#|| aaaaaa

[bcclko]

7th DigiEgg and still no what I seek...

[gcrifin]

@autumnswordsman​ chirped 🦅🎉🎵 ;

A carnival, undoubtedly nowhere near the calibre as the ones of her home island, but a festivity worth celebrating nonetheless, was in full swing, and without thinking much of it —smiling as music and colors and lights drowned out the world until it was a swirl of merriment and laughter, Zoro turns and catches a whirlwind of blonde and gold spinning his way from an impromptu dance. He steadies her with a warm embrace, mirth quiet as they swayed in time to the liveliness surrounding them. Granting her this little reprieve from travelling was the least he could do, and after a moment he hoists Lulubelle up by the waist and all but tosses her over to the large float in the middle of the street, his own laughter drowned out by the cheers.

     Fascination in celebration was one born of blossoming tradition in which she was but one of many young founding faces. The hope in living, the will of which had been so unstoppable in force it burst into vibrant life unforeseen. No matter the place in which that determination was planted, often it seemed capable of growing in even the most dismal of places. Such had been the creation of that beautiful culture, the picturesque island of dreams where life was a party and every day was to be revered as the present. Living was the greatest gift to ever be given to mankind. To go a day without feeling blessed to still be alive was simply not a day at all .

     Everywhere did that revelry vary. Carnivals and fairs of a large scale, the smaller parties and get togethers a more personal way to enjoy the things bestowed upon them. Even the variation among the processes and ideals upon which they chose to decorate and present were all unique ways to show appreciation for the opportunities given to continue day by day. It was simply impossible for Lulubelle to dislike a single one. Upscale or humble, bright or simple, every passing event was one with purpose and reason. She enjoys each with the warm mirth of home, avid movement, hearty laughter, and all . 

     Rarer still is this opportunity, possessing the company in which carefree albeit naturally graceful nature is so openly shown. Never would the chance to enjoy that moment be left behind, a fancied twirl of movement once thought to be concluded with a flourish and continued laughter as was all but common throughout the event. She hadn’t truly the moment to expose such earnest routine until now before him. A brief thought of opinion, perhaps of contentment of one’s personal development into being honest with oneself in entirety. This was the sort of joy she found herself robbed of in plight, a personal stone upon which was carried despite how low it kept spirits out of a self-depreciating habit. But it was long since that hands had let go of that burden. There was happiness deserved in the bliss that had not once truly left a deadly, elegant form. Even in times of strife there was room to be honest, to live and to celebrate without plaster and ceramics adorning face. She wonders again, images of possibilities to what degree he might hold that newfound spirit, the end result of sudden choreography soon upon them .

     Steadied figure embosomed, welcomed in form with all the comfort of a dimmed sunset. It is not the display upon which perhaps she might impress him, but the unexpected had never always translated to the unaccepted. Laughter melts into smiles and merriment flutters gentle in chest awaiting the time to resurface. How wrong it would be to say the blonde did not take a measure of fondness from the gesture. Arms flung to back, loose wrists and grip so easy to slip away yet so hesitant to ever do so. The urge to lock them in place is hushed in the moment hands find their way gripped tight to waistline. Blink of lashes, a turn amidst a roaring crowd as feet take off from the ground in a false start .

      Hitched breath in place of inquiry which had every intention of speaking up but chokes back beneath the boisterous noise. A dip of nerves as Lulubelle’s body is cast nonchalant from his embrace and off into the highlight of the parade. A less than refined landing, collapsing onto side with an audible thump of frame that presents no pain but a blooming embarrassment as she stands back up. Hundreds of eyes upon the shapes and clouds of moving parts of the float now find themselves directed at her, the deafening joy only growing louder given naught but her presence as an addition. Attention cast back to the familiar pop of green still up towards the front, taking but a step or two towards the opposing end of the attraction .

      ❝ Wait, Zoro! You’re going to get left behind if you don’t ── !! ❞

     Hesitation in words in favor of the waiting audience now taken over by the impromptu appearance of a woman. A show it seemed, not a one against the change. Green eyes pan across the entirety of the crowd ahead and behind, rethinking the decision to jump down and return to the one that had given her this moment of respite from reality. It was this moment that had been given to her to finish that which had been interrupted in caress. Instinct brought up from back home takes center stage and pulls her atop the moving parts as if naturally instructed to be a part of the attraction from the get-go, arms cast up and back in that ending flourish as cape and blonde tresses whip in kind. Between that second and the ones prior fingers had swiftly pulled loose the band which had done so dutiful a job to keep hair in check. Upon arrival to the final step within the dead center of the float she stands, locks cast in a spinning flair as they flay loose from braid and ponytail. Each and every one clings together into large, waving beams of gold as they splay across a backdrop of gaudily painted white clouds. A lion’s mane upon a lioness, the glittering shine of sunbeams caught illuminated by the fading envious light hung in the sky .

     For a moment ─ that oh so brief moment ─ Lulubelle becomes the sun . 

     Hair settles into a mess of waves and crimps as the cheering grows ever louder than she could have ever hoped to hear. Eyes shut in both exhilaration and nervousness, arms stay spread aloft for some time before finally coming to rest again at her sides. Countless thoughts rush through a head brimming with bliss beneath the roar of people insatiable on but a single display from the mysterious star. Heavy breaths taken slowly through the nose, living within that time for as long as they would indulge her. It all comes to a head as things begin to slow again, thoughts coming together at the affectionate reminder of the one who had placed her there to begin with .

     The crowd would inevitably consume Zoro. Of that she had little doubt, as was evidenced by a long standing history of improper direction. How much of that display he had seen was up to chance. But even if only a sliver, something that showed that the actions taken to allowed such a thing to happen were worthwhile, it would truly pen that event forever into cherished memories. She could only hope that it had been witnessed in its entirety .

     At least then it might make more sense later on when she would meet him again, crashing suddenly upon his form with all the heartfelt gratitude of a solar eclipse .

[mccnfell-archive-blog]

Kakumei stood over her grave, a patch of her favorite kind of flowers bundled up in a polished, white papyrus that he held in his hands. His skin was pale, leaving the purple bruises and pink scars on his body plainly visible for any and all to see. His black cap darkened his face and hid it from view. But it couldn’t hide the sparkles shining from his eyes as they streamed down his face.

He bent down, placing the flowers on her grave. Then, he just stayed there, on his knees, staring at her gravestone. It had been a month, yet she never left his mind. She lingered; she always had and always did, but he wished he could forget. Each day, it felt like she had only died the day before.

His entire body trembled as rapturous sobs racked his body. He brought his hands to his face to silence them and not draw any attention to himself.

“I-I-I’m s-so-sorry, C-Cassie… I’m sorry I’m sorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry….”

[ my muse has been dead for one month. how does your muse react? :: accepting ]