ガマン史郎 @sukeiban - Tumblr Blog

Knock twice before coming in.

“As your father I want to respect your privacy, but as your father I’ll thoughtlessly destroy it by opening this door without explicit loud consent, deal with it.”

But before that, you still give her some time while you make the present with your bare hands, modelating the fabric so it’s softer than a rope’s, and shaped like an actual scarf, it still shimmers and feels warm to the touch, that you can’t change.

The ozone smell caused by the use of your powers quickly fades since you used just a bit of it, and you finally open the door. Looking at her with your yellow pupils and white irises for a second before softening your expression into a smile, and handing her the scarf.

“Here you are, I really appreciated the gift you gave me so I thought that giving a second one wouldn’t be bad.”

#SYLLADEX

meddlingfashionista

You chuckle and shrug your shoulders, she always manages to bring out your awkward and slightly flustered side.

I Suppose You Are Just Less Inherently Sinister Looking Than The Only Other Iteration Of You That I Could Imagine Ambushing Me Like This

And about that…

Not That I Mind Your Surprise Visit But Er What Exactly Prompted This

She’s never once attempted to meet up in person and it’s been an eternity since the two of you even talked online. Something must be up. You hope it is not something potentially dangerous to you and your loved ones.

sukeiban

> Despite the situation looming over your head, you can’t help absently noting that she has a pleasant laugh. It wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it, but it was somehow undeniably... Kanaya. You’d never met a Maryam, but somehow it perfectly fit her.

えと。

> Kanaya probably knew the sound by now-- it was the Eastern filler to Universal’s ‘uh’ or ‘um’. But the way you said it was anything but uncertain or filling a blank. It sounded like a wall was thrown up, small but there nonetheless. A pity you didn’t have a shred of self-awareness, or inwardly you might’ve already been choking about your cowardice.

> You came to ask for help and you were already failing. Deflecting came as naturally to you as breathing. Your eyes had strayed to look at the walls, gaze trailing over wares like your attention was wandering (not blatantly avoiding).

TAKE TOO LONG INVITE ME. I COME BY SELF.

> Sure, Dam.

#meddlingfashionista #Story Mode #(this took so long and she's still so cagey im so sorry)

meddlingfashionista

The bottles have stopped, but now you’re on your guard for whatever– or whoever– is about to come through next. You’re tense and suspicious, so you have your chainsaw armed and ready when the transportalizer goes off again. You feel your bloodpusher jump into your throat at the initial familiar and haunting sight, but within a split second you note the inherent differences: different height/build, different posture and demeanor, slightly different facial features, a lack of unhinged hatred burning in the eyes… You know it’s not the Handmaid who ruined you a sweep ago. You lower the chainsaw and look at her quizzically.

Damara ?

sukeiban

> You blink the flash of the transportalizer out of your eyes, and the first thing you’re met with is a chainsaw.

> Someone with a little more sense probably would’ve reacted stronger, skittered back to put some distance between themselves and the awful promise of dismemberment. You just raise one a hand to hold in front of you. Kanaya’s more tense than you, sitting on the platform as the adrenaline of escaping drained out of you. One side of your mouth quirks up languidly.

ただいま。

> It sounded like it wanted to be coquettish, the same teasing presence Kanaya would’ve known, but even the novelty of meeting her in person for the first time felt more like a denouement to your escape than proper tension in itself. Your tone came across tired instead, and you ended up just giving up on the smarmy look, letting your features fall into a non-expression. You slip one leg out from under you and off the platform, reaching down to turn the transportalizer off completely. You didn’t trust it. Paranoia had its claws deep in your pan, even if your body was letting its guard down. It still fed you constant fears, things you had to do now, ways they’d find you immediately.

> It hissed that you couldn’t trust Kanaya either, that she’d give you up somehow. Accidentally or intentionally. Run. Still not safe.

YOU RECOGNIZE AT FIRST. FLATTER YOU REMEMBER, SO LONG.

> Your words come out clunkier in Universal. Your tongue stumbles over the sounds with a heavy accent. The form and grammar was worse than your posts online had made your comprehension to be, suggesting you were out-of-practice. That didn’t stop you from trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, casually teasing like always.

#story mode #meddlingfashionista

meddlingfashionista

You screw up your brow in confusion and annoyance when the note bounces back with no response. Did it even go through? You smack the transportalizer, as if that’ll make it work. What the heck is going on with this thing? Is the technology too outdated?

Or perhaps it’s not the transportalizer. Maybe someone is messing with you. As you’re ruminating over the suspects, several more bottles suddenly jettison through, narrowly avoiding smacking you in the head and crash landing onto the floor next to their pioneering comrade.

Your ire is starting to rise. You quickly pull out your mobile device and type up a post on Tumblr in hopes that the culpable party responds. Fingers crossed that it’s just a harmless prankster and not someone that actually means you harm.

sukeiban

Lucky she had such a natural talent for incensing others.

The wait in the dark stretched on agonizingly. Time felt like it fell to a crawl with awareness of every second passing. And while the storage room was deadly silent, her pan was loud with the rush of her pulse and the rush of paranoia. She strained to listen for any sound in the hall, any sign someone came looking for her, over this noise. So the vibration of her palmhusk nearly stopped her pusher.

> Meddlingfashionista has (1) new post.

Reading the post made it lurch. She got her confirmation. Which meant she had to go through with it.

She couldn’t steady her hands. She stretched the one, staring at the lines under clenching and unclenching fingers-- barely an ache. Promise of consequence weighed heavy on her. Promise of more of the same pushed her to duck across the short distance between her and the platform. She turned down the sensitivity back to defaults, and set the proxy coordinates spinning like roulette. Ten minutes before they’d suspect it was taking too long, even for her.

The transportalizer was cold on her knees as she knelt down and sat on it, legs bare to the metal in the red dress. It wasn’t green, but the thought never crossed your mind how similar it was to the Handmaid’s qi pao, and how Kanaya might react to your arrival.

You weren’t the Handmaid.

You were getting the hell out. You smacked the button, pulling clenched fists close to you.

> Sent: (1) Damara

#story mode #meddlingfashionista

meddlingfashionista

It’s not quite late yet, but the store is definitely closed and you’re putting in the extra hours making sure everything you need is in stock. The transition into fall fashion is always a hectic time. The irony of living in SoCal where the weather hardly every calls for truly fall weather attire does not escape you.

You’re spacing out for a moment, your eyes glazing over at the shelves full of jeweled toned garments, when you’re suddenly brought out of your reverie by the sound of the telltale PING! of your transportalizer going off and then a loud crash of glass. You whip around, your heart racing and nearly busting out of your chest– your mind instantly brings you back to that awful nightmare when the Handmaid burst into your shop and abducted you after your online gibes finally got to her. Your skin prickles with electricity as you recall the torture and the madness you were put through for what felt like an eternity as she manipulated time to further enhance your torment.

But no, this can’t be her. She didn’t use the transportalizer to burst in unannounced. She just did it. This is someone else. Hopefully someone that means you no harm. You stalk up to the machine, crouching next to the platform, and hesitantly scroll through the options on the display screen. You’re able to pull up the coordinates from whence the now shattered glass bottle originated and they in no way look familiar. You screw up your brow in thought before getting an idea.

You quickly scribble down a note on a nearby scrap of paper, a rejected coat design with a giant red X on the other side. Neatly folded, you deposit the message onto the platform and hit the combination of buttons to send your note back to the other side. Hopefully they respond promptly and peacefully to the multi-part question posed:

Who Is This How Did You Acquire These Coordinates What Do You Want

sukeiban

The paper would disappear, then reappear once more.

It’d bounced.

Whoever had sent the bottle to bloody up the shop floor and litter it with glass had used a temporary proxy; the location the coordinates should’ve described simply didn’t exist beyond a satellite to send and receive signals. Someone didn’t want anything– or anyone– sent back.

Send signals the satellite did, to a hidden pocket in the front of a red dress. A palmhusk vibrated, screen lighting up with a notification where no-one could see it:

ADDRESS PINGED 023:026:001

It was like a shot of adrenaline to her system. First to set her on guard, all senses on high as she waited for sign that someone had heard the device. Then thoughts came in a crowded roar. Go. GO. Run. NOW. Check. Check the palmhusk. GET OUT. She stood behind carapacians though, fiddling with the hem of where her dress split up her thigh, trying to contain every frenzied urge to run while each and every nerve was alight. It was restraint she barely had, waiting for a chance to slip away.

It came finally when they sent her for drinks. Go get drinks. She wouldn’t run down the hall, eager to serve and rush back. So she had to walk slow, hold herself back. Slippered feet had to tap down the hall as casually as she could muster– ちょうど視界の外。彼女のまわり。GO。 – all the while fighting to keep her pusher in her chest. She barely cleared the corner she ducked around–

GO 。

She burst into a run. Four minutes to get downstairs via the fire exit; she made it in three. She held her breath instead of chancing someone hearing her labored breathing. She felt her pusher was as likely to be heard, pounding a staccato pace in her ears. Two minutes to wait until the carapacian grew bored and opened up a newspaper to make his shift go by faster; he only lasted 24 seconds this time. 行く行く行く。Waiting around the corner for him to look away had almost killed her.

Only once she spotted the storage room and the transportalizer abandoned in the back did she let herself slow again. Her body was shaking and she couldn’t tell what was more to blame. Her thoughts had time to catch up, to remind her in paranoia that the coordinates could still be wrong. She had to check. The crate of bottles that she’d left there last time was still sitting on a nearby bench, and she kicked the transportalizer’s power on as she walked by. It didn’t need adjusting from last time– she grabbed the necks of the bottles between her fingers and hucked them down at the platform like a child vandalizing property. They’d break on the other end again– once she was satisfied it was enough to definitely raise suspicion, even anger, she disappeared in a crouch behind some of the other crates, hiding her best in the dark.

She didn’t wake up her palmhusk yet, instead waiting for more notifications to light up the screen instead lest someone spot her just sitting in the dark with her face alit by LED. And she repeated a steady, silent mantra in her head to Kanaya. A sign. A post. Anything. She just needed to confirm it was her.

Time ticked down, a countdown until they’d notice she was gone again.

お願いします。

#story mode #meddlingfashionista

#ooc note#dam is still waiting on plot before she can come back#so follows atm are ooc#because I have no restraint#I see your greeters!#I'll respond to them when she's back proper#I'm not ignoring you (':

#ooc note

==> Reverse. Select jump time.

> Year > Month > Day > Less

- 00:00:01:00

A count-down ticked a steady burden at the back of a time player's mind. It was a tireless reminder that time would run out, even while building courage.

The bottle in her hands was steady enough. The shakes were milder than usual, but her knuckles were still white as she clenched around glass, looking for reassurance; something solid, something real and cool. She sucked in a slow breath, focused on how (shallowly) her chest expanded, on the feel muscles stretching around it.

…She exhaled off-beat of the count-down.

Her heel hit the transportalizer’s power button, and the device thrummed to life with flashing lights. Damara dialed down the delay settings, upped the sensitivity as far as she could get it; she set the transportalizer to flash up at the slighest detection, enough to send a person, a fly, a mote of dust to the set coordinates if it happened to drift over. She drew out another breath as long as she could, letting it go stale in her chest before exhaling.

Another count-down ticked in her head. A short one.

The proxy was in place and her usage of it wouldn’t show up. This was the easy part.

==>

She threw the glass bottle in a high arc– a dark hue from the hemospectrum, but not her own. It disappeared the moment it passed over the edge of the platform, blinking out of existence a good few feet in the air. And when it reached the other end, it’d fall that remaining distance and break. The recipient probably forgot Dam still had the coordinates; ever had them at all.

She picked up the plain, outdated palmhusk off the floor, to clutch it instead now. It was set to vibrate. She just had to wait.

..An hour and a half before they’d miss her. Less. She clenched her empty fist and muscles in her arm ached in protest: so a day at most for the shaking.

Four minutes to be upstairs before they noticed, without rushing so loud they heard her. Half a night before she could sneak down again, at the earliest.

She started the count-down again.

#story mode #update #meddlingfashionista