Everything was supposed to be normal that morning.
“Mom, I think I saw something last night.”
The words the child spoke left Hanael speechless. She figured to simply listen to the child, but she would have to definitely do something about their memory. After the child was done, she finally spoke. “That’s quite an overactive imagination.”
“That black shadow-“
“Was all in your dream.” She smiled, leaving the child pouting. After a small protest, she easily calmed them down right before their bus arrived. “Have a nice day in school.” She pressed her lips against their temple as a goodbye.
“I feel like I forgot to tell you something…” The child paused, unsure. Figuring it was probably nothing important, they finally hopped on the bus. As it took off, Hanael was left with a puzzling question.
Why didn’t the memory wipe work the first time?
The sudden sound of sneakers crunching against gravel made Hanael glance up; from the distance, she could see that very specific mail carrier bag.
“It can’t be.”
As the figure got closer, it was who she had suspected; Heaven’s postman, Zaphkiel. His appearance was practically an omen.
This angel wasn’t just any typical angelic messenger; he worked directly with the higher ups in the chain of command. Considering how Heaven stopped being hands on and introduced different classes of angels as centuries went on, angels stopped doing their normal duties of giving messages to other angels and used Zaphkiel instead as their carrier.
At least, that’s how an angel knew how serious the message was going to be. It was known whoever received one of his cards meant that the angel was going to be tortured, dead or in grave danger.
“Hanael?”
She nodded.
Zaphkiel rummaged through his bag, taking out an envelope encased in gold. To humans, it looked just like a normal envelope. Opening up the letter, Hanael read the Enochian, her brown eyes making sure she read this carefully. The council had accused her of being reckless in her current job, leaving the child nearly with his memory intact. They even sensed the child’s own predicament, meaning that Hanael wasn’t doing her job.
Damn that stupid wavelength that all the angels communicated on.
“Are they really suggesting such a thing?” Her hands gripped the paper tightly, almost close to ripping the thing.
The sudden flutter of wings made her glance up; the messenger disappeared, leaving more questions than answers. She crumbled the paper in her hands. Hanael would have to do something about that abomination that she encountered. Her pride would never allow failure to be an option.
One more chance that the council would give her to properly take care of the child before they-
She couldn’t finish the sentence; it was the one thing that every angel feared. The one thing that could make them powerless because their direct source would be removed – and they would become nothing more than mortals.
“German, Korean, English – it doesn’t matter, demon. You wouldn’t live for long for me to know your name.” Hanael gazed at him intensely. An intense light formed around her as the silhouette of wings – about the span of thirteen feet in wing span – emerged behind her back.
Before anything could really happen, Hanael heard the child stir in his sleep – surprisingly not wide awake – and quickly changed her mind. The glowing of her eyes, the silhouette of her wings and the light that surrounded her dissipated.
“Be grateful the child has awoken. If we meet again, I’m not holding back next time. You will feel the wrath of Heaven.“ She snarled, walking over to the child, casting one more glance at the demon. Hanael placed a hand on the child’s forehead, using her power to dispel any nightmares the child had.
Her intense stare went back to the man in the room.
What the entity was before her, she had no idea. There were all types of creatures she knew of, even the ones that mere mortals didn’t believe existed; at one point, believing them to only be from Biblical times. This creature, though, peculiar in form and demeanor, actually puzzled her.
If it weren’t for the circumstances, she would have studied him a bit more. Something just wasn’t right about him.
Her previous knowledge led her to believe he may be a demon of some category. Definitely not a crossroads demon, for they wouldn’t put their victim to sleep; oh no, they made a deal and collected their debt. He wasn’t another demon lackey from Hell either.
This creature before her seemed to only collect. So who was he then?
She glanced over to the still asleep child before eyeing the tall man in the room. How could she protect the child from this intruder? Hanael was certain if she used her full powers, the chances of waking up the sleeping child was high.
In a harsh tone, she finally replied even though her lips were not moving, "Vom Kind. Dieses Kind ist mein. Ich gewann't lassen Sie sie haben."
Her eyes glowed dangerously for a split second as if to warn the man before her.
Step near the child and she would have to smite him right where he stood.
The child had stopped right in time, passing what was to be a hole big enough that should he have fallen, he would’ve easily died right then and there. A sigh of relief bestowed the angel as she observed the child, who was only about six years old, walking behind him. The child turned to her, unsure of her identity due to the darkness.
“T-thanks, lady! Even though I’m not supposed to be talking to strangers.” The child’s response allowed her gaze to soften.
“That is quite alright, but we aren’t strangers, you know. Isn’t it dangerous for you to be walking around like this at night? I know the way back home.” When she walked closer to a light source, the child’s eyes widened before a sheepish smile adorned their lips.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there, Ms. Park. I was playing with some other kids but then I got lost.” The child whimpered. Hanael offered her hand for the child to grab.
“That’s alright. I used to get lost a lot along the way too when I was your age. Also, you don’t have to be so formal. I’m your mother, remember.”
Even though Hanael had been assigned this child, an orphan, in particular - she understood what her job was; that until death may take this child’s soul, then she shall be their ever walking guide. Hanael was given orders from her superiors to do anything to be closer to her assignment; whether it be through adoption via a vessel or using a parental figure; anything to get the job done.
Hanael’s current vessel was of a Korean woman, only in her mid-twenties, but not before making a promise to her in exchange. Hanael kept her word of protecting the woman’s family – a younger sister that the woman had – in order to use the vessel.
In her true form, the invisible like barrier that separated her world from the humans allowed her to accompany them in clandestine; the only time she needed a vessel would be to make sure no physical harm would happen to her assignment. Occasionally, she would observe the humans and their each and every move when she wasn’t on duty.
They were fascinating, to put it lightly.
The angel continued walking alongside the child, moving them away from obstacles if they strayed too far. Once they got home, she couldn’t help but sense that something was following them but what exactly?
Her grip on the child’s hand tightened a bit, causing them to turn to her in worry. “Mom, is something wrong?” She finally let go, giving a reassuring smile. She hated lying to the child, but that feeling of danger didn’t seem to ease up at all.
Hanael needed to make sure they would be okay.
“It was nothing, dear. Just get yourself cleaned up for bed, alright?” The child nodded before sprinting to their room. Once the child had showered, changed clothes and was finally put to sleep, her expression grew tense as she watched over them.
It was night time – and she knew from experience – that it was when evil came out to play.
Just letting people know, who still follow me, that my blog has been updated with a new muse. I’m still working out the kinks but the AU section is finished for her.
Check it out!
Erina’s stuff is incomplete cause it’s a lot to transfer over.
"No, no! He’s not worth the energy, Pietre.” Nami began to tug at the Swede by his wrist. Emotions were running high - her’s included - but all she wanted to do was get out of this god forsaken place. Luckily, her attempts to get the Swede’s attention made him - reluctantly - listen to her. He finally turned towards the door, having Nami in front of him. It was better in case Anselm felt like throwing something at the both of them then at least Nami wouldn’t get hit.
Not another word was said as the duo left the studio but their decision was made clear when the door slammed; they weren’t going to be a part of whatever Anselm was doing. A tense silence followed as Nami drove to her condo, preferring to take her car, instead of the usual limo, to do one last thing to make her own message clear.
“Just stay here, alright? I’ll treat us to some dinner and a couple of drinks. We’re going to need them, anyway.” Taking Pietre’s silence in the car as a yes, the Asian woman climbed out of her car, went inside the condo to begin her final action. The message written was very precise, explicit and in her native language, which was hardly used unless she wanted to call out the German frontman of MHB specifically.
この日から、もうこの家にいてほしくない、アンセルム。あなたは、私が必要としない十分な問題を引き起こしました。私は夜のために出発します。私はあなたが私のマンションからあなたのものの残りの部分を得ることを期待 私が戻ってくる時間。 She finished it with her signature, placing it in the front desk. After she placed the paper in a place where Anselm could see it, she went back to her car.
On her way to the restaurant, Nami couldn’t help but see glimpses of what she thought was her own reflection smirking at her through the rear-view mirror.
Maybe this was just a nightmare she would wake up from.
“You guys call this crap alcohol? This sake tastes like water.” After gulping down his fifth round of the beverage, Pietre placed the cup down with a loud clank. Normally, what he did would be considered rude if they were in public but the restaurant Nami had specifically taken him to didn’t have a lot of people; mostly because she had her own V.I.P section due to her former idol status.
“Is that really what you Europeans think? It’s not as if this restaurant doesn’t carry imported beer.” She waved for the waiter and ordered the brand of alcohol that Pietre normally would drink, much to his surprise. Guess he had a few things to learn here in Japan.
They had spent the rest of the night simply chatting about things that ranged from either ranting a bit about Anselm to things that they never talked about. It was strange for her, in a way, because even though it had been years since they were band mates, they weren’t really that close or knew each other that well.
It was all business. That’s what it was supposed to be. So why did she feel as if she was crossing a line?
Eventually, the Swede asked her a question that made the Asian woman turn red. “Back when you had your solo career, how common was it for a singer to hook up with the producer over there?”
“You can’t be serious.” She groaned, placing a hand to her temple. The fact Pietre was paying attention to her carefully meant she had to answer. “Alright. It’s... common but I never did such a thing. The circumstances are different in each case.”
The Swede cast her an are-you-fucking-serious look, possibly hinting to Anselm. In a sense, the German front man happened to be the producer - or so he thought in his little world - but it didn’t take her long to understand what Pietre was implying. “I mean what we had - between Anselm and I - was a big mistake. I don’t even know why were together to begin with.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you realized that at a better time than later.” A loud cheering from below caused the duo to glance down below from the railing where a waiter had put an enormous plate down for a customer; a dish that Pietre didn’t recognize and was curious of. “What the hell is that?”
“That? You really don’t know what Fugu is ?” Nami arched an eyebrow with a teasing smile on her face.
She explained that it was a heavily toxic dish, made from puffer fish, and if not prepared properly the person can die from the toxins.
The Swede finally slammed his fists down on the table and waived the waiter over. “I think I’ll take one of those. If I’m gonna die, I might as well go out with a bang, right?”
“You crazy Europeans.” She could only grin after the waiter had gotten the order. When the plate was placed on the table, she was amused at how the Swede had eaten with gusto; as if the mere idea of death didn’t even bother him. It was a bit amusing, really. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Pietre reminded her of herself during her better days. Back when she was once carefree and made her own decisions; compared to her pitiful self now.
Where did that thought come from?
Nami glanced at the window for a bit, looking at her own reflection. She let out a small noise as it changed in front of her for a split second to that same figure that had been haunting her en route to the restaurant. She blinked her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things again.
“Hey, you alright there, Nami? You seem a bit spaced out; you sure that sake isn’t getting to you?” Pietre asked, the sound of his empty plate being placed down ungracefully made her turn her head towards him.
“Yeah. I just thought I had seen something but the lighting outside is making it difficult.” Pietre was about to ask something else before she cut him off, “It’s nothing bad, alright? Besides, let me get the bill.”
When Nami had woken up in her hotel room the next morning, she was suddenly flooded with text messages from Pietre. “Huh? What’s he texting this early for?”
She scrolled down her messages, seeing that he kept repeating ‘look at the celebrity gossip’ and mentioned something along the lines of, ‘Those Japanese photographers seem to have nothing else better to do than stalk us, do they? I can’t understand what’s being published.’
Her brown eyes finally spotted a strange headline in the celebrity gossip section in a reputable Japanese source. She dropped the phone, her wrists shaking, wondering what the hell would come of this predicament and misunderstanding. What worried her more was Pietre’s safety after yesterday’s fight. It wasn’t exactly her idea to have him get in the middle of this whole mess.
In full kanji, complete with photos of her and Pietre from the previous night - laughing at the various jokes they had shared - to her casting him a playful gaze, the news headline simply read:
“No one likes a woman with failed accomplishments.” The ghostly double’s words haunted the Asian woman. She tried her best to regain her composure, placing a hand on her temple. This was going to be weird to explain with her window still open. She had been lost in thought that she didn’t hear the pair of footsteps approaching her.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just us.” Pietre reassured her. Nami sighed; she needed to be more self aware of her surroundings.
“I thought I had heard some scuffling upstairs when I saw this.” She motioned to the still opened window. Nami had to choose her words carefully, especially when she saw Anselm following right behind Pietre. “I think someone tried to break into my house.” She glanced wearily, hoping her excuse would be enough to have Anselm check her condo.
There was something about him that screamed logic; no belief in the supernatural. She had recalled a moment, after a concert, when she had asked about their missing band mate.
“Oh. That guy? We-”
Pietre stopped when the German front man cast him a stern side glance as if to hush him. All that was explained is the former member had certain “issues” and needed to be out for the safety of the band.
That was the end of that discussion.
So what made her situation any different? When Anselm was out of earshot, Nami whispered to Pietre in a hushed tone, explaining what she could. When they both heard the front door of her condo slam shut, Nami elaborated exactly what was said during her encounters.
“So you’re telling me that you saw one of those doppelgangers?” The Swede pondered.
“A doppelganger?” Nami cocked her head to the side. She hadn’t heard of the term before. Pietre explained the origins of the term, having been a well-traveled person, and how significant it is in folklore. The more questions he asked her and with each answer that Nami gave him, it made him wonder what the hell was really going on.
“Look, just don’t worry about it, okay. You’ve gone through enough. I won’t tell Anselm about it. Just rest up and we’ll catch up with the album’s work in the morning.”
As Nami closed the window shut, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that was what it truly meant; death would be coming to her soon - but in what way?
“Hey, you ready to go to the studio?” The voice coming through her condo’s intercom gave her a bit of relief. Nami pressed the button and replied back, “Let me just pack some water and I’ll be fine, Pietre.”
Nami hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before but she was going to try to manage. It was still difficult to see him with all the drama that had accumulated, but she would see it to the very end; after all, the music industry had no time for quitters when you could be easily replaced.
When the duo had arrived to the studio, they could hear the familiar instrumental music from their recent album coming from the door. Pietre glanced back at Nami, “That’s weird. Anselm normally isn’t here this early.” When he turned the door knob, what greeted Nami and Pietre made them speechless. Anselm was explaining cues to a woman seated on the couch.
From what little Nami and Pietre heard, they could tell it was regarding Nami’s parts. It was like a complete stab in the back for the former JPop idol. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t speak. Maybe that doppelganger was right. What dignity did she have left?
Nami abandoned everything; her solo career, her friends and even her home country just to stay with a band far away from home.
It had been weeks, almost a month since the incident at her condo; something that she was grateful for. Work had been excruciating difficult, having to cover up the small bruises - figuratively and literally - simply giving interviews with a smile on her face.
It’s just like the idol industry, she kept pep-talking herself. While this was going on, there were reports that Anselm had dumped Nami or was potentially seeing someone else. It wasn’t as if she expected anything productive to come out of it, but it still hurt her pride a bit. Especially since she did all the dumping first.
“Hey, you don’t need to see that stuff anyways.” Pietre turned off another TV interview Anselm was doing, making a couple of jabs at her.
Pietre plopped her laptop on the couch. “Why don’t you try interacting with your fans? You’ve been pretty down lately and they want to know what’s been happening with you.” Before he left, he poked his head out from the door, “Also, it’ll be a bore if I have to act like a therapist again. I can’t be having you in a sour mood for work. I mean I already deal with one sour puss.”
“Right. Of course.” Hearing the door close, she typed in her official fan club’s cafe url and her information. What puzzled her was what was written on her posts tab. She narrowed her eyes. “This can’t be right.”
Click. Scrolling down the history section, she had seen that apparently she had posted various posts. Another click. Most of them consisting of phrases like, “Help me, please!” or “I didn’t want to do this stupid album. I only did it to please my label!”
“I-I didn’t type anything like that!” She stammered.
“Of course! The real Nami is typing this.” An image of her ghostly double appeared on the screen, this time wearing one of her various outfits from a certain era in her solo career.
It continued speaking, “I know deep, deep down that you didn’t really want to be a singer, anyways. You were always meant to be a model.”
“I’m no longer...”
“Oh right. I guess you’re not a model anymore, considering you lost a certain asset. It’s a pity. You were just another accessory for that stupid rock star.” It tsked.
Okay, now that kind of hurt.
The image emerged out from the laptop’s screen and was now “floating” in front of Nami. This couldn’t be happening, could it?
“Besides, no one likes a woman with failed accomplishments.” It mocked, waving it’s index finger in a scolding manner. The ghostly double kept repeating that she was a failure over and over again until Nami finally got up from her couch.
“I’M NOT A FAILURE.” Nami screamed. Her doppelganger stopped giggling, cocking her head to the side with a grin on her face. The figure then hopped back out of the window before skipping from light pole to light pole.
Nami had no idea who the hell she talked to, but this was getting worse. She just hoped Pietre didn’t stay long enough to hear her talking to herself.
Ever since that night, nothing had been the same for Nami. She refused to sleep at a decent hour, and if she did get any, it was only an hour or two. Whenever she arrived at the studio to work, despite her doctor’s protests against it, the atmosphere was always tense in the rare occasion Anselm felt like showing up.
It was only recently, while working on making sure the lyrical content was consistent with the album, that Nami found herself passing out on multiple occasions that it finally took a couple of taps from Pietre to wake her up.
“Hey, if you’re not feeling good, go catch some sleep. I’ll deal with Anselm when he gets here and if you don’t get any rest, I’ll have someone escort you out of this building. I mean it when I say you’re a part of the MHB family. I don’t want to see you getting worse, got it?”
Nami simply nodded and closed the door behind her, bumping into a strong arm. “Sorry.”
If only she had paid attention to who exactly she bumped into because she missed his narrowed gaze at her exhausted figure.
Nami felt the limo suddenly make a sharp turn, making her snap out of her disorientated state. “What gives? I thought we were going to the studio.”
“Orders changed.” Pietre hung up the phone. Nami narrowed her eyes at him. It couldn’t be. Seeing the familiar street lights and buildings that she passed en route to her own condo, Nami internally cursed. There was no way she would keep her temper in check now.
Once the limo halted to a stop, Nami climbed out, glad that the paparazzi wasn’t actually hounding her this evening. She mumbled curses left and right in her native language as she entered her condo with one thing in mind.
The Asian woman stopped at a certain gold disk that was awarded to MHB; it was one of the various awards they had gotten as a trio in Japan. The sight of the object was too painful for her to look at, making her snatch the award from the wall, breaking it into pieces.
That still wasn’t enough for her damaged pride. All the years of training she had done; all the sweat, tears (and even blood) she shed? They weren’t good enough. She needed to destroy everything that was worthless to her now.
“畜生!” Another crash; another award destroyed. The scene repeated over and over until she got a hold of her own awards. Her frustration blinded her to the point that she barely registered the sound of a pair of footsteps stomping over. Hearing his voice by the threshold, she turned to the frontman of MHB with a snarl.
“How dare you come in here, you liar!” She panted, leaning up from another award she destroyed. “I thought we had a deal, Anselm! You were supposed to fix my vocal problems, and in return, I joined your group.” Nami didn’t even give him a chance to vent his own anger towards her, elaborating what exactly upset her more.
“I saw the laryngologist today.” A slight pause as she tried to regain her composure and gulped. The copper taste of blood in her throat made her cringe. Maybe she shouldn’t have been too harsh with the yelling. “My vocal nodules resurfaced but this time...” She tried to blink her eyes but water continued to cloud her vision.
The chugging coming from the studio’s printer caused the trio to glance over. Who the hell could be using the printer remotely at a time like this? Nami went over to it, and to her surprise, it was the same kanji that was written on the letter. The paper kept printing until it reached the floor, but it did not stop even for a short second.
The Asian woman clenched her fists, feeling her nails digging through her skin. She wasn’t just upset. She was furious. Kicking the pile that had landed on the floor, Nami passed Anselm and Pietre, “I think I’m going to catch some fresh air outside.”
Slamming the door behind her, Nami leaned against the studio building. How dare someone make a mockery of her career. All it took was some networking and some luck to get her career back. Did people really forget how many years she spent before she debuted as an idol back in Japan?
Nami yet out an anguished scream, her hands reaching out to grab anything - she didn’t even know what it was - but the loud thunk against the studio brick let her know it was something decent in weight.
It was nothing compared to the weight on her mind now.
“What do you mean you can’t reach those high notes? Didn’t Anselm help you out with your vocals?” Pietre groaned, turning off the recording mic for the tenth time that day. Nami was simply recording over her lines but it seemed as if no matter how much she had warmed up her vocal cords or tried to soothe her throat, her voice was beginning to sound raspy.
In fact, her throat was starting to hurt and that was beginning to scare her. This was exactly how she had discovered about the vocal nodules in the first place. Loss of voice range, check. Vocal fatigue, check.
It can’t be, she thought. Placing her headphones down, she exited the studio in a rush, causing the Swede to yell at her to come back. Much to his displeasure, the door slammed shut, making him sigh, “What a damn diva. Guess we’ll have to keep going at this another day then.”
“So we went over with what we found in the stroboscopy.” Papers were being flipped, until the laryngologist stopped at a certain point and presented the damaging results to her. Her eyes were deceiving her. There was no way; after the treatment and everything she had gone through with Anselm.
“Your vocal nodules have resurfaced and unfortunately, there is nothing we can do.” The doctor gulped, not sure how she would take this, not wanting her infamous temper cast on him.
The words she heard were what made her finally snap.
“If you continue with your tours like this, I’m afraid you won’t have a singing career anymore.”
Those were the words that kept echoing in her ears during the trip back to the studio. She nonchalantly glanced out the window, certain that if she had to talk to Anselm again, she would absolutely lose it. The methods they took to ensure the nodules wouldn’t resurface were one hundred percent. So why did they come back now?
When the limo halted to a stop, her eyes widened when she saw a ghostly, younger version of herself staring back at her with a smirk on her face.
“Serves you right, doesn’t it?” It spoke.
Nami gasped at the ghostly figure as the car passed her. Did she really see that? She climbed out of the limo, wanting to chase after the car but stopped. There was no use with that car driving away in the distance.
“Hey, get back here!” Pietre shouted from the limo. When she didn’t even budge, he got out himself. “Nami, didn’t you hear-”
He stopped when he saw the spaced out look etched on her face. She was completely out of it.
She blinked, finally responding to him with uncertainty in her voice. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I heard you. Sorry. I just... thought I saw someone.” As she went back to the limo, she glanced back one more time; Nami wasn’t even sure if what she saw was real or an omen.
Not that it matters but I finally got my thread pages updated.
Now time to go back to hibernating.
Also sorry if I forgot to respond to any previous threads. My memory is like a goldfish. I might have to read everything over or plan out things again. Lol.
The door to the studio slammed shut as Erina Fukui, better known by her stage name as Nami, evaded another onslaught of paparazzi with pointless questions about her press conference.
“Oh good, you’re here.” She raised her head to see Pietre holding up what looked to be an envelope.
“The sender didn’t leave a name or anything, but this was emphasized it was for you.” Nami took the envelope. It was just another fan letter, she told herself. Ever since she had unofficially been making appearances in MHB’s material, her popularity had skyrocketed - and so did the fans.
When she opened up the letter, her eyes widened in surprise. What it held inside made her scream and toss the paper away from her as if it was contagious, making the Swede arch an eyebrow. This wasn’t like Nami to be easily startled, considering who they both worked with.
“Is that blood? A-are you pulling my leg here?” She stammered, pointing at the letter that was now fully opened. His stern look, one that was very rare, made Nami silently apologize to the Swede.
Pietre glanced over to the letter, now understanding her concern.
The letter was written in kanji, something that the Swede didn’t understand but the concerning aspect coming from their main diva - as he jokingly called Nami - was indeed the red ink on the letter. Not only was the kanji scrambled repeatedly, as if the writer was obsessed with getting their message across but there was a peculiar smell coming from this “ink.” He inspected it closely and cringed at the strong stench.
It definitely was blood, but from any indication, it wasn’t old; in fact, it smelled very fresh.
He tried to play it down to calm the Asian woman. “Don’t tell me this is one of those god damn bloody letters the news has been reporting lately. Don’t you guys have control over your fans in Asia?” His amused tone only worsened Nami’s concern.
“This isn’t just a bloody letter.” Nami explained the reasoning for the red ink. Back in Japan, it was a tradition for a deceased person to have their name carved and written with black ink. However, if their loved ones were alive, their name was written in red ink; meaning that they would join them in death later on life.
As Pietre spoke with the delivery service that had brought the letter over, Nami’s eyes glanced over at the letter; her mind frantically trying to comprehend what the ink had scribbled over and over again.
Okay. Not sure what the hell I’m doing here but... kinda alive. Sort of. Probably going to make more changes. Really. Looking through this blog makes me do this:
Like what am I doing with this blog? ‘cause I don’t know. All I know is I’m behind as fuck.
Her tongue was harsh, honed at the end. It slit his skin open and allowed his black blood to dribble out onto his body. The words that pelted from this keen blade launched themselves into his flesh, ripping it apart to leave gaps. The tone of voice she used was hubristic, claiming superiority over him as though he was no longer good enough.
As far as she was concerned–he was GOD.
❝No❞, he now demanded. Anselm slapped his hand around her wrist, yanking her away from the car. ❝You are not finished until I say that you are.❞ With brute force, he flung her towards the direction of the studio. She could have fallen on the hard asphalt of the parking lot for all he cared. It would have satisfied his anger, if he were honest. ❝Fun and games? My dear, you truly have no idea who you speak to.❞ His voice had lowered itself to a seething whisper; his wrath grown icy and callous. Had he raised his voice two frequencies higher, Pietre would have come rushing out the door to help Nami. And who needed interference?
This entire thing was about control. The front-man did not need anyone else attempting to seize it from him. Fun and games?, he repeated to himself. He could have swatted her perfect made-up face. This was strategy as well as domination. Anselm did not take the stage for giggles, he was becoming a god to all who saw him. They worshiped the ground he walked on, the air he breathed was blessed, the spit he were the throw was holy water. He was cementing himself as a deity and making a bigger impact than any politician could. As was his end goal, after all. Steal every heart and soul, make them all HIS.
And Nami wanted to ruin the ride—for what? Her own little idealized world of sugar and sparkles? That burning rage seared back into his chest and his hand did swing at her, whether or not he caught her cheek, he wasn’t sure. He just knew that everything was growing red as she threatened to take his kingdom from him.
She knew he was going to hit her the moment he raised his hand. There were a few incidents during her time with the group in which his displays of wrath were unbelievable; things that the former JPop idol couldn’t believe he could get away with.
Nami took a step back, barely missing his harsh punch. The brief cool air of where his punch would have been made her growl. “That’s it." She seethed, pointing at him. “You are out of control!” Pushing him out of the way, she got into her car. Nami rolled down the window and simply yelled at him, “Get yourself a replacement!”
Not even giving him a chance to reply, she put the car in acceleration. With how hard her foot pressed against the throttle and the screeching of the tires screaming into the night, Nami wouldn’t be surprised if she burned rubber too. She drove back to the his condo to grab her things, going through a route that the paparazzi didn’t know about. The songstress didn’t exactly want rumors conjuring up because if she was around, there was always a chance Anselm was nearby.
How the hell Nami put up with that kind of nonsense, she wouldn’t know.
After shuffling a few more clothing into her luggage, she tried to finalize her flight ticket, letting out a curse at the timing. It wasn’t soon enough, but she had no choice. Picking the earliest time that was available, she put her phone away. Walking away wasn’t an option either.
If Nami walked out the door right now, the paparazzi would have a field day - knowing she was by herself and start putting two and two together - knowing the type of history Anselm had with women. She didn’t need those type of rumors circulating; not that she actually cared but it would be easier to forget if she was able to get away from any reminders.
Sighing, she placed the luggage by the front door and sat on the sofa. All Nami had to do now was hope morning would come soon. If her cards were played right, maybe Anselm would be gone for the whole night. She closed her eyes, feeling a nap would suffice for now.
What was so hard about wanting to take an indefinite break?
Anselm snapped out of his blank-mindedness to stare at the empty spot where Nami had stood. It took him only a second before he was out the door; she was almost to her car. He planted a hand down on the side of her vehicle, blocking her entrance inside of it.❝No❞, he stated firmly. ❝You cannot throw everything ( I ) we have worked for. Everything you have. ( EVERYTHING I HAVE GIVEN YOU. )❞
His tongue ran between his lips as he looked down to the ground. The front-man was thinking of everything he could do to keep his songstress here with him. It was no longer about the fascination this woman granted him—it was about possession. Anselm was not done with her yet. He did not give her permission to leave him. He hadn’t thrown her away yet. ❝What is it that you are lacking, Nami? What have I not given you? Do you need more jewelry? More fan letters? Another award?❞
All that she was lacking was practically the crown of a queen. Anselm lavished her with treasures and threw her into the spotlight as much as possible. He made sure that she was always covered in roses and surrounded by cameras, her devoted fans screaming her name. The demon had made her dreams come true—now he wanted what was his.
“Is this all you think I care about?” She scoffed. If the German thought that this was what she wanted then he really didn’t know her well. “I don’t want any of that!”
All I want is a chance at a normal life. Maybe get married, eventually have kids? I don’t know. I can’t keep doing this. Eventually, I’m going to get old and be just another has been the next day. It’s bad enough I’m close to thirty and I haven’t even done anything with my life yet!
Nami didn’t even try to bite her tongue from saying anything so brash, the words leaving her lips.
“Of course, I’m not surprised. What else would you know besides this lifestyle? You think it’s all fun and games, but guess what? It’s not, Anselm-san. I’ve been in this for far too long and I’m done.”
Reblog if it is totally, 100% fine to send anonymous comments to your muse pertaining to the events in your RP
Example, if your muse kisses another muse, it is totally fine for you to get on anon and congratulate my muse, or to say that the other muse isn’t right for them. I will answer ic.
Anselm slowly looked up from his phone, a message from his brother that he had been fixated on. It was not good news in the slightest, so he was already heading into a sour mood. Nami’s voice had broken his concentration and he blinked in confusion for a few seconds as he gathered his wits. Those lips pursed together before parting, his tic for when he was thinking too hard.
His partner, Pietre glanced up from the documentary he was watching to arch an eyebrow up in curiosity. The Swede set his bowl of cereal aside and sat up on the couch. “What happened now?” Those brown eyes darted over towards the German.
The front-man blinked one more time while he shook his head clear. ❝What? Nami, what was that?❞ His thoughts were jumbled from the news repeating over and over in his head. I HAVE FOUND THEM. Another thing he needed was a problem, which he doubted that Nami would ever give him. A simple lyrical issue, he was sure. Nothing that he could not handle.
“This lifestyle.” She spoke up motioning to the studio, a sigh leaving her lips. The screech of the chair reverberated in the room. Nami paused, wondering how to pick her words carefully. Her choice was nothing personal with them, not something that either Pietre or Anselm did.
Maybe they would understand that or maybe they wouldn’t.
“I don’t know how long you two have been on the road, making music but I’ve done it for far too long. Twelve years to be exact. I know of nothing else.” She continued, not exactly wanting to stop.
“Unfortunately, I’m not the same creative genius that you knew back when I needed my surgery done.” Her brown eyes glanced down at the notes as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. Pushing herself off from the desk, placing her incomplete lyrics in her bag, she stopped at the studio’s door.
“You two will be fine without me, but for now I will need to take a hiatus on everything.”
“What the hell do you mean a hiatus? For how long?” Pietre asked.
Nami brushed a hand through her hair. “I can’t specify. It could be indefinite for all I know. I just know my passion has left me and there is nothing I can do. I don’t really have the heart to continue with this career. Before you assume anything, it has has nothing to do with either of you. All I know is something’s missing in my life and I guess it’s time for me to go soul searching until I figure what that is.”
Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she continued.
“All I know is I don’t belong here. There has to be something better out there; a bigger purpose than being some aging singer. Until I actually figure out what’s missing in my life and find a reason to be an artist again - whichever comes first - you both will just have to make due with a replacement.”
The door closing behind her was the nail that hit the coffin.
