leaving was inevitable

district beta 6 wooden throwing knives blue aura 3 x per day

[misakied]

i'm trying to get this nerd some activity! so! like this for a small starter from fushimi! capping at 5!

[amnesiantics-deactivated2015060]

Plucking it off the ground and dusting it off,        Vivi’s demeanor didn’t falter in the slightest.        In fact, her smile strengthened once filing that        book in among the rest clamped to her chest        and re-establishing eye contact with the stranger.

          ❝— oh!❞

       She retrieved it from her pile, lifting it into plain        view whereupon its cover bore a sinister pair of        eyes overhead its title:

                     ❛The Uninvited: The True Story of the Union Screaming House.❜

          ❝cool, huh?                     i’ve been wanting to dig my claws into this one for a while.❞

[misakied]

      He stares at the book's cover with no particular expression on his face. Is it a horror novel? A government conspiracy sort of novel? Who can tell? He doesn't want to be any ruder than he's already been, so he really does try.

      "Sure. I can see how it seems... interesting," he replies, clearing his throat softly. Not exactly the master of social interaction, he bluntly continues with, "So, who are you?"

[perfectmayuge]

"Haha! You are correct! I enjoy what I do very much and take my job as the school’s hall monitor very seriously. It’s always nice to see someone who embraces his uniform with pride!" Well, to Ishimaru, wearing the uniform means you are proud.

[misakied]

      Sweet Jesus this kid is loud. 

      "Huh? Pride...?" Cue a soft laugh and a shake of his head. With a snap of his fingers, a flicker of a blue aura appears along with a smirk. 

      "Power. I wear this thing for the power."

[misakied]

reenter [open]

[suuketa]

  Busy. That’s usually how Yata managed his days in the city nowadays; absorbed in whatever thing he could call work right now—deliveries in particular—he wanted to remain on his feet for now. Since the touch of Winter didn’t really care much for holding back (if he kept moving he’d keep himself warm all on his own, for the most part.) Even here. For now, he’d stop nearby to pick something up for someone else he’d grown more acquainted with since his arrival, a last-minute item to grab on his way back.

  There were things he wanted back from Shizume City that he left behind, not that he exactly planned on leaving in the first place. A few items he was more or less attached to, his comrades in HOMRA; even if by that point they were drifting apart, the death of their King the base for it. He stayed, though—not that it mattered now, in this City. Thankfully enough he had Anna with him and he shamelessly clung solace in her presence. 

  He shot a text to the aforementioned asking if she wanted anything while he was here before because he’d make his way back to her, then home. Did she even like coffee? Maybe a rice krispy treat or whatever would be fine. They usually sold those here…

  As luck would have it this momentary lapse in focus was punished with an oh-so-welcoming direct hit of the door he had walked through just moments before, and even though he had moved over a little to stay out of the way (he thought, at least) it wasn’t enough, and he narrowed his eyes as he turned towards them with his fist clenched about ready to yell before he caught a glimpse of who it was exactly. 

  ❝Saru—❞

  He pursed his lips as he tipped his head to the side slightly, brow furrowed. Man, shut up. 

  ❝Watch what you’re fuckin’ doing, monkey.❞ Bitterness held in his tone as he slid his phone back into his pocket and maintained his clenched fists, if only clenching them harder (evident in his knuckles going white). ❝You’re the one that hit me with the goddamn thing, fuck off.❞ 

[misakied]

      It takes him a moment to fully register the situation, to accept that the voice he's hearing is truly his and not a stranger's. He doesn't react in the same, hostile way he usually would. There isn't a shred of violence, of craziness in his eyes at this moment. He's... just simply surprised and, dare he admit, happy to see he's alright. Nothing and no one is allowed to harm precious Misaki Yata -- aside from himself, of course. 

      The irritation in Misaki's face is as perfect as ever. It slowly begins to provoke him just as it always does. His grating voice is so delightfully bothersome and he thoroughly loves the thrilling feeling hearing it provides. Heart rate increasing by the second, he runs a hand through his hair, his smile widening in a more familiar way.

      "Misaki," he begins, resting his fists against his hips. They would usually be preparing to withdraw Subaru for an impromptu, enthralling battle against his former companion. He leans down, making sure he's eye level with the shorter of the two. "How long have you been here?" 

      Part of him is practically throbbing to instigate anger, to tip Misaki over the edge so they may fight, so he can bleed at the hands of him; but he manages to ignore it. It would be too easy to taunt him over the dead Red King, though, even he feels that would be crossing a line. There will be other times to tear each other apart, to satiate his own sick appetite for Misaki's passion. However, he does purposely avoid apologizing for smacking him with the door.

      After a sharp glance around them, it appears as if Misaki is without his brutish clan members. A lone Misaki... attention from only Misaki. It sends a chill up his spine and hope throughout his veins. He knows to take advantage of this rare opportunity. 

      "I'm assuming you're doing just fine here on your own considering how adapt you are when it comes to living in shitty cities." Not that Shizume is truly shitty-- just the majority of his memories. He reopens the door to the diner, avoiding another mishap; perhaps the most miraculous mishap to ever occur. "Weren't you going in?"

[misakied]

A large box sat by the apartment door. In side there were multiple different items of junk food laying there. At the very bottom there was a portable gaming system along with a new game inside.

      "Huh…" It’s a shame the giver is anonymous, as they’d be the first person in a very long time to see a genuine smile from him, to receive a real thank you from him. His sentence in Hive City just became incredibly more tolerable. 

[misakied]

You awake to discover 3 or 4 presents stowed away in your abode, all of which have been boxed in pristine, vibrantly wrapped boxed adorned with bows. Some of these boxes contain: coal, unfortunately. However there are also a few card decks, a spare pair of glasses and a few scarves. (This is not to be published or responded to until the 25th. Merry Christmas!)

      He rolls his eyes at the coal. When will Santa ever learn? Coal is not only valuable, but burning it provides warmth— which will be extremely appreciated if he has to spend the whole winter in his shitty shack. The other gifts, however, are deeply appreciated; even if it’s nearly invisible on his face.

      Leave it to the jolly ass fat guy to shed some light on a particularly dark month.

[perfectmayuge]

misakied

"Your uniform… am i to assume you are part of a special military class?"

[misakied]

"You'd be correct." He finds himself slightly distracted by those eyebrows.

"Your uniform. Am I to assume you're an extremely enthusiastic hall monitor...?"

[misakied]

☁ memes u

      “Misaki,”

      “My precious Misaki…”

[cittamemes]

Send me a ☁ for a thought my muse has had about yours.

[amnesiantics-deactivated2015060]

          ❝no, no—!❞

     She waved her hands, a frantic gesture        of no hard feelings meant.

          ❝it’s okay! like i said, my fault—- i dropped it.                                                     just a silly accident, that’s all!❞

       With that said and a reassuring smile, she        crouched to reach for her fallen belonging.

[misakied]

      He moves, foot lifting off of the book, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat. While always partial to video games, he does enjoy reading every now and then.

      "What are you reading?" he asks, feeling guilty enough about stepping on her possession to begin conversation.

[amnesiantics-deactivated2015060]

misakied.

[amnesiantics-deactivated2015060]

          ❝ah, sorry, excuse me—-!❞

          ❝that’s my book under your foot there— heh, my bad. i, uh, dropped it…❞

[misakied]

      "Huh...?" He glances down and, sure enough, a book is nestled under his boot. His eyes widen, not recalling stepping on it. There's no way he'd purposely tarnish an innocent bystander's belongings. Maybe.

      "Oh, sorry,"

      "I didn't see it there."

[centartus]

his fingers were dry again. cradling his book in one hand, he brought the other to his lips, stuck a finger in his mouth, tasted for just a moment his own flesh, remembered his growing hunger, and with that note, retrieved the wet digit, separated the pages in the bottom corner of his text, and turned to the next page, savoring the words as the insults of the other fell flat before him.

( it’s no more than a waste, really. it’s a well known fact, true, though it’s certainly far from one those who have acknowledged it wish to hear repeated. they know of the conditions here, but complaints do nothing to change the status quo. )

( you’ll come to find bringing one’s mother into the equation does not really have the desired effect when the subject of such a tactic is dead. sorry for the loss of your insult’s effectiveness in this case. )

[misakied]

His patience begin to wear extremely thin and he lets out a long, obvious sigh. It's clear that this person takes everything much too literally and Saruhiko doesn't want to waste his energy by explaining every little thing he meant. He's not worth using violence on, either.

"You are extremely irritating. Are you aware of that?"

[misakied]

reenter [open]

"How am I supposed to get a decent night's sleep in this shitty city?" 

Maybe he's a little homesick. Maybe he's too stubborn to admit such a thing to himself -- never mind saying it out loud.

Saruhiko trudges through the streets of Sector Two, having taken one look at his shanty in District Beta and abruptly turned on his heels. Traces of the sun peek over buildings, the lightening of the sky letting him know that it's probably around seven o'clock. It's freezing and, god, does he hate the cold. He's thin. Winter weather tears at his pale skin and chills him down to the bones effortlessly. It was more tolerable when he was involved with HOMRA, he remembers -- though, most likely because he was constantly around a hoard of hotblooded, hotheaded imbeciles.

Now that he thinks about it, he hates the heat, too. Too much of it makes him feverish and lethargic. The only time he recalls enjoying any type of heat, again, was when he was a member of HOMRA. Misaki's heat, in particular, was his favorite. It still is. The brashness of his old friend, his purely asinine behavior made him perfect for such a power. Misaki belongs with it, with them, and Saruhiko knows it just as well.

Feelings of bitterness and jealousy send a harsh shiver down his spine and he glares sharply at nothing, biting back the urge to scream and curse and tear down an entire building. What good would a tantrum do here? It would make him stand out, it would bring attention to him and he doesn't want anything like that. He just wants to find a warm place that serves a decent cup of coffee. Besides, the only one worth taking those feelings out on is nowhere to be found. If Misaki isn't the one to notice him, there's no point in expressing any sort of emotion that isn't absolute annoyance.

Finally --! Saruhiko spots a diner or something like it at the end of the street. Despite his usual habit of moving as lazily as possible, he picks up his pace; longing to get out of this damned wintry hell. He pushes the door open carelessly, thoughtlessly, and is startled only for a moment when it smacks into another customer. His irritated, collected composure is soon regained as he expresses absolutely no interest in the wellbeing of the door's victim. 

"Are you an idiot? Who stands directly behind a door?"

[centartus]

he hardly looked up from his book as the other continued with the snide sort of reply that one would throw as a clear admission they’d lost an argument, that they’d no longer an edge in a conversation. it was a linguistic tactic kaneki was well aware of, one he’d certainly seen used in better ways, but he was certainly aware of it. he licked a finger and turned a page, ripping his eye contact and the apparent privilege of attention cast upon the other’s childish outbursts away as a result of such admission.

( and there you go, proving yourself again. those words aren’t going to get you any of the sympathy or attention that you’re actually trying to win with them, you know. just a ghoul, wasting time he has to kill, telling you things that will go right over your head. )

[misakied]

Saruhiko's eyes narrow. Who does this little shit think he is? Some sort of god? It's pathetic. He sighs, resting a hand on his hip. 

"I'm not looking for sympathy or attention. Did it occur to you that I'm simply expressing a well known fact? This city is a shithole."  

"Perhaps you're the one here desperate for someone to notice you. Didn't your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?"

[centartus]

( well that is certainly a perfectly-honed habit of starving yourself of phrasing things eloquently. you could have saved yourself the waste of hot air, your expression relays in greater degree what your profanity never could, and now you’re pegged as nothing more than an earsore. shame. )

[misakied]

If this happened to be Misaki speaking to him in such a way, Saruhiko would have easily fired back with enjoyment beyond belief. Instead, however, it's a snide little creep -- or so it seems, and he has no interest in becoming riled up. With a role of his eyes, Saruhiko decides to acknowledge him as effortlessly as possible. 

"Do you really think I care?"

[kagemiyasen]

“Welcome back?”

[misakied]

"Tch. Thanks. And you are?"

[misakied]

"Oh."

"Not this fucking shithole again."