#carefreemonk

[verseandrhyme]

🎃&🌳

The seasons are ephemeral as ever, here one moment, gone the next. Beautiful boughs of gold and orange and red sway in the wind, the occasional leaf falling free-

"-To the earth, where it will decompose and in turn provide nutrients that the cycle may begin anew," Azama notes cheerfully, stooping to pick up a perfect specimen of leaf and giving it a little twirl before offering it to Mitama. A trophy, if you will, of life pretty but fleeting.

The pumpkin patch awaits beyond the border of trees and rickety white fence, of course.

"Go on, dear. Pick yourself the one you like! See if any one calls to you. Then we can go have some hot chocolate - how's that sound?"

Everything is temporary, always.

Nothing ever lasts forever.

But this moment... this memory, Azama may attempt to carefully, selfishly tuck away.

autumn memes | accepting!

Falling foliage / shades of green turn to orange / how long for the frost?

Mitama stays silent as she walks. Her arms fold together, hands tucked neatly into her sleeves to fight away the chill that carries in the air. An oversized scarf covers the bottom half of her face. The stars seldom leave his back as they walk.

The turning of the seasons happens again and again, year after year. The inevitability of time's forward march and the circle of rebirth will happen every year, regardless of what she does. Far more fleeting and unexpected is her father's presence, let alone his acknowledgement.

The offered leaf is freshly fallen, still recent enough that it has yet to dry out and crumble. Mitama takes it when presented with it and holds it silently before her. Is she...meant to do something with it? Is there something her father expects her to know without stating in this offering? It is a leaf, and her father has never been one for sentimentality.

Her father has never really asked her to accompany him somewhere before either, but it seemed that was changing too.

A great field of choice stretches out before them, only separated by a flimsy fence. What is the point of picking one, she wants to ask. What are they going to do with it? Will he leave again when she does, satisfied with his latest replacement?

Despite herself, the promise of more makes her perk up. Mitama nods, offering the leaf back for him to hold for her while she makes her choice.She does not want to ruin it, after all.

"Do not disappear before I return." She orders. Or maybe he might even follow her. How lucky would she be then? Mitama carefully hopes over the fence and darts off into the fields, confident that he cannot see her smile from behind her.

[aimlessarchery]

[ SQUIRM ] - Some may recognize the blanket that’s been laid out in a momentarily-unoccupied corner of one of the dance halls. On it are rows of circles separated by color. Off to the side is a wooden board with an arrow pinned in the center and divided into four quadrants with colors and labels: right hand, right foot, left hand, left foot. Spin the arrow and put the respective appendage on the corresponding color. Just be careful not to step on any of your fellow players in the dark!

+ @viridescent-lance too!... unless he's scared to lose (:

"Pardon my reach."

The dry request is meant for Azama, but it's basically delivered into the back of Forsyth's head. The man seems to choose the path to that guarantees he stays at least partially sandwiched between Python and his Hoshidan friend for as many turns as he can.

On his way around both of their bodies to reach for his assigned right hand blue, Python most-definitely-accidentally knocks his elbow against the skull of his best-friend-slash-obstacle, just to push his face closer to the monk's. If he wants to get into the guy's personal space so bad, why not help him along?

[hermidetta]

♡

remember that time you considered mugging me?

"... noooo..."

the hikikomori diaries (prompt)

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ●○○○○ | AFFECTION ●○○○○ | INTEREST ○○○○○ | LOYALTY ●●●○○ | TRUST

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH NEGATIVE ● | ● POSITIVE

Bernie saw death that day. Death had poofy hair (like a dandelion) and eyes that were closed yet cruel. Hawklike. Razor sharp. And Bernie, the field mouse—Bernie, the lone survivor! I'm a survivor.

I'm a survivor. And I'm a runner. So this is my farewell* to the Officers Academy. There is absolutely NO way that the poofy professor is going to let me live after everything. Mercy! I vie for her! But a fickle maiden, she deserts me! Alas, let this be...

Bernie's bittersweet parting.

* In case the knights grab Bernie by the back of her sweater and drop her off at Seteth's office again, please disregard this freeform memoir and discard with the others.

BONUS

About Azama: Mugging

I-I didn't! You can't prove anything! I wasn't thinking about it! Premeditation? Nope! What are you now, the thought police?!

...But hypothetically, if a scary man grins at you and "compliments" his student's hard work while you're dragging around a bunch of loot, and it was an activity that allowed mugging of said loot, what else are you supposed to think?! Aaaaah! I just wanna be left aloooone!

[viridescent-lance]

🍪 Oh, Azama can't not.

"Why, hello there Sir Forsyth the True!"

Monk smiles innocently.

"You've heard about today's festivities, yes? I hear it's something of a test of wills."

The monk produces an offering - half biscuit, half chocolate. Their would-be game piece.

"You'll indulge me in a game, will you not?"

Azama's singsong voice immediately raises Forsyth's hackles, and he braces himself for whatever inane request or comment the monk has up his sleeve. He knows this tone too well, by now.

"Ah, yes. The Pocky Game." Oh, no. Forsyth has heard about it as something the students are partaking in, excuses to get close to your crush and potentially even get a kiss. It's silly, juvenile, and something Forsyth absolutely would not ever dream of doing with Azama.

...is what he would say, but he's not one to back down from a challenge, and the one issued in the monk's tone stands taller than one explicitly stated.

"Are you so eager to lose your dignity?" Forsyth steels himself. He will not give Azama the satisfaction of seeing him falter. "I won't retreat."

Forsyth swallows, taking the chocolate-coated end into his mouth. Even this close to Azama's face, he can't see his eyes, though he can see wisps of stubble starting to form and that infuriating smile framed by curls, thick and woolly almost like a sheep. He takes the other end, and the battle begins.

Forsyth starts off strong, biting off pieces of delicious chocolate and biscuit. If he closes his eyes, it's almost fine. Just a fun treat at an odd angle. But Azama advances, slowly and steadily, a looming threat at the end of a short horizon.

It's just a game. He can pull away, and no one would fault him.

But his pride won't, and surely not against this man, who wants to look upon him with that empty cheshire grin after he retreats, to hold such a victory over his head. No, he will not give him the satisfaction.

They are close, so very close at this point. Is Azama surprised? Did he expect Forsyth to lose his cool, at this point? Well, he should be more surprised, because with one final surge forward, Forsyth is certain he can clear the last bit of biscuit, and--

Oh. Oh. In his elation at an imminent victory, Forsyth seems to have forgotten one of the most important parts of the game. If the two people meet in the middle, there's no winner.

Also, they kiss. Their mouths meet. And his is certainly on Azama's right now. It tastes rather sweet, thanks to the Pocky they've consumed, and the two of them linger for a second too long before Forsyth jerks his head backward.

"Y-you...!" His heart is racing, from fury and the adrenaline of the challenge. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, scrubbing extra, but he can't quite get rid of the taste. Which is the biscuit, not Azama, so it should be okay that it feels pleasant on his tongue. "I told you! I wouldn't back down!"

Turning and running in an undignified fashion in the direction of the nearest source of water doesn't count. It doesn't! He can't bear to hear that infuriating laugh any longer, is all.

[ulircursed]

♡ my hair is better than yours

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours (accepting!)

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ○○○○○ | AFFECTION ●●○○○ | INTEREST (in his gravity-defying hair powers) ○○○○○ | LOYALTY ○○○○○ | TRUST

"...Next time Professor Lambert has anything to say about my hair, I will point him in this ridiculous man's direction.

At least I comb mine."

[twistedisciple]

Azama's humming precedes him. It's off-key, even for humming, but it doesn't look like he gives two figs - after all, so long as he's enjoying himself, the remainder is everyone else's problem.

Stepping into the room, he pauses. Puts down the crate he'd been lugging along. (It's not heavy by any means, don't fool yourself. He's still injured, you know! But he'll do what he can, for now.)

Sitting himself atop it, hands folding together in his lap, he grins.

"Inspector Grey! How are your teeth?"

He'd seemed fine after that pool game, s'far as Colonel Mustard could tell, really - but something about this spiky fellow's demeanor lends itself to one wondering if he mightn't wind up with more than the average number of dental concerns overall.

"Oh, and your limbs, I suppose, in the aftermath of all," he gestures, lackadaisical, "that. Those still intact, too? Medical wing's somewhat sparse still but don't hesitate if need be." That's what a healer should say. But. Well. "Or do! I won't tell you what to do. Just don't pretend to have my back if you're in lackluster shape, is all. Sound good, partner?"

Hopefully they're both better at war than they are at pool.

"My teeth?" It's probably the suddenness of the man making himself comfortable right there in the middle of the way and the unexpected and long-discarded alias together that catch Griss completely off his game. He freezes mid-step, runs his tongue along his teeth almost unconsciously, thinking "yeah? fine?" until his better sense finally catches up to him and he whirls on that ever-irreverent Colonel Mustard.

"Why? You wanna feel 'em?" He bares his teeth in a snarl-like smile, proving that they are indeed all there. And that his canines have always been a little bit sharper than the average person's.

But no, disappointingly, the only thing this guy wants is to make sure he's got someone watching his sorry hide. Griss snorts and rolls his eyes as he twists on his heel to head for wherever he'd been going to begin with.

"Only thing I want with your back is to see it get pincushioned." Before he's out of earshot though, he throws a grin back over his shoulder at 'Colonel Mustard'. "Maybe I'll even be the one to do it."

[dcggersedge]

"Hey, silly little question for ya." Equal parts silly and equal parts completely serious. When you spend your time looking out for people to pester, you pick out the odd tendency here and there. Azama, of course, had to make sure his own tendency of sticking his nose into other people's business about these particular quirks.

"Do those," he points to the stars in her hair, cracking one starry eye open as he does so, "double as stress fidgets? Or even, perhaps, as emergency rations? I suppose they'd need to be sanitized, but..."

Hm. Something to think about?

"... What's your deal with them?"

Oh, she remembers this guy. The weirdo with the eyes. He's still doing that, huh? Maybe it isn't just a bit.

"Silly answer back at ya." She returns, tucking her knife back into place at her side. She doesn't see the harm. He'd taken her own strange question like a champ so, assuming it didn't grace anywhere too dangerous, she was willing to play ball.

For a brief second, one of those eyes cracks open, and she thinks she sees stars, like the ones Fogado and his family have. Huh. Weird. She wonders if he knows about it.

The question is...both mundane and brushing against stuff she doesn't want to answer. Yunaka frowns, pulling in a few strands of her own hair to bring one of the stars in question into her line of sight. She's lost a few. She'll need to remake them. She's pretty sure she knows which ones fell off, but she'll need to take them all out and double check to be sure. She doesn't want to do that in front of people.

She hums thoughtfully to herself as she considers how to answer the question. After a moment, she meets his gaze again.

"Where I'm from, there's a belief that when people die, they become stars in the sky."

...and that's all the answer he's going to get on that.

She tosses her hair back over her shoulder. "You're good, right? From what I've heard, the race out of there was rough on everybody." She doesn't need to state the obvious; there's less people here than there should be.

She gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Make sure to go get looked at, okay? I'm sure there's someone out there who's worried about you."

[renaisguy]

"And... that's all of them."

With that, the makeshift infirmary has been inventoried, everything ought to be accounted for, and, well,

if you asked Azama, they're not well hooped, but it's a close thing. The more optimistic should have enough, for now, to cling to their fruitless hope. The more pessimistic should have enough to work with, that the smarter among them figure out how to make it work.

The monk hands off the parchment to a soldier who's off to report to the higher-ups. Finally, the monk has a monk to rest his weary feet.

And there, out of the corner of his eyes: a familiar face.

"Do you need medical attention?" he asks, too lazy tired to hop back upright. "Or are you here to lend a hand, perhaps?"

After all, in either case, the blonde's found the right place.

Azama smirks, though it lacks his usual bite.

"What do you think? Is this-" he gestures to the bunker about them "-preferable to starving? I've yet to meditate on it, myself..."

"I was wondering if you needed any odd jobs done so you could prioritise healing." Forde shrugged. "If you have any spare staves, I could help out, but I didn't bring any of my own."

It was... really irritating, actually. Though he could be taking a nap, he was filled with an urgency to help out. And he couldn't help out because all his healing tomes were probably burning up back at the academy.

His wounds still sting, but there are others in worse shape than him. Though he would appreciate the aid, there are others worth using their limited supplies on more.

Azama's question surprises him. But... it's interesting to think on.

"Hmm... I think starving is worse." He decides. "Back then, I could barely get to sleep, and what I did get wasn't refreshing at all." He sighs, the memories of that place are difficult. Death from starvation is different from death by combat, slow and agonising and draining. "It's a little crowded, but I think I'll be able to nap just fine."