Patchwork Pieces

SHSL Seamstress [Affiliated with despair-quest]

[silken-misfortune]

can I braid your hair? it's so blue and pretty!!1

Shiruku eyes the one who has complimented her with a newfound glimmer in her countenance, the faint trace of a smile gracing her face.

“That would be wonderful— you’re simply too kind!” She giggles, adjusting her glasses.

[despair-quest]

Victims: Anri Takahashi, Kenji Nakajima

Location of the body: Kenji in Kenji’s walk in closet, Anri in an unknown location.

Person who Discovers body: Nakajima Kenji found by Satou Carmilla, Takahashi Anri’s body remains missing.

Evidence: 

ANRI

Unknown; Unable to access body

Has been missing in action for a long period of time, but your watches never reported his death previous to the body drop.

KENJI

Body was found hanging by a noose from the ceiling in his closet

[silken-misfortune]

Unraveling | Chapter 5 Motive | Closed for Carmilla

@shslbatty --- All your fault. Those three words had anchored her mind to the same abyss of blame. The contents of her mind were a spiraling mess of bubbling hatred and heartbreak, laced by the choir of voices that could not silence their accusations. No matter where her feet led her, no matter how much she tried to nullify the relentless stream of blame, it never seemed to fall silent. Even beyond her door, caught in the safe, comforting walls of her room, among her forest of sewing needles and valley of thread and fabric, she could hear them still. Their voices resonated from the crevice between her door and the floor, hardly even muffled by the insulation pocket. She could still hear Honeya, Niji, Chōju, Maya, Norio, Yuki, Mikka, Daichi, Nyakuma, Koharu, Tamago, Ai, Akemi, Sashiko— all partaking in that same horrible string of accusations and hatred. They showed no interest in entering her room, in following her beyond the door: just in ensuring that her ears could not escape. She spent hours trying to muffle it. She slid her needle through fabric after fabric after fabric, trying to mute their voices with the feeling of being useful. If she crafted enough blankets, she could bury their voices under the fact that she was fending off the cold for her class. If she sewed enough gifts, she could blockade away their cruelty with reception of gratitude. If she worked until her consciousness left her, maybe their voices would be enveloped by the lovely blackness of sleep. But no matter how many stitches it took to create something, no matter how many times she looped the needle and thread back through the fabric, no matter how many times she found herself having to swap materials, it didn't stop. They weren't going to leave her alone, no matter how much she wished it. Sitting around and willing the voices to stop was the last thing that could ward off her nightmares. So with shaking hands and a heavy heart, she set aside her work, slid into her pumps, and opened her door. They all still stood there, with those empty eyes and grotesque smiles, still bearing the remnants of what condemned them to the grave. Stab wounds, bruises, rope marks, any manner of injuries— all still fresh and no less jarring to behold. And among their warped visages still was her little sister, staring up at her with innocent curiosity and heartbreak. Shiruku pushed through all of them and sprinted down the hall and across, crashing against door number 9 — Carmilla's bedroom door. Her fist crashed against the surface, again and again, begging the vampiress to open the door. "Satou-sama?" She called, through a strained, tear-choked voice. "It's me— Shiruku."

[rpmusings-galore]

Hey guys, it’s ME…

            The  biggest 

 \  DISAPPOINTMENT \

                             you know…

[rpmusings-galore]

Please,  just make this easy for me. 

     Tell me I never mattered. 

            Tell me you never cared. 

                SWEAR TO ME you never loved me. 

Just let me walk away…

[rpmusings-galore]

But, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.                                                           I mean, I’m happy…

And I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m FINE.

[silken-misfortune]

Change the Needle, Change the Thread | Motive Reaction | Open

It was remarkable how her reason to live was simultaneously what tore her into pieces.

Before her nimble fingers found the thread and cloth, before hemming clothing became second nature, before she learned to affix a button to a shirt in thirty seconds flat, nothing good ever came of Shiruku Maeda. Her feet left destruction in their wake, her very aura was permanently rich with tragedy, and no matter how good her intentions were, it all seemed to unravel and unravel and unravel until she’d done more harm than good.

She was a hurricane— a storm in human skin, and no umbrella could fend off the rain of misfortune that emanated from her. Everything she poured her heart into seemed to dissipate into dust until her mistakes were a desert. Regardless of how she fought, regardless of the measures she took to keep everything together, nothing could ever remain whole in her desolate grasp.

Her entire life up to a little while after her eighteenth birthday had mostly consisted of brief, minor errors— things breaking in her hands, bad things happening to good people whenever she was around, problems that only seemed to blossom in her presence. It was more than coincidence. It had to be more than coincidence: when anyone you ever hoped to have as a friend found a reason to leave you, when everything you touched seemed to fall apart, when casting a shadow equated to tearing everything apart, a coincidence seemed infinitely less practical.

She was a harbinger of tragedy— a messenger of sorrow. But when she turned nine, she managed to find a way to create. Although misfortune trailed her every footstep, the talisman to ward it off seemed to spiral at the heart of a needle and thread.

Sewing was the first activity she hadn’t cursed. And she couldn’t have been happier.

The circumstances were unfortunate, of course. Her sister’s birth had only depleted the amount of money they could secure as a family, and Yen pinching grew more and more difficult by the day. But the second Shiruku had laid her hands on a needle and thread, she had known that she had found what she’d been meant to do.

Her whole life, all she seemed to do was bring about destruction, hatred, failure— she was a bad luck charm striding the earth in solemnity. She was nothing but a beacon of brokenness. And then there it had been: and suddenly she wasn’t destroying, she was creating. She was piecing her broken family together stitch by stitch, and she was talented enough to turn a amalgamation of sorrow into a patchwork quilt. She was doing something <i>good.<i>

And yet, she still could not sew away her mistakes. Her sins, her errors, her failures— they would forever cling to her spine and weigh her down. They’d never leave her now. Not as long as she was <i>here.<i>

She’d known something was wrong the second that unusually comforting melody snaked throughout the air. They’d been here for…months. God, it had already been months, and their numbers had dwindled so severely. Five people had been imprisoned, five people had been murdered, and three people had been unceremoniously killed. Even though she knew for a fact that none of this could be a dream, the loss of thirteen high school students in just a few months felt…impossible.

It was about that time now— the moment when the world started falling apart for a week, the moment before another one met a grisly end as well. But it took far longer than it should have for her to fathom that this was another cruel incentive.

Within a few seconds

The world

Started

To fall

Apart

<i>“Maeda-san?”<i>

The voice cut through the oxygen in the park like a knife. It was a soft harmony of a voice, as if sugar lined every word. Shiruku glanced up from her seat on a bench in the park—

And froze.

Right before her stood a familiar figure— soft minty tresses assembled into a ponytail, wide brown eyes, a sweet, indiscriminate smile gracing her lips. Even though it was impossible, even though there was no possibility of it happening… Hachinoko Honeya stood before her, awaiting an answer.

“…Honeya-san?” Shiruku said, her eyes wide. This had to be a trick of the eyes, a failure of perception— it didn’t make any sense. But no matter how many times she cleaned off the lenses of her glasses, Hachinoko’s smiling silhouette did not fade. “I thought…you were…?”

<i>“Gone?”<i> Hachinoko giggled, sauntering over to the seamstress with that same unfazed calmness. <i>“Oh Maeda-san…”<i>

That’s when it all began to warp.

Bright eyes grew dark and hollow, and a tiny trickle of blood slid down from that sweet smile. A horrifying gash spread across her midriff, staining her cute apparel with relentless red— her arm was gone, her entire body malformed by the aftermath of something she never deserved. And even still that smile did not fade.

Shiruku couldn’t even draw up the courage to scream. Her voice was gone, whisked away with whatever happiness she had left. Hachinoko just kept smiling, kneeling before her and cupping her cheek with the hand she had left to use.

“I am gone. I just wanted you to know that it should have been ỳ̰͉͓͕ou̢͕͇̠͖ͅ.”

<i>“Maeda-san, my one regret is that I took Honeya-san’s life instead of yours.”<i> Another voice rose from nearby, and Shiruku turned to find a willowy figure with prismatic hair and eyes staring down at her. <i>“Maybe if you went away sooner, no one else would have had to die.”<i>

“I…? Koji-san, Honeya-san, I—”

<i>“Shiruku-chan?”<i>

She turned again, her eyes widening as they fell upon a smiling figure with layers of blonde-brown hair cascading down their back, with sleeves too large for the rest of their body. Massive bruises distorted their figure, and their eyes too were hollow and distant.

“Chōju-san—”

<i>“Shiruku-chan~ why did you let Chōju die? You promised to be Chōju’s friend. Why did you lie to me?”<i>

The whole world was collapsing around her.

More silhouettes clustered around Shiruku, their eyes all hollow and empty— devoid of life or light. Maya, Norio, Yuki, Mikka, Daichi, Nyakuma, Koharu, Tamago, Ai, <i>Akemi—<i>

<i>“It should have been you.”<i>

<i>“Kyaha! Four trials and you’re no less pathetic, Maeda! You didn’t even have the courage to vote when it came to avenging Aoyama. You should just die, you know that~?”

"Why did making people like you matter more than justice in the end?>

“…Maeda, you had the chance to s̵͓̭̫̭̗̲͍a̡v҉e̛͔͇̯̦ ̤̯m̞̙̬̦̦̪e҉̪̠̳͙. Why didn’t you? You said I was cute, it didn’t take a genius to tell that you were hopelessly in love. So why didn’t you s̵͓̭̫̭̗̲͍a̡v҉e̛͔͇̯̦ ̤̯m̞̙̬̦̦̪e҉̪̠̳͙?!”<i>

<i>“Nee-sama?”<i>

Shiruku felt her heart break.

Right beyond the circle of her fallen classmates stood a teenage girl with short cobalt tresses flowing just past her chin, with bright blue, innocuous eyes, clothed in all too familiar attire…she stared innocently up at Shiruku, her countenance meek and helpless.

“…Sashiko…?”

<i>“Nee-sama, nee-sama… why’d you take away my future?”<i> The girl said, moving in closer until she stood right before Shiruku, the glimmer in her gaze melting away to accentuate the blankness. “If you hadn’t been so s͚̘͈̮̥e͙̦̭̟͘l̙̮͚̺͙f̱͙̲̱̠̰i̘͟s͖͍͈͕h̭ then it’d all be okay. Why did you have to be s͚̘͈̮̥e͙̦̭̟͘l̙̮͚̺͙f̱͙̲̱̠̰i̘͟s͖͍͈͕h̭? You told me that you loved me. You were supposed to be my s҉͙̱̙͚̠̣i̥̞̤̰̘̦̝s̨͔t̥e͍̞r̶̙̮̮̳.”<i>

Everything started to blur.

Shiruku fell to the ground of the park, the earth oddly harsh against her skin. Tears blurred the lenses of her glasses, an unspeakable remorse tore across her countenance, and the whole world felt as though it had fallen apart.

Her sewing didn’t matter— the things she’d sewn, the work she’d thrown into it all didn’t matter. Her heart was in pieces, the world itself was in pieces, and she couldn’t breathe because the only thing looming in her brain, the only thing she could focus on was the fact that this was all

Her

Fault.

Shiruku Maeda could piece anything together if she was given a needle and thread.

But what was left for her to piece together?

[spiritmusing]

『 can things just go back to the way they were before？』

[despair-quest]

Victim: Aoyama Daichi

Time of Death: 4:20 AM

Location of the body: Pillow Room

Person who Discovers body: Yano Masashi

Evidence: 

There is a large pool of blood forming underneath Daichi’s body.

Daichi’s body is pale, and there are small trickles of blood leaking from the corners of his eyes, mouth, nose, and ears. Beside him is a pool of vomit, mostly coffee and blood.

There is a stab wound in his chest, and three stab wounds in his stomach.

[silken-misfortune]

Patchwork Promises | Motive Reaction | Closed for Masumi

@error4x4 ---- She'd been certain she could hold out. The first motive had been pressing, to say the least. Of all the ways to get the group to start murdering one another, threatening all their lives wholly and simultaneously was definitely the quickest incentive. At first, they'd been able to pretend the whole thing was some traumatic joke, or a dreadful nightmare— but when the beast tore into Hibiki Shinobu, practically shredding him apart in the spot, they'd known it was no prank. And then there were twenty-eight. The second had been laughable to some and severe to others— an amalgam of mixed reactions, uncertain of how to fathom the fact that the puppeteer manipulating the strings knew the little secrets they'd fought to hide away. She herself knew her secret was not quite immune to the public, but it didn't make her regret it any less...but she knew she wasn't the type of person to murder someone over it. That wasn't how she functioned: but clearly, others had a different makeup. And then there were twenty-four. The third motive seemed...unreal. She hadn't believed the premise for a second— here they were, right in the hands of someone who was eliminating them bit by bit, and then there'd been the promise to let two of them go if there'd been a clean murder. Either the person behind all of this knew that the odds of someone getting away with murder were slim, or they had taken a huge gambit. If two people became free, who could guarantee that those two wouldn't run after the authorities and save all of those who remained? And then there were twenty. And now was number four, the most pressing one yet— After all, four never was her number. Shiruku stared at the display of her watch with shock and horror. That sweet smile, those short cobalt curls, with blue eyes behind green contacts and a little more makeup than could be passed off as natural— who else could it be but her? Sashiko Maeda: Shiruku's little sister, best friend, and the comatose victim of her car crash not so long ago. The seamstress felt like she was dying. Her heart stung with an unsteady beat, agony blossoming through her broken pieces until numbness took root instead. Of all the people, they'd gone for someone who couldn't even defend herself. Shiruku was done. She couldn't try and put on that kind and motherly act, she couldn't hold the hands of everyone she wanted to fight for. She stodgy up, closed the holographic display and walked. Where? She didn't know. After what felt like miles, the seamstress settled in the grass at the roots of one of the park's trees. She didn't have her sewing kit, she didn't have anything— she was empty-handed and empty-hearted. Why couldn't she take it all back?

[shslcosplayidol]

Overworking yourself | Kaya | Chapter 4 | RE: Execution Reaction(?), ATTN: Shiruku

[shslcosplayidol]

silken-misfortune:

Even despite her utter refusal to interact with others lest her misfortune take them too, Shiruku was not the kind of person to linger back and watch as someone else suffered.

Especially not if that person was someone she treasured with all her heart.

Moments after the end of the trial, Shiruku had gathered the unconscious cosplay idol up in her arms and disappeared down the corridors, pacing herself as best she could— not wanting to disturb Kaya with excessive speed, but not wanting to loiter too long in case her pressing illness worsened in condition. So, she’d had to find a balance. Luckily, the bedrooms were only a staircase away, and it wasn’t long before the two could slip into the warmth of Kaya’s room.

First thing was first— moving Kaya into her bed. The second the door slid open, Shiruku laid the display idol on her mattress, carefully moving her sheets and comforter over her sleeping form. It didn’t take a genius to tell that Kaya was not doing well— with shadows under her typically luminous eyes, a new paleness to her formerly healthy complexion. She looked worn out beyond belief— and no matter how guilty Shiruku felt about their whole scenario, she had to help somehow.

The second thing was getting Kaya situated. After positively ascertaining that Kaya would be alright alone for a few moments, Shiruku slipped out of the room, moving downstairs into the kitchen. Within a few moments, Shiruku had a warm mug of tea prepared, as well as a warm washcloth— she’d return sooner if Kaya was hungry, but she didn’t want to push her too hard.

As the seamstress slipped back into Kaya’s bedroom, silently shutting the door behind her, her eyes landed on a half-conscious cosplay idol, seemingly puzzled at where she was. She certainly didn’t take long to rise.

“Ah, Hanamoto-san— it’s nice to see you awake.” Shiruku softly smiled, gingerly setting the warm washcloth on Kaya’s forehead. “I brought you some chamomile— it might help out a little.”

Although she was still all over the place, Kaya was able to register the voice that came from her side. She felt like as if she’d heard said voice recently, before she’d assumingly passed out. Was it… during the trial? At the end of it? Maybe even the beginning? She wasn’t sure, but she remembered that she felt warm at one point… as if someone had hugged her. Or was it something placed on top of her to keep warm?

Thinking about it made her head just spin a lot more, so she decided to not pursue this line of thinking any longer and instead, tried to shift her attention to whom the voice belonged - though as she slightly tilted her head to the side, she suddenly felt something… warm on her forehead. That was… strange, but also oddly comforting. Even though she felt quite hot, it could also change quickly to insufferably cold.

(Fever, man. What a strange thing it was.)

That aside, she heard the person say something about chamomile - and it was for her, right? So someone was taking care of her, because she’d winded up getting too sick to take care of herself. But who…?

As Kaya strained herself to get a proper look at the person, she realized that it was Shiruku who’d been kind enough to look after her. Now that she thought about it, she remembered seeing a blue strand of hair at some point when she felt especially weak- it must’ve also been here back then, right?

“M… Mae-chan…? Uh… what… where…”

She had lots of questions, but incredible difficulties to formulate them in any way. The sick girl wanted to ask everything at once, but that was just bound to fail.

“What h… happened…?”

[silken-misfortune]

How was Shiruku supposed to explain what had thrown Kaya into unconsciousness without rattling the already dazed girl?

There had been the obvious— Yuki and Norio were...gone, and that was a fact that was impossible to elude. The double murder had shocked everyone, particularly considering the motive was, perhaps, not as severe as the first or second ones. But perhaps she'd been a little too idealistic in assuming that everyone would hold out and manage to get through the entirety of what had to be an empty promise.

She'd certainly been too hopeful; two people were dead because of that incentive.

Still, out of all the people Shiruku anticipated to have been Yuki and Norio's killer? Mikka Sakata was far from one of the top suspects. The two had...they'd investigated together, and Mikka had seemed so adamant on finding the killer this chapter that it seemed impossible that she'd be lying...but it turned out that the Super High School Level Entomologist was a better actress than any of them could have fathomed.

To Mikka, every single one of them had been little other than pieces of meat.

To Mikka, all the friendships she'd developed were gateways into the jaws of her "partner."

To Mikka, all that mattered were the insects pretending to be ribbons that clung so adamantly to her back.

How was Shiruku going to explain that without intensifying the sickness boiling under Kaya's skin?

"It's a long story, to be truthful." Shiruku said, examining the bruises and cuts peppered over Kaya's arms and face. In truth, it was only a matter of time until one of them got infected.... "...Hanamoto-san? Where did these bruises and cuts come from?" She sounded infinitely more concerned than she had anticipated.

[kcbayashi-blog]

recovery | closed for shiruku

@silken-misfortune

With the trial finally over and out of the way, it was back to square one for Airi. 

In terms of everything, really, but in particular, it was back to try and regain her lost energy while checking up on her classmates. Ever since she and her fellow classmates and dispersed the same day, Airi had already made a short list in her head on who to visit. It was safe to say that she had met most everyone, by now, and the important thing to do next was to help them however she could in feeling better. 

First on her list was a certain seamstress she had spotted helping others after the reveal of Mikka’s stupid bug. It was difficult to think straight when she had allowed herself to feel anger for the first time in a while, but it was clear to the girl that those who helped others often needed to be helped as well. 

How to help, exactly, Airi wasn’t particularly sure, and for a day or two she makes sure she herself is in a condition to help others while thinking hard on this concept. There was a certain sadness in the seamstress’s eyes that the linguist had been unable to forget, and it was the main reason for Shiruku being top priority.

Operation: Cheer Shiruku Up turns out to be fairly simple. As far as Airi knew, having someone to vent to as well as offer a shoulder to cry on was very valuable in itself, and quite helpful in easing away sadness. There was a new room she had spotted on her watch that she could use for this too, so it was two birds with one stone. It was perfect.

From her desk in her bedroom, Airi scribbles away in her journal, swinging her feet and certainly taking her time in writing whatever it was she had thought out for the past few days. In the end, she leaves it at only a couple sentences, but the moment she’s finished is when the plan is put into action. With a determined twinkle in her eyes, the girl gets to her feet, gingerly tears the paper she had been writing on out of her journal, and sprints out of the room in no time flat.

Moments later, a childish note that’s almost a bit hard to read is slid under Shiruku’s door. Airi knocks, just to be safe in getting her attention, and restraining a giggle at how secretive she was being, makes her way to the designated room. 

Hopefully she would turn up, but regardless, all that’s left to do now was wait. 

[silken-misfortune]

As far as Shiruku had decided, solitude bore a lot more promise when misfortune trailed your very footsteps.

It was, perhaps, arbitrary, and that had not gone unnoticed, but adhered to her policy quite diligently. You couldn't take a risk when there were other people and other people's lives at stake. That was the most steadfast rule of life, and ever since she'd first suspected that her bad luck was more than just coincidence, she'd enforced it.

So even though corpses fell every other week, even though anyone Shiruku had ever thought of conversing with seemed to die, even though they'd gone from thirty to twenty in just a few weeks— it was in her nature to miss human contact.

The seamstress had spent her lifetime trying to fight off the monsters that clung to her every action, from the cruel little void that resided in her body, tearing it apart from within, to the numbers that trailed and taunted her every footstep, forever asking which one would be the one to shadow her fate next. She missed being able to sew without counting every stitch. She missed not bearing the burden of however many good luck charms she could keep on her person and still not knowing if it'd be enough. She missed being able to function normally without her thoughts always reverting to the numbers, to the monster inside her, to the nightmare of living as a bad luck charm.

She missed feeling human.

So, maybe it wasn't such a crime to...forget that, just for this one time. That wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Of course, when Airi's...oddly scrawled note slipped beneath the gap between the door and the floor, Shiruku couldn't help but stifle a somber giggle. The linguist was such a sweet, innocent person— not held back by how cruel the world could be, not bound to her mistakes, simply focused on making her life and others' so much better. Even though she could feel the tiny number seven she'd stitched into the inside of her right sleeve practically burning as a warning sign, she couldn't help but decide that...she wanted to spend time with Airi.

The seamstress luckily had a makeshift solution. There'd been an abundance of green fabric in the pillow room, and the park had managed to bear some four leaf clovers— so what was the crime in making a little something to up her luck?

She didn't dawdle as she slipped into the green sundress she'd sewn up a few days before, examining the cautious, silken stitching of her handiwork. She had her measurements known by heart now, so spacing it out wasn't too difficult— nor was embellishment. Blue was certainly her best color no matter how she looked at it, but what was a Super High School Level Seamstress without an open heart to other colors and styles?

Shiruku didn't want to over-accessorize (yes, that was a thing, thank you very much), but regardless, she couldn't resist weaving a few of those nice clovers into her cerulean tresses. It was one final jab against the misfortune that plagued her— a last stand that made it clear that she didn't plan on letting her burden stand strong today.

On went her black pumps, over the shoulder with her sewing bag, and she was set to go. For once, it didn't feel excessive or spoiled to dress up a little more cutely than usual— she didn't feel so...restricted.

As she slid into the Tea Room, she couldn't help but think that while blue was her favorite and that would never change, maybe green was her color too.

"Hello, Kobayashi-san," Shiruku said, managing a classical warm smile that didn't span into her eyes. "Pardon if I'm a little late, I just...dolled up a bit today." She flushed slightly at admitting it, as though afraid that Airi might judge her for going above and beyond... "...Anyway, how are you faring today?"

[shslcosplayidol]

Overworking yourself | Kaya | Chapter 4 | RE: Execution Reaction(?), ATTN: Shiruku

@silken-misfortune

[TW: Insect mention in second paragraph]

Usually, Kaya would’ve observed the so-called execution, so she could remember their last, possible moments. After all, even though all culprits only landed in prison thus far, which guarantee had they that they’ll be kept alive? Aside from simply hoping for that to be the case, the mascots never explained themselves in that regard. For all they knew, prison here could mean a worser fate than death.

However, none of that mattered, as Kaya had passed out by the time the execution started. She’d been sick since quite a while and now, she’d finally reached her limit. Hell, she hadn’t even realized yet that Mikka had killed for two human-eating bugs that had camouflagued themselves as eccentric ribbons! At this point, the cosplay idol sincerely believed that she had hallucinated them and thus, was truthful to Shiruku when she said that she might feel a lot worse than anticipated.

Either way, the cosplay idol had absolutely no idea how much time passed before slowly, her consciousness returned back to reality. Stirring awake, the pink-haired girl attempted to open her eyes, but when she did, she almost immediately closed them. Not only was the light almost blinding, everything was such a blur that it made her dizzy.

However, if anything, Kaya was a stubborn one. Thus, she attempted to open her eyes again, whilst also realizing that she was lying on something… comfy. A bed? Probably.

Regardless, she blinked for a few times and soon enough, her view got a bit clearer - still not incredibly sharp, but what can you do? If you’re sick, you have to do with what you have at your disposal.

“… Huh…? Where…”

Her voice was hoarse and she felt thirsty. However, she was more occupied with where she was and why. What happened? She remembered going to the trial and… it happened. However…

“Hngh…!”

Ouch, her head hurt.

[silken-misfortune]

Even despite her utter refusal to interact with others lest her misfortune take them too, Shiruku was not the kind of person to linger back and watch as someone else suffered.

Especially not if that person was someone she treasured with all her heart.

Moments after the end of the trial, Shiruku had gathered the unconscious cosplay idol up in her arms and disappeared down the corridors, pacing herself as best she could— not wanting to disturb Kaya with excessive speed, but not wanting to loiter too long in case her pressing illness worsened in condition. So, she'd had to find a balance. Luckily, the bedrooms were only a staircase away, and it wasn't long before the two could slip into the warmth of Kaya's room.

First thing was first— moving Kaya into her bed. The second the door slid open, Shiruku laid the display idol on her mattress, carefully moving her sheets and comforter over her sleeping form. It didn't take a genius to tell that Kaya was not doing well— with shadows under her typically luminous eyes, a new paleness to her formerly healthy complexion. She looked worn out beyond belief— and no matter how guilty Shiruku felt about their whole scenario, she had to help somehow.

The second thing was getting Kaya situated. After positively ascertaining that Kaya would be alright alone for a few moments, Shiruku slipped out of the room, moving downstairs into the kitchen. Within a few moments, Shiruku had a warm mug of tea prepared, as well as a warm washcloth— she'd return sooner if Kaya was hungry, but she didn't want to push her too hard.

As the seamstress slipped back into Kaya's bedroom, silently shutting the door behind her, her eyes landed on a half-conscious cosplay idol, seemingly puzzled at where she was. She certainly didn't take long to rise.

"Ah, Hanamoto-san— it's nice to see you awake." Shiruku softly smiled, gingerly setting the warm washcloth on Kaya's forehead. "I brought you some chamomile— it might help out a little."

[silken-misfortune]

Chapter 4 Thread Tracker

((Please PM me if you'd like a Shiruku! Also, I will say— I'm taking fewer public and more private threads because I have State this week, and won't have access to Tumblr as often!!)) Public: 1. [OPEN] 2. [OPEN] 3. [OPEN] Private: 1. [OPEN] 2. [OPEN] 3. [OPEN] 4. [OPEN] 5. [OPEN] Undecided: 1. Kaya 2. Carmilla

[silken-misfortune]

Gone With the Wind | Body Reaction

It was amazing how her life could flicker into seven different positions all in the course of a few months. She'd gone from reserved and judgmental at the glance of another person's clothing to being willing to lay down her life for twenty-nine kids she hardly even knew. She'd gone from loving and nurturing to cold and distant— she'd extinguished the flames that seemed to immolate her all for the sake of keeping others warm, leaving a broken, sad girl behind, forced to watch her ashes gather between the cold crevices of the rocks as everyone she fought to protect and love found a new fire pit. She'd gone from low to lower, and lower to lowest. Any and all confidence that she'd gained had quickly turned to bitterness. She'd spent the entire week since the disastrous birthday party locked up in her room, sewing things meant for no person, etching her existence into every delicate stitch. She was done working herself to death for everyone else when no one even offered to help her the rest of the way. Shiruku Maeda was done setting herself on fire to keep other people warm. A bitter taste lingered on her tongue. She curled up in her bed, hair disheveled and unkempt, glasses askew on her face, clothed in pajamas she hadn't cared to change. Her room was a mess— fabric was draped over surface after surface, forgotten needles with forgotten threads partially looped through them scattered on the floor, half-completed projects she couldn't muster the motivation to finish abandoned wherever one could look. She hardly seemed herself— a shell of the smiling, gentle girl she'd been in the past few weeks. She'd finally accepted the fact that no one would ever love her, so what was the point? She'd even left the door unlocked— what did she care if someone came after her? However, the seamstress soon found that neglecting her basic needs was...not proving beneficial. She wasn't sleeping, she wasn't eating, and she wasn't working to help herself in any way. Shiruku was already bad at addressing her basic human requirements, so this was a whole other level. Her entire body stung, nerves throbbing with dull pain, numbness yet to set in. Her eyes were rimmed by dark abysmal circles, and she seemed paler than ever before. It was pitiful, really. If she'd been given any longer to think on it, she never would have gotten up in the first place. But there was no point in letting her pitiful little life flicker out on its own when anyone here could use stifling her pathetic existence as a stepping stone to freedom. Shiruku could pretend, and she could pretend well. She was no actress, but she was sure as hell a seamstress— and if she needed a mask in this moment, so be it. The seamstress finally ran a brush through her hair, slipped into her usual pencil skirt and flowing blouse, sliding her trademark pumps on and pinning her button clip among her teal tresses. A bit of lipstick there, some eyeliner and mascara, along with a bit of contouring and blush to hide the fact that she'd shielded herself from the kingdom beyond her room— blessed be her emergency makeup. Of anything that could have been left behind, she was glad this was not it. She clipped her travel sewing kit to her skirt before walking out the door, still not quite smiling. Just because she'd risen from ash didn't mean that she'd go back to being their firewood. She evaded glances as she walked outside, desperate to evade conversation— but that's when she realized how few people lingered around. Airi, Zeycan, Hotaru, Haruto, Akemi, even Masumi— no one she'd typically encounter was around. It took her a moment to realize, but as soon as she did— Her heart stopped. It was roughly that time. She knew that, but she'd been stupid. Shiruku quickened her pace, striding the perimeters of the kingdom walls when she finally happened upon the empty house alongside the hot springs— where everyone else lingered, not focused on anything but the two corpses before them. Not again, not again, not again not again not again not again— god there were TWO of them, no no no no no— Shiruku stared over the lifeless bodies of Yuki Tsukino and Norio Yoshisaki, guilt weighing heavily in her heart. Unmoving muscles, no life beneath their skin— their clothing marred by blood and expressions wrought with agony. If only she hadn't locked herself away. If only she hadn't been over dramatic. If only, If only, If only. But what was an "if only" when the thing you wished to prevent laid right before your eyes?

[despair-quest]

Victims: Tsukino Yuki, Yoshisaki Norio

Location of the bodies: Empty House near Hot Springs

Body Discovered By: Miyamoto Hotaru

Evidence: 

Stab wound in Yuki’s stomach.

Bruise around Norio’s neck.

Blood covered knife by Norio’s hand.

Rope on Yuki.

[vermillionchessboard-deactivate]

the most unexpected | chapter 3 | akemi / shiruku

[vermillionchessboard-deactivate]

silken-misfortune:

“I’m fine, thank you,” Shiruku murmured beneath her breath before Akemi finished her sentence.

Because really, the last thing the seamstress wanted was to step on any toes. Shiruku leaned against the surrounding wall of the pool, the tile cool against her spine. She remained silent for a moment as Akemi spoke, unable to prevent her lips from parting in moderate shock.

“Well, I’m sorry you can’t swim— that’s kind of surprising to me, I suppose. I’d expect someone like you to have a massive outdoor pool, expensive lessons and the like….” She mused, contemplating what Akemi’s house must have been like. “I…wouldn’t know, though.” She sighed again, unable to prevent her mind from wandering to the choppy description of herself on the watch display screens— the references to her life before she took up commissioned sewing.

No, Shiruku Maeda wouldn’t know what wealth was like— all she had to go by was fantasy.

The seamstress watched Akemi, trying her best to not regard the threat the chessmaster slung her way. …at least, not completely. She had to be conscientious here— threats could be genuine or arbitrary in this Kingdom of Death. Although she knew that Akemi Ueyama was unlikely to do her any harm, she had to be careful at the very least.

As much as she hated herself? Her little sister needed her. Her family needed her. She was their best source of finances. Sachi still needed treatment, and it was anything but cheap.

“Still, Ueyama-san…it’s kind of cute!” Shiruku said, giggling as the redhead drifted around the pool.

“Hah!” Akemi blurted out, hearing Shiruku’s expectations of her house. “Yeah, no. My house is big - better than anything you humans have - and it has a pool, but it’s not massive. The truly massive part is the garden. If any of you happened to see it, you’d be kneeling before me in awe.” She waved her hand about lazily, dismissing the topic and moving onto something else.

“Yeah, whatever.” Akemi drearily replied to Shiruku’s later comment. That was an odd giggle–

Wait. … What? What did she just say? ‘It’s kind of cute!’ That means… Shiruku was calling her cute? Cute. Cute. Cute!

Everything changed in an instant. Akemi’s face lit up with a deep shade of red, and her entire body bolted upward into a sitting position.

“W-WAIT WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU– AAH FUCK–”

…And she slipped off her floaty. Sitting on one end made it tumble, predictably enough, and created a moment you could just freeze frame. This look of embarrassment and horror, blurred to utterly disastrous levels, her face twisted to something resembling a scrunched up strawberry.

“FUCK, FUCK– WHY THIS– I HATE THIS”

Her loud, angry yelling was only matched by the amount of flailing she was doing. She’s a little gremlin, staring at Shiruku with the biggest fucking ヽ(≧Д≦)ノ face imaginable./

Akemi, you’re not even in the deep end of the pool.

[silken-misfortune]

Shiruku couldn't help it— she giggled.

There was something rawly amusing about the chessmaster losing her typical haughty coolness, reduced to a frequently swearing mess of flopping. Still, not wanting the other girl to drown or suffer, the seamstress swam over, securing Akemi in her arms. She was tall enough that the pool hardly washed over half of her, so it wasn't as much of a heroic save as one might think.

"Are you okay, Ueyama-san?" Shiruku asked, eyeing the chessmaster with mild concern, though her smile didn't fade.