoulders slump; a step is taken back, albeit clumsily, aided by intoxication. You could have responded, but why bother? Only a kiss? Clearly, you weren't expressing the severity of your wants and desires in a way that made it feel any other way than using her. Why was this so complicated? You weren't able to get your feelings across to her. This was why nothing ever changed. Even when you tried to speak up, you'd fumble, you'd miss your chance to speak, and when you finally got the courage? She kept running away, every chance she got. Even when you had just tried to stop her and make her commit to a choice, she chose neither.
You heaved a sigh, gently pushing her hand away from your chest. "--Talking never works with you. I've tried, dammit, for years, I've tried," your hand ran through your hair, sweeping loose strands back to show your frustration.
You were too frustrated to care anymore to spare her feelings. "'--Are you really that dense? I want to kiss you because it's YOU. Because I lo- there's just no pleasing you is there?"
You grumbled, unable to hold your frustrations in any longer. All the years of tiptoeing, of respect and consideration, were thrown out the window. Saying you loved her would only result in the same response it always did. "--How else am I supposed to show you how I feel? We've shared the same bed, the same clothes, even the same roof. I've said I love you more times than I can remember, but you never think it's more than the way a family member says it."
You let your vision center in on her with a stern look, unable to hide the hurt that shone through your ruby eyes. The fact that Sophie thought you only saw her as a kiss and nothing else stung. "--How ELSE am I supposed to ask to show you what I feel isn't just familial?"
It was an honest question. How were you supposed to paint it any clearer than that? You couldn't hear any thoughts other than her small mantra of how long when you tried to focus long enough to read her mind. How long for what? You couldn't help but groan at her inability to understand your simple request.
"--For someone so smart, why are you so damn stupid?"
You stopped, feeling your eyes drop closed, brows scrunched in concern, realizing what you had said; drunk or not, crossed a line. You weren't sure how to continue or if you should at this point. So, you forced more distance between the two of you. In silence, you took a step back and removed a carton from your jacket pocket. In two motions, the cigarette and lighter were dug out and between your fingers. Another sigh as you brought light to the stick up to your lips and you took the longest drag before casting your eyes away. The rosy flush of your earlier excursions was starting to fade. This whole exchange was starting to sober you up.
Both tolerate eachother's favorite foods and cook them for one another. Sophie hates extremely sweet sweets yet she bakes and prepares his favorite treats for him. Kazic doesn't much care for Lancashire Hot pot but still stomachs enough to cook it for her and even eat it so she doesn't feel like he prepared it just for her (he would but he knows she would berate him for only cooking for her instead of for both of them.) Opposites in their food pallets always.
They are each others personal babysitters when under the influence. Toni will always call Sophie to tend to her brother and Alek will do the same back to Kazic despite their differences when Sophie needs assistance home since he's "unaware" of her home address (he knows due to his own background checks but keeps it on a need to know basis- he runs background checks on everyone he works with) but they know the psychic knows. Though its more of a hunch, given their history.
Everyone assumes they are exes in some way shape or form. Toni assumes they were together as kids but never kissed out of nerves, Adelinda thinks they separated due to the strain of long distance. His coworkers think they're separated and about to divorce...everyone assumes their relationship wrong.
They had a little notebook they would both scribble secret messages and codes to as teenagers. She still has this book on her and Kazic likes to sneak away when he visits her scribble small secrets for her to decipher one day since he's such a coward and won't just tell her how he feels.
Sophie liked to play with his hair, and let him brush hers when they were younger, he learned to style hair from doing hers mainly. Years later he tries to brush her hair as before but she's far too self conscious of the silver strands in her hair to let him though she still likes to play with his hair. He allows her to do so but hopes one day she'll let him close enough to mess and brush her hair again since he found it so relaxing a task when they were teenagers.
I have more but.. i'm sticking to how they are currently rather to in the future :>
Send your headcanons about our muse's relationship and I'll react to them. / not accepting.
Food:
I’d contextualize that Sophie does not hate overtly sweet things, but her palate cannot handle them. It’s like licking a lemon for her; it is very overwhelming! She does indulge in portions of the desserts she has made for Kazic, which inevitably helps desensitize her and increase her tolerance for and liking of the flavors. Would she go to the extremes that Kazic and his sister go to? Absolutely not.
When it comes to knowing that Kazic does not like a dish or may not care for it, she can alter it. Like with a Lancashire hotpot, she incorporates his preference by layering cheese underneath the sliced potatoes. Cost efficiency and resources are things Sophie is keen on. She would tell Kazic that she doesn’t want him to waste money on making a dish she would eat because he has to take care of himself, too. As is, there are dishes they both like. (Pot, meet kettle.)
Chaperoning/Babysitting:
(Contextually, this is written in the time frame before they make up unless I specify a difference)
As far as Kazic and Sophie go, when he first comes to Midgard, the association wasn’t as strongly established. Largely in part to her acting and distancing herself from him. At least at first.
Sophie can already be an option as someone’s trip sitter(/babysitter) for any occasion. This didn’t start when Kazic came to Midgard. Over time, as the association being glaringly obvious (no thanks to Sophie), the arrangement solidified. Being his “babysitter” stemmed from the more overt, visible attachment he has towards her when intoxicated.
However, drunk Kazic has sought her out before anyone else informs Sophie of the situation. That also could be among the driving forces that someone might have started calling her about her estranged friend’s condition.
On the other end, Kazic faces more tribulations if he has to be Sophie’s sitter. While he approaches her when drunk, she avoids most everyone. Once he’s in the picture, she makes more effort to be further away from him. A drunk Sophie is blunter like drunk Kazic, but she would isolate more and be overwrought with existentialism. Unlike him, too, she is not as animated about it. Sophie is mostly to herself and polite, which wouldn’t spur any outside interest or suspicion of her. Unless someone has been keeping track of what and how much she’s been drinking.
Kazic being called to watch Sophie would probably mostly happen if they notice her wobbly coordination. To which, the psychic is most definitely going to be putting up with a defiant, if not petulant, seamstress, who is telling him to “leave her alone because she is perfectly capable.” At, which point, he would comply. And it ends up where he follows her several steps behind or takes the lead and picks her up to escort her home.
When alone together, another similarity happens (clinginess). Mister yearner 3000 would have inebriated Sophie asking him to stay while she’s hugging him. Kazic would give Sophie well-deserved words about her abrasiveness when all he’s trying to do is help. Unfortunately, as much as she tries with him, he tries with her and caves in.
On the topic, I can see both of them getting drunk for particularly petty reasons; Kazic has already been written to where he may get drunk to “encourage” himself to approach her. While I haven’t done that for Sophie, I imagine her getting drunk would result from her frustrations (jealousy, uncertainty, inferiority, etc.) and she’s trying to drown out the sounds. This applies to stopping herself from speaking and exposing herself, and also stopping her thoughts exposing her to a certain mind reader. This is specifically post-make up.
Both drunk and in forced proximity is fun. Not them tipsy like in the bar thread, but them actually wasted and at each other’s throats (not literally).
Fundamentally, Kazic and Sophie are codependent; they built versions of the other in their head due to the sudden separation/grief/traumatic event that led to it. They idealized the fictive other and continue to prescribe things of this fantastic, nonexistent idea onto another human being. It is not all positive attributes they project on the other, but it was how they coped and still cope. NOT ONLY THAT, they were each other’s closest friendships during their teenage years and were practically inseperatable. Besides that, they were the only other’s only support system.
Not holding back any inhibitions means that conversations will happen; anything involving substances will mean sloppy, charged exchanges.
These are thoughts for a rainy day!
Relationship Misconstrues:
This is still among my favorite things I’ve come up with. Everyone can play “What are/were Kazic and Sophie” because when their feelings show up, it’s the biggest elephant in the room. Thankfully, this only really happens other people observe them from a distance, rather than them dragging it up randomly with other people. Thank you for giving us some grace.
This already happened with them younger when her family, customers, everyone in the town, and at Kazic’s encampment. However, it’s on the other extreme. People rumored that they were quietly dating. Some believed they would elope. Sebastian, Sophie’s father, was one of those people.
People will also ask Kazic and Sophie questions that imply these assumed relationships too. Sophie actively corrects them, but would do so politely. If they mentioned while drunk, her corrections are more incredulous, like “Why the hell would Kazic kiss me?” with a scoff before she thinks about “impossible” chance and resumes drinking. Yes, the prior section has bled into this.
Actually, this just came to me. There are bound to be people who come up to Kazic and apologize for not knowing about him and Sophie. He’d be confused when they tell him, “Yeah, we tried flirting with her. We didn’t know she was still with you. Is she still with you? Are you two on the rocks?” Sophie also receives those comments and quietly has to stew on them. It definitely comes up when they’re alone together, like a funny comment, “Oh, can you believe they thought—" while Kazic takes a long drag of his joint or Sophie takes a very loud sip of her drink. The reaction depends on who brings it up.
Notebook:
Sophie mourned this man like a widow and has (tried) to keep every earthly possession of his that she could. She sorted away that notebook in boxes. Kazic only knew she had it after one of his break-ins into her apartment, and he went through more of her more “hidden away” boxes in storage. If he continued writing in that notebook, trouble will be waiting for him.
When Sophie revisits memory lane and sees that there is new, undeciphered writing in the book, she would be mad. Besides her insatiable desire to break the code, Kazic proved that he doesn’t listen. On another level, Sophie is highly protective and controlling of those items. It is an immature animus, not specifically directed at him, but at anyone who poses a threat to alter or damage the memorabilia.
Those items were and still are the only proof of Kazic’s existence in England. By extension, Sophie was also the leading person in Kazic’s post-death care; including identifying the “body,” arguing with local government for proper burial, clearing the stuff in his apartment, and the like. It doubles as a capsule of a peaceful time, too.
Sophie has understood that things and people naturally leave her life once they meet their fulfillment or outgrow her. But losing him? That was when everything went awry.
Kazic’s death was the precursor to her spiral, which included her combatting self-destructive beliefs with only worse reactivity. She clung to everything she could to protect what little peace she had in an unforgiving world that would let the memory of him go.
As much as they took away from her, this was her first retaliation. which went off the deep end.
Even with the man whom everyone considered dead, and who rightfully owns these possessions, she is still possessive.
Sophie is a well-adjusted person. :)
Playing with Hair:
Being the eldest of three sisters, Sophie essentially had two other people on whom she practiced her hairstyles. Occasionally, she was their styling mannequin when Martha was feeling particularly creative, especially as a toddler. With the various ideas the sisters read about in magazines or saw on others through the worldwide web or television, Sophie was either a stylist or a customer.
Kazic was unofficially absorbed into the Hatter household within the year he spent pacing and visiting the family’s shop. In part, he silently signed his life away to being treated like a Barbie doll. Martha took particular attention in giving manicures and trying different hair accessories in his hair, while Lettie tagged in and gained Martha’s decision on what kind of clothes he’d look good in. Make-up, of course, was added to the mix. These big makeover projects were not constant, and the sisters always had the best interests in mind. Hell, they even commented that Kazic’s adrogony worked very well in his favor. Kazic’s alter ego name amongst the girls was “Karola.”
Sophie was no different. However, it seems that her preening and playing were consistent. She even taught Kazic how to style hair, using herself as the model (or one of her sisters eagerly tried at the opportunity). It should be noted that her playing tends to work as more “fix-ups” when she brushes his bangs away from his eyes or tucks his hair underneath a beanie when it is snowing.
With how much touch-up she does with her hair, Kazic is familiar with Sophie’s unusual condition: a plethora of unusually shaded silver locks, so different from his own and far too many for a girl her age. After being apart for five years, if he were an inquisitive type, he would note a discrepancy in the hair color. All appears to be that summery copper orange, but that is the result of the flawless maintenance she does. These days, there are only several strands here and there that appear in her hair.
Kazic has the opportunity to play with her hair when he does his little routine and intrusive break-ins into her store (to see if she has passed out) or when he escorts her home (his or her own) as she needs to stay the night over due to inclement weather or intoxication. Man has a nagging need to let loose her hair, so I imagine he does that when she’s about to go lie down in bed. It isn’t always happening, but it is frequent enough that Sophie tends to anticipate it, and if he tries when she is feeling very self-conscious or fed up with his teasing, she’d bat his hand away like a peeved cat.
Old habits die hard because Sophie still fully fixes his hair, but only when he gives her permission. There is sometimes a loose strand she tucks behind his ear, or she offers him a hairband to tie up his hair — typical small gestures.
Color study experiment from earlier this year featuring another main character from our soon-to-start comic. Kazic Neuzil, a psychic who sees and feels thoughts in the form of different-colored strands.
Kazic slouches closer to her, Sophie's noise wrinkles. Cinnamon heavy on his breath, its sugariness she could practically taste on her lips.
Never mind that fact, the pursuant man speaks heresy. Forbidden words on a delicately crafted reality the seamstress orchestrated all this time. Awareness, validation, reciprocation -- how many years of yearning in anguish had it been now? Five? Nearing six?
The question bubbling in the back of her mind was how long it was for him.
"What?" Was all the spectacular rebuttal she could say.
Her hands grab at his shirt, fingers twisting into the material. Purely for his own safety, one could say. To keep him away from causing other disturbances, one could also say. Both of which may not entirely be the truth.
"I am doing nothing of the sort while you are," she emphasized, "drunk!"
"--I-Is the only way you WOULD kiss me is if you were drunk?!"
"--You don't exactly give me any other options you know! I-I've tried to talk about this sober, I've TRIED to ask to kiss you. Did you think it was a joke?"
Your emotions were probably heightened due to the alcohol in your system, you knew your voice was louder because of it. It wasn't like you weren't cognitive of your actions either. You just needed a little push when it came to Sophie was all. Every time you did try to confront her on this topic, she would always find a way to make it backfire. There was a reason you were acting the way you were.
Ten long years you were trapped in this purgatory of yearning for her, and yet you were always too cowardly to admit how you felt. At first due to false assumptions of gender preference, than nerves and now- you didn't have any reason to other than it was what you were used to. Were you cursed? Was this how it would always play out?
You didn't want that anymore. Which was why you decided to make your intentions clear enough so that they couldn't be misconstrued anymore, pushing her face towards you.
"--I'm going to ask you one more time," only now the volume of your voice went low, soft enough so that only the Hatter could hear you, "--Are you going to smack me or kiss me?"
"--Let 'em hear. All I'm asking is if you're gonna punch me or kiss me- They've done worse-are probably doing worse as we speak."
You needed some assistance from the liquid courage or else it'd always be the same song and dance with the two of you. Let the others hear all they want, they did worse or asked you worse anyway- Like the one time Adelinda tried to ask if you enjoyed being smothered by her chest or being suffocated by Toni's ass- before you got adopted. Strangers asked what you were into- the usual. Why would you care what others thought? You just wanted an answer.
"--So you gonna do something or do I have to make the first move?"
