How do you convey your love? @roseate-vessel - Tumblr Blog

∞ endlessservant spiritualapocalypse

A curious tilt of the head.

It was often the young woman would simply nod in acknowledgement, opting not to say anything. She was no master conversationalist, her thoughts only being successfully conveyed in melodic rhythms; Funeral Parlor had never required her to be a social butterfly, and thus, she was a walking social ineptitude.

#I'm so gomen this is the best sickness could produce---#;Greet #endlessservant #spiritualapocalypse

I think I'll use Ouma Mana as my ooc facelaim for now on.

Seems fitting.

roseate-vessel

"Inori Yuzuriha" Appreciation Post

#;Gallery

etchingss

#;Thoughts #;Fears #;King

scraper-sky-high-deactivated201

"Another quiet day today…" The young man mutters under his breath as he flips though magazines on the counter. Which may have been a good way to kill the boredom of a not-so-busy day IF these weren’t the same three-month-old magazines he’s been reading ever since he started working here. "It wouldn’t kill that old man to buy some new ones one of these days…" With a sigh he tosses the guitar catalog he was gazing absently at to the side.

"Jeez, where could that old man have gotten to?" Recalling his employer,a rather perverse elderly fellow with a bad habit of shamelessly asking out much girls much younger than him, a small scowl forms on his face. Surprisingly, it seemed he didn’t get shot down right away and even got a date leaving Hyde alone with the store in the process.

It must be nice to be so carefree, Hyde thought to himself draping his headphones over his ears, starting to organize the CD’s on the shelves to at least appear busy. Turning on his mp3-player he begins his work. Not in the mood for the wails of the electric guitar that typically filled his ears, he repeatedly presses the skip button till that soothing melody began playing.

"Saita no no hana yo, aa douka oshieteokure, hito ha naze kizutsukeatte arasou no deshoooou…”~♪

Without thinking, the blond began half-heartedly, (and extremely off-key) singing along, not noticing that someone had entered the store.

roseate-vessel

"----- Hm?"

The Egoist paused, index finger poised on the back of another CD to push it forward. That was her song; one of her more popular pieces, posted online not long before Gai's plans were set into motion -- before her view of the world was changed with the force of a winter wind.

A sense of nostalgia momentarily overcame her, eyes softening in a rare display of emotion; it was one of the songs she had felt particularly attached to, its childlike curiosity echoing her own confusion at the state of the world, of society. Even if it took her months upon months to realize it, that she had her own thoughts -- her own perceptions.

Inori didn't even mind that it was being murmured horribly off-key; in fact, it was a factor she hardly even noticed. Dainty fingers slid away from the shelf, the young woman beginning to follow the source of sound.

#scraperskyhigh

meteorius-blog

Despite the chiding voice of his grandmother echoing in the recess of his memory, Noel couldn’t keep the confused expression at bay as he listened to the girl in front of him. She sure was blunt about things, wasn’t she?

"Uh…ok. Ah, nice to meet you then, Miss Inori." Schooling his features, Noel flashed her a friendly grin. "The name’s Noel. Nice to meet ‘cha!"

roseate-vessel

"Noel... Like Christmas?"

The inquiry seemed sudden, as if the thought had appeared almost instantaneously; rosy tresses momentarily bent and swayed against petite shoulders as eyebrows arched upward, posture straightening with awareness. Christmas was one of the few things she was intently aware of, serving as a painful and joyous reminder all at once. It was one of the few things that could cause her typically lackluster crimson eyes to light up -- whether with excitement or apprehension, it was hard to say.

"It's... Nice to meet you too, Noel," she managed to add on, her voice acquiring a bit more engaged, emphasized lilt.

#meteorjavalin

//I'm online, but either have tuberculosis, pneumonia, or bronchitis. Activity might, once again, grow sporadic.

#Fun fun.#tbd #outofvessel

∞ scraper-sky-high

The blistering wind left its marks on typically pale cheeks as she strode quickly along the windswept city streets. Perhaps it was the weather itself that kept said streets mostly unpopulated; that, and the school hours. There were, of course, busier streets toward the main hotbed of city activity, businessmen and women making their commutes, grown young women on shopping sprees -- and their mothers, for the upcoming holidays. And Inori?

She was on her way to indulge in a guilty pleasure: the music store.

She enjoyed perusing through the various CDs and prototype stations, a small part of her expecting to hear her own voice, see her own face on display. It wouldn't be the first time; it wasn't too long ago that she had taken social media by storm with her videos as the Egoist. On the other hand, it was also a terrorist movement. Even if GHQ had yet to regain their expansive hold over the nation, terrorism was, in fact, still fairly frowned upon.

In public, at least.

"Hm..."

#scraperskyhigh #;Greet #Thanks for following uvu/

inori-chii

∞ masochisticsadist

Roseate tresses were tousled by a gentle breeze, fading into a soft translucence toward the scalp. It was only as of recent that one could truly inhale the breeze deeply, fearlessly, worries of Lost Christmas far behind most. Japan continued to lick its wounds, the once domineering GHQ losing enough of its commanders in the struggle for its country's survival to finally retreat. The Egoist's goal -- moreso the goal of all in Funeral Parlor -- had been painstakingly obtained...

She didn't consider it enough, thought Shu's life too heavy a price; perhaps she truly was selfish in that regard.

Inori's exhale was even deeper, condensed breath billowing out between dry, pale coral lips. This was her daily routine now; catching a metro train to downtown, supporting what few needs she had. It wasn't too difficult for a pretty face to get a temporary job here and there, although her typically silent nature tended to impede her. Most wrote it off as extreme courtesy, at least. Her feet connected hard with the pavement in continuous rhythm, strides long and quick as she attempted to make her way toward her station -- ramming right into a seemingly equally distracted young woman in the process.

"Er--- Apologies--" she attempted to blurt out, hands instinctively outstretched to assist. How exactly she planned to assist, even she wasn't sure.