#crow 01

[for-hope]

@crimsonverses liked your post:Komaeda Nagito wakes up on an island with no...

When he was in elementary school, all the students had been forced to participate in music lessons and choir. If anyone in his class had been talented, truly talented, he might not have minded so much, being there to support them and make their talent shine all the brighter in comparison to the worthless trash around them. But no one had. And worst of all, the choir teacher tried to claim that he, of all people, had a beautiful voice. Sure, it may have been better than some of the particularly tone deaf average kids this woman was used to working with, but that was just arguing about which kind of mud was the cleanest. It was all just worthless, meaningless noise. That they would compliment him on his voice was offensive to real musicians. To real talent. Ah, he should have apologized to Mioda-san and Maizono-san for even having agreed to stand on that stage in elementary school. What a disgrace, to have worthless trash like him, like all those untalented masses, pretending at their talent.

This may be a strange city with strange creatures, but this much was still truth. There were those with talent, and those without. But, he supposed, no musical instrument store could make its profit catering to the truth of the world. Besides, the untalented people buying and abusing and breaking instruments, built the foundation for true craftsmen and musicians by sheer volume and by obvious contrast.

Still, watching the store manager help a father buy a guitar for his son, both of them completely without talent in any way, dull and lifeless to Komaeda’s eyes, he couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh. “It’s almost cruel, really,” he said to no one in particular, “that kid won’t become talented with just practice and encouragement.”

[goldenbass-blog]

   侍┊ Out of all the people to meet first  ( whether it was coincidence or not ) Yaiba luckily finds himself seeing a familiar face again. Of course, only time could tell when he would meet the smaller myumon in a place like this. And maybe the gods did grant them their wish: meeting familiar faces. Truth be told the fox was both joyful and shocked... is this where Crow went missing to?

   ❝ How odd. I was wondering where you       went... Now Rom and Aion must be       looking for us, hence. ❞

@crimsonverses liked your post.

[ornamentaldoll-blog1]

@haemoneiron

The doll is trying to cope - to make peace with this place. She cannot help but feel out of place, a dream brought into the real world, though she knows this was not the real world the hunters walked.

... Or, at least, she’s pretty sure. 

The weather warms her cool skin, banishes a chill from her artificial bones, and she’s aware of a faint tug of comfort, of home, and she attributes it to homesickness, if anything, and yet...

Her feet move, without her approval, towards it, desperate for a taste of home, of the dream, of a hunter - the Hunter, who gave her these feelings most recently.

At some point, she runs, and comes to stop in front of a woman, much shorter than her, unable to believe what she sees. She doesn’t breathe heavily - if anything, she breathes not at all.

“... Good Hunter?” She folds her hands together and tries to regain some of her composure, act like she is supposed to. The doll smiles and bows, polite as ever, making herself calm.

“... Aah. What a relief it is to see you, here and well. I had not even imagined that I would be so fortunate...”

[a-painintheneck]

Anamnesis - Malachi & Crow

Though the days were still warm, it was obvious that fall was approaching, and the night was fairly cool out. This change in temperature was more obvious down by the docks. This area was not far from a dock, formerly used for tourists to explore the river on safe little ferries, and it still stunk of gasoline. In the day it was frequented only by those who had business here, and at night there was rarely anyone around at all. That was why he chose this spot in particular. He liked it here, in its grimy seclusion, and while not quite the underbelly of society it was getting close. He walked along the side of the river for a while. Far ahead he could see the twinkling lights of the few canal-side bars and restaurants that were in this part of town. 

Malachi stared out across the river for a moment. The water lapped at the stone ledge below him, stroked by the breeze into small ripples and convolutions. He heard steps echoing off pavement a street away, the echo of laughter as a group of people passed by. Realizing that lingering was probably not the best idea, specially after the events after the fair which had people on edge. He tucked the leather jacket beneath his arm and headed off through the dark, winding streets. He wasn’t sure where he was going at first, he was simply overcome with the urge to walk, and he did that for a while until he found a glowing shop front and stepped inside. He bought a ham sandwich wrapped in brown paper, and ate it on a bench down the street. He was in fairly good spirits (a thing rather unusual for a creature like him) and was in no particular hurry. So he sat enjoying the cool night air, and casually tearing off the inedible pieces of the dry bread set around tasteless cheese and flabby processed meat. 

@crowmasayoshi

[compassionatefade]

@haemoneiron

He’s glad the Crow lives in Cotes: he likes it here very much. The air helps him breathe better, feeling the people going by; there’s not too many of them, and they tend to be calm, but he can feel connected here, content, not trapped among the sterile marble he’s supposed to call home. He knockitty-knockitty-knocks (careful, patterned, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to disturb the peace), and traces his fingers in the dirt while he waits, feeling the thrum of the earth beneath them.

He glances up from his crouch when she opens it, but doesn’t straighten. “I’m Cole. I have blood - I don’t know if it’ll be different. It probably -”

Oh. Oh, he hadn’t noticed before, far away as he was and using the strange little box to communicate. How far will he go, if he follows her thread past the edges of his senses?

“You go down deep,” he tells her, head tilted. “Very deep - I don’t know if I can follow you all the way. I don’t think you always did that.”

[bloodcloakeddragon-blog]

On The Outskirts [Chapter 5] 

@haemoneiron

It would only be an odd scene for some.

A rope tied to a broken metal support in the ground. The other end, tied to a man’s leather boot. A blood red cloak, spilling over the grass. A black umbrella, barely useful in it’s disrepair. And newspapers, held underneath a rock, should the wind threaten it.

A clawed finger wipes blood from his lip.

Some of the newspaper pieces have blood scrawled on them, latin words, drips, evidence of a claw tearing through the paper at times. Like the rest of the things in this man’s possession, the rope, too, was something scavenged. A twisted mess, that was coming apart by it’s threads, no matter how well it was tied together.

As he writes, as he mutters, at the edge of the city, he expects to be isolated. He isn’t. 

[foxhoundsonly-blog]

@haemoneiron

Mantis was well aware of the limitations of his powers in this prison-- it had taken a long time to digest, and he still wasn’t quite in the ‘acceptance’ stage, but he was, at least, aware. Twenty minutes a day he could sight-see in his preferred manner of locomotion, and twenty minutes only.

Unfortunately, twenty minutes goes by in a heartbeat when you’ve spent most of your life floating. It was bound to happen eventually.

Down went the world’s greatest and proudest psychic, ceremoniously crashing into the ground with a hearty CLUNK of his restrictive gear. It was pretty painful, actually-- he was much frailer without the protection of his psychokinesis, and he hadn’t really braced himself for the impact, as the fall caught him by surprise. Mantis couldn’t help but wince as the dust settled, knowing he would be heavily bruised and scuffed up in the morning.

God, he just hoped no one saw that.

[caribbean-freebirds-blog]

@haemoneiron

Standing there at the doorway, they paused briefly. Took just a mere moment or so to ready themselves. It couldn’t have been for the air. There was no love to be found in the slight bitterness it brought to the insides of their mouths.

It wasn’t as though either of them were especially nervous. Indeed from the sound of things, today was to be a fairly informal affair. Perhaps it was the simple trepidation, however subconscious of embarking on a new chapter. Or perhaps it was the short building itself. An oddity, when compared to the city’s main streets. Not only in its size but in its appearance. A bit rundown, if by no means unsightly. A bit foreboding, in the way in dredged up childhood memories which were all but forgotten. “The old house where the hermit sits, surely it must be haunted. Secrets hidden beneath his countenance and character. For why else is it all so?” 

But there was no point in lingering upon such things, and no more time to allow it. Placing her hand upon the doorknob, Anne slowly turned it, pushing inward.

«Good afternoon!» An announcement made with a certain amount of cheer, despite their solemn entry. A necessity perhaps, for it quickly became apparent that the main hall was empty. Empty aside from the two newcomers. It wouldn’t do, Anne thought, to make themselves too comfortable. Too at home. And so she simply stood at attention, not more than a few steps inward.

║Anne and Mary reporting for duty!║  Filling in just behind her, Mary gazed about the workshop’s main room. 

It was all less surprising this second time around. The tools and tables that lined the perimeter. The many blades of all shapes and sizes which hung from the walls haphazardly. Not discarded, but set aside. A certain discipline. A method to the madness. It was all less surprising. 

The ad hadn’t lied. It had, in fact, been quite clear. It was the honesty in the words, that caught them off-guard. The starkness.

Good. They supposed. How nice to be working with someone like that for a change.