no, no, no! there was no conceivable way that as lord of the mansion he would ever disgrace himself to waiting the door while azumano's dressed-up halloween horrors skulked about, crawling up from far gate to building front in the hopes of obtaining some brilliant, lavish fortune of danish cookie tins or imported chocolates.
which he had in fact delegated to distribution.
which he had in fact delegated to elmroot to distribute.
fukami had thrown himself away into his art, locking himself into his canvas room and letting the faint white of candelight seep out from beneath the crack of the heavy wooden door. focus would assist in muffling the sound of trampling feet and an endless belt of knocks, but dawn finally breaks unto a new day, and with it fukami, creaking open the door and looking as if he hadn't slept a minute, (or, on the contrary, had been sleeping for thousands of years...) not all too hoarsely begs to question:
' are they gone now? ' grant him mercy and relief. ' is it finally over, elmroot? '
How times could change, bringing with them what he secretly called vulgar customs! A horde of crudely dressed-up children, begging (threatening) at every door was not high on the list of practices he appreciated observing. Back in his day, they had dances, rituals and, if the celebration included specific food to be served, people kindly waited for it instead of… whatever that was. He would never get used to these nightly invasions and, for the entire night, wished it to be an ephemeral fad.
Now, if the one and only man in charge of managing the entire household – a lanky boy proudly approaching 15 with a severe tendency for self-ostracisation – hadn't explicitly told him, and him in particular, to manage the masses, he would have happily locked the main door for the night and collapsed where he could have been deaf to this profane world.
Instead, he had had to suffer the ordeal of intimidating children all night long in his darkest, longest cloak; switching roles and tones at will in a constant search for the most frightening effect, all this with treats at hand.
Thankfully, every bad time eventually comes to an end and, when the merciful little master appeared to enquire about the state of their sweet supplies, Elm Root had to conceal a hint of tired satisfaction.
“Are recurring events ever truly over, Fukami-kun? Shouldn't you focus on work, instead? This and only this is the immutable pillar of life, don't you think?”
