#karmina || thread.

[conoscenze]

"Oh, there ya are kitty!" Hirahara exclaimed as he hurried over to the red cat lounging in the sun. He crouched down in front of her, a toothy grin plastered to his face while reaching out to scratch beneath her jaw. "I got somethin' good for ya!" And without ado, he whipped the fishing rod he'd had slung over his shoulder around, tore a sizable trout from the hook, and smacked it onto the ground in front of her. "If you don't eat it, then I will."

@hellforeyes​

Perhaps she should have grown used to dealing with idiots, at that point, but Karmina was completely took off guard by the unexpected and all the same pleasant chin scratches, which she didn’t know she needed until he went out of his way to provide them. Before she could let out any pleased mewl, however, a loud thump resounded right in front of her, causing her head to immediately snap towards the source of the sound.     “… Ah.”     Given, Karmina was not a picky cat. Not in the slightest. But this was a whole trout. And judging by the fishing rod he was holding, it was likely freshly fished. Despite her stomach being bottomless, she couldn’t hide that the thought of having to eat all by herself an entire raw fish… was a bit nauseous. She slowly stood up, crouching nearby the trout and extending her neck to sniff at it better—indeed, this was just brought out of water. She wasn’t going to question how and when. Really, she did not need to know.     Head tilted to the side, and her tail swayed along. If she could express complex emotions, she would have looked nothing short of perplexed.

“… Well, thank you, I suppose.” Karmina began circling around the dead fish, occasionally pawing at it to check the softness of its meat. Hard to tell with the scales on, she mused. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to eat this all by myself, though.” a short pause, before her blue eyes flicked up at him.      “Maybe we can split it in half instead?”

[conoscenze]

Adelheid wrapped in her tapestries. Her tongue wove a thousand ancient threads together, each story growing older and older as she reached deep into the fabric of human history. Mad Kings and Bloodthirsty Queens. Under the stampeding feet of two hundred thousand knights, cities leveled, castles thundered into ruin. But even further, time itself unwound, further to pagans and ancient rites. For every story, Adelheid added a slim braid to her Baryshnya's hair. How far can we go before dawn?

@archivierten

And for each story, each braid, Karmina would stifle her own smart comment, her own amused spiel. They were monsters telling and mocking, each other and humanity itself. Two great jokesters, that they were---it was a fun game, the one they had been spinning from the moment they’d met. This can’t go on forever! No, surely not, of course not, my Baryshnya. And they’d laugh---let their crooked giggles echo around the bedroom chambers, whilst the young nymph would let the German Witch fiddle with her hair.

The only braids allowed are one filled with playfulness and magic. It took days before Karmina would ask Adelheid to gently pull them apart, in the way she did. Along the tune of a song only the Witch would be able to sing.

[conoscenze]

“You can even break my wrist, if you’d like. Do I look like I mind?”

[conoscenze]

Heavy wheezing rips through the silent night air. Scraping against the hard concrete follows, as if a heavy weight is being dragged along forcibly. Elongated croaking, wretched and strained, mixes with the panting, loud enough to catch undesired watchers’ attention---but not loud enough to wake up the residents of the aparment building that rises towards the dark, starless sky. Luckily enough. Either it’s inaudible, or either it sounds disconcerting enough to prevent nosiness right away.      That’s not her main concern, however. The real problem, right now, is another one entirely. Karmina’s brows scrunch and furrow, an uncharistical expression of pain decorating her expression as she does her best not to move her jaw. As she moves along the wall, a dripping trail of gooey, black liquid leaves trace of her passage, the odour of the substance familiar to her; yet, still strong enough to make her nostrils itch. Her lips purse and pull, causing more crackings to spread across her already-damaged cheek. A good portion of her porcelain skin has fallen off somewhere near the entrance of the back alley, scattered about on the ground like pieces of precious broken china. Now all that’s left on her face is a grotesque two-face. The uncovered skeletal jaw is not clearly distinguishable---the oozing liquid is thick enough to soften its rotten and soft edges, creating an illusion of void as it drips onto her chest, white jacket and skirt stained by the droplets that spurt here and as she keeps walking. (Crrrrkk---rKkkkkkrkkkkk--- --)      Cracks continue to extend on her visage, reaching her temple, her forehead, her nose; down her neck, her shoulder, arm, forearm... Or the remains of it. That previously perfect, delicate hand of hers has been long since shattered, leaving in place sharp bones that are both thin and thick, their shape unspecified always thanks to the viscuous layer that covers them. (Rkkkkrkkkkkcccrrrrrrrrr--) As the spidery cracks extend and widen, she can’t help but let out another strained gasp, eyes fluttering half-closed in reaction to the acute pains shooting through her body. Karmina has been dealing with this since hours, by now---transforming into Koschei, if unwanted, always requires a painfully large amount of time.

She doesn’t know why her dormant ‘alter ego’, if one would call it that, is struggling to break free. Especially since the people she frequents aren’t appetible, not at all on par with her standards. This uncertainty causes her to grow more and more irritated; though, no matter how much she loathes her current situation, there’s not much she can do about it. Except hide and hope that nobody will come across her, nobody will question her, and especially nobody will attract more attention than they should. Karmina is remorseless, but she has her own set of morals. Killing for such a flimsy thing just isn’t her style.      Bright red clashes against the duller maroon of the brick wall she leans against, letting black goo run along her cracked skin and her black bones without a single care in the world. Her white outfit is long ruined by now---and she does her best not to think about it. Maybe the nearby trash bins will cover, with their own unique scent, the repulsive smell of her ‘blood’. (Crrrrrkkkkkkkcccccccccckk---)      And her body becomes more and more a mosaic, pieces of her skin seemingly ready to fall off with the mere brush of air. Karmina, confident in her deserted surroundings, doesn’t do anything to stop it. She feels secured to be alone, and a bleak sigh escapes her lips as she throws her head backwards. Drips begin to exit the cracks beneath her eyes and on her forehead, lids closing peacefully as she lets it happen. Maybe it’ll be less painful this way, she thinks.      Until (rrrkkkKKKKKKKKK-- - --)      an anomalous presence      (- -- ---RRRKKKKKRRRRRCCCCCK-- - -) intrudes.

She catches it right away. Her heightened perception and aura-detection is a sign that she’s slowly shifting into her more powerful form. This is bad. This is bad.      “---Who are you?” she doesn’t yell, but her voice is enough loud for it to be heard from a distance. Karmina’s voice is less suave, less smooth than usual. Bubbles form within it, stumbling and pestering her words as if something’s threatening to come out of her throat.

“Answer. Now.”      This is bad. This is bad. This is bad.

[conoscenze]

Adelheid brought the cloak around Karmina's shoulders, gently pulling thick, grey fabric forward to fasten the clasp. She paused a moment, and spoke softly as the other maids scurried around them. "Do you feel the cold, Baryshnya?" She adjusted it with a calm smile, delicately pulling her fingers back to admire every servant's bit of handiwork. Karmina was traveling to a foreign ball this winter, a rare occasion, and here she was, doll-like and lovely in her eternal beauty. (1/2)

@archivierten.

“The Winter for me is too much,” she said while accepting a dark green cloak from another maid. Her smile turned coy. “That is why I always keep a fire burning, even in the oven.” My, was that a hint? Perhaps. Let’s disperse a trail of breadcrumbs and see where it may lead.

Foreign balls were nothing new to her; the only difference from the ones that her family hosted in the palace was a change of scenario, and perhaps, of season. Stepping just a little bit outside of Russia can change the Winter season, even if it’s just an inch less of snow and a few more rays of warmthless sun. As per usual, Karmina let herself be dressed up by the maids and tailors, quietly watching as they fixed each frill and the details of the laces that made the outfit shimmer in evident wealth. The hairdressers carefully handled her hair, brushing it softly and constantly observing eventual changes in her expressions, to judge whether or not they were hurting her. (Karmina could be described totalitarian only when it came to the stark red mane that splashed vividly her otherwise pearl white figure.) No braids, no jewelled ornaments: but free and wild, light in the air, and ready to curl as soon as they’d meet any humidity.     This time, she insisted Adelheid accompany her as well. Convincing her parents had been the easiest task: and the maids that usually came along weren’t adverse to the idea, either. It seemed that Adelheid had a good reputation with the rest of the servitude, which she felt... thankful for? Not exactly. Karmina did not care about those kind of things. However she did care, instead, about making sure that Adelheid would be brought along.     There was no particular reason. Something simply told her that she had to be with her.     As the Witch laid the cloak around her shoulders, Karmina merely looked at her, hands held in one another, still and as pretty as a doll’s. With a skin so pale, she could’ve been lost in the snow. Thankfully, the color of her hair prevented that from occurring. “Did you leave it this time?” Karmina vaguely asked, “The fire in the oven.” her neck turned left, and with a single gesture of her chin, she caught a maid’s attention; the woman quickly scurried next to her, eager to execute any order. “Anya, make sure to bring a warm glass lantern to keep with us in the carriage.”     An absurd request, one would think. No glass lantern could ever survive a turbulent travel like that, the maid was about to object; but Karmina silenced her before she could speak, with a single glance. Then she excused herself, and skipped inside the palace from the still-open entrance.     “Anything to make Àdočka comfortable,” she briefly explained. As the coachman signalled her they were almost ready to depart, Karmina grabbed Adelheid’s hand, and dragged her into the carriage with her. “Sit wherever you’d like,” and with that, she sat near the window, watching outside as the pure white snow kept getting holed and stained with the servants’ footsteps. Her eyes caught the figures of two maids from afar, directed towards them.

“The cold is my home, Àdočka. I’ve lived with it as long as I can remember.” it doesn’t touch her, doesn’t scrape her. Neither does the warm sun and hot summer breeze---but she’s far less bothered by the cold and the harsh winter temperatures. It goes hand in hand with the decay nestled within her, which is paradoxical compared to the fiery passion that she so-often consumes under the dreary cloaks of the night.     Karmina turns to look at Adelheid, a small smirk curling her lips.     “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure to keep you warm nonetheless.”

[conoscenze]

“... There is a certain level of distaste I can bother with. When that’s surpassed, I straight-out begin to ignore everything surrounding me. I’m very close to reaching that point.”

[conoscenze]

She fell asleep at some point while the two of them drifted through the night. Adelheid's chest rose and fell steadily. It was strange even for her for a moment like this, to fall asleep before Karmina. Ah but, her energy is not like what it used to be. Rain pattered along the sloped roof of her cabin. Everything was quiet. Everything was warm. The fire was reduced to embers before the witch stirred awake.

@archivierten.

When was the last time she felt so morbidly engrossed in observing someone in their sleep? No matter how determinately she could scavenge, Karmina couldn’t find a clear answer. Living creatures are much more intriguing, she had always thought: easier to deal with in a wide range of aspects, and in general, much less cumbersome than a dead and silent corpse. Whenever she found herself in company of sleeping people, she still adhered to that mindset, uncaring about its justness or lack therof. After all, didn’t humans call sleep the closest thing to clinical death that man had, so far to this day, experienced within its own taut skin?     Karmina’s dark gaze wandered as she stood nearby Adelheid, examining the objects and details which, at that point, she’d seen time and time again. For some reason, whenever she entered that eerie little cabin, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was stepping in for the very first time. Her walk was cautious and quiet, uheard of as she had earlier slipped off her heels. No need for that kind of luxury in here, she had thought. No need to uphold the tame image she had grown accustomed to, either. Even in the darkness, those stark red strands vividly shone, as brightly as the raindrops that dampened the terrain outside of the cottage. Slim and manicured fingers slid along the surfaces of the room, taking in the shapes of the kitchen tools, the jars, the pots, the wooden table… Everything was still the same, yet it felt different. For some reason, Karmina felt like she needed, absolutely had to examine anything that was in there, to leave no corner unexplored. Every object exuded Adelheid’s aura and energy. Perhaps that was partly why she was so hung up on trying to understand… decipher… discover…

A good while afterwards, Karmina had decided given up. The rain still kept hitting the roof, banging and begging to slip inside. Crouched nearby where the fire was, her hands held her feet, knees to her chest. She inquisitively scrutinized the flickering, helpless sparks that illuminated, here and there, the charred wooden logs. They look like skyscrapers, she mindlessly mouthed, bust leaning forward as if that would help her spy into those minuscule red “windows”.     “Will you help me see what’s inside?” words slipped from her mouth, “I want to see what lives inside of her.” her eyes flickered over to the witch, seated not far from the fireplace. “I’ve known her for a long time, and yet… I’m not sure. I can’t pinpoint it. What—no, who is within her?” monster may she be, as she had often implicated: but Karmina was sure, for how much she could be, that it wasn’t all that there was to it. Who was Adelheid? Karmina was Koschei the Deathless, but what about Adelheid…?     Easily realizing that asking a dead flame wouldn’t grant her any answer, Karmina let herself fall back on her bosom, wooden boards protesting the sudden weight with a meek and acute creak. Red hair strands gracefully landed on her shoulder before being suddenly snapped to the side; Karmina’s lips pursed, her brows furrowed ever so slightly as she turned to look at the resting woman, comfortably seated in that humbly luxurious armchair of hers. Who are you? Who are you, Adelheid?

Unexpected flickering blazes prompt Karmina to look at the now luminous, lively fireplace, before directing her attention towards Adelheid again.      Porcelain features did not budge an inch as she peered over at the witch, merely observing her awakening with that typical detached poise of hers. But was it the flickering fire that gave her visage a different, perhaps even curious tone… or was it something else?

“How lucky it is to be me,” Karmina merely commented, the right amount of slyness seeping into her words. “Since I get to be graced with this sight.” pause. “Did you feel secure while I watched over you?”

[conoscenze]

and impression meme for Karmina tooooo

impressions — @hyacinthsgirl​ — not accepting.

Their first impression of your muse:

“At first, unexpectedly fascinating. How she’s simply so naive and carefree, but not for that dumb nor inattentive. Out of this time and place. Yet... yet, I wanted to get to know her. So I did. And I must say, things evolved in a very peculiar way.”

Current impression:

“It’s quite odd... In the sense that I find myself inexplicably attached to her, in a delicate way that I can’t describe accurately. It conflicts me quite a bit, in fact. I want to protect her and I want to have more mischief adventures with her, but at the same time, I have a bad feeling... something tells me that I’m expecting way too much of her, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Are they attracted to your muse?:

“Chris is a lovely girl, a fair maiden. I’d be a liar if I said she weren’t beautiful. But my attraction goes beyond physical appearance; the connection I feel with her is very specific. Definitely platonic, and of a very particular kind.”

Something they find frightening about your muse:

“... How uncertain she makes me.” she pauses, and for a split second, her lips falter. “And how self-conscious I feel.”

Something they find adorable about your muse:

“Her curiosity. She always asks about anything, always wants to discover new things, new places, new stories... she leaves a lot of room for others to talk. I find that... endearing, in a way.”

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

“... That’s too delicate a question, don’t you think?”     (Yes.)

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic / romantic:

“Could our encounters be defined as platonic dates? Nonetheless, if she wanted to have a proper outing, I’d be, of course, more than willing. After all, she puts up with my moods and whims, and I certainly enjoy listening to her speak and watch her do her thing.”

One word my muse would use to describe yours:

“Whimsical.”

Would my muse slap yours if they could?:

“I’d rather cut my arm off rather than hurt Chris. It’s the last thing I want to do.”

Would my muse hug / kiss yours?:

“Though I’m usually indifferent to these sort of affectionate gestures, I... will admit that the thought of hugging or even merely giving Chris a peck on the cheek is quite unsettling. Not necessarily in a bad way---rather, I mean that I feel like I’m not allowed to do that. That I shouldn’t, not even if I wanted to. Luckily enough, that’s... not the case.” (so she says.)