#syxkafka

[syxnine-blog]

“it’s complicated.”

movie quotes meme | Not accepting

“it’s complicated.” Kafka said, gasping for breath as the pair escaped their pursuers, his hands on his knees. Nine gazed downwards, still fully upright. The only indicator that they had ran almost across the entire city was his heavier breathing.

“They took out weapons and chased after you at sight.” Nine replied. “I do not think that such behaviour comes from a complicated scenario.”

While Nine could have eliminated their pursuers, that would cause more trouble than needed, especially since the pair had a mission on hand.

“Perhaps...” Nine blinked, tilting his head while locking his gaze with Kafka.

“...Did you steal all of their underwear?”

[syharper]

🍺 + are you okay?

send 🍺 + a question and my muse will answer it while they’re drunk

harper pretends not to notice the way kafka’s hand sneaks out and takes the two half-empty bottles of liquor further away from her. she pretends not to notice that he moves to take a seat in between her and where the bottles are now standing. and eventually she pretends not to see the worry in his eyes. because she knows all of it would only serve to infuriate her further if she let herself react to it. so instead she simply tilts her head a little in his direction, then lifts her gaze - only her gaze, not even her head - so she can look at him past a veil of her own hair. although glare at him might be a better way of putting that.

her eyes take in the thief, the way his eyes are focused on her, then move to something away from her. she doesn’t know whether it’s because of the way she’s looking at him or for other reasons, but she’s content with it all the same - to no longer have his eyes on her. she has enough of a hole inside of her chest without him trying to burn more in her with his eyes.

admittedly the sharp sting of loss has lessened by now, courtesy of all the alcohol she has already poured into her system so far, but she still rather not be faced with a gaze like his. that type of searching, worried care he displays. it serves to nothing other than making her feel like she might just look like either a complete lunatic or a charity case to the people around her. and even though a part of her is aware that she’s not looking okay to anyone, that she’s not fooling anyone, she still likes to pretend she is.

and then the question rolls off kafka’s lips and harper’s teeth automatically clench. she is usually not the type to use anger just so people won’t see her emotions, but that’s because she usually doesn’t have emotions like this, the weak ones, the ones she can’t allow others to see. care is not weak, she never thought of it as weak, but…

her thought process pauses as her mind brings up the memory of sitting across yongsun and sneering at the care the younger male had displayed. the image is vague, blurred around the edges, and she shoves it away from her mind with every ounce of determination she can muster. she does not want to be reminded of the friends she lost tonight. she also does not want to be reminded of everything else she lost ever in her life.

she doesn’t realise her expression has shifted into another snarl until she notices how tense her facial muscles are, and by then she’s been looking at kafka like that for a good while already, so there’s no point in trying to make herself look at him any happier.

“peachy,” she tells him, but the sarcasm basically drips off her voice as she speaks the word. and then she moves, getting up from her seat to go around him and get her liquor back. but her feet are not on as solid ground as she expected them to be once she gets up - or that’s what it feels like - and she almost tumbles right on over, her hand on the back of the chair kafka’s feet are on all that keep her from literally falling on her face.

lingering for a split second as the world spins around her, training suddenly kicks in and she straightens before it even looks like she’s not entirely well - aside from the near-stumble she just did. swallowing hard, harper focuses her gaze on the bottles that stand a little further on the table, considers the two steps it will take her to get there and how safe it is for her to get there. then she lets out a discontent grumble, before simply sitting down on the chair her hand is on, right on top of kafka’s feet.

her head turns, gaze moving to his face again. but the anger has left her features by now, and instead her eyes come to a stop on his face almost uncertainly. and as their gazes lock, she remembers a time way too long ago with sudden clarity. she remembers a makeshift bed on persephone, being unable to move for weeks, and kafka sitting on her bedside trying to keep her entertained. she remembers leaning in and putting her head against his little leg, just to keep him from seeing the tears in her eyes. never quite crying, because she wouldn’t let him see her like that. but he would sit there and she would lie there and somehow it always used to comfort her.

suddenly her eyes fill with tears, seemingly out of nowhere, and harper silently curses the liquor for making her so weak, so incapable of holding herself together. but she doesn’t even hesitate for a second as she automatically allows her body to tilt over, her head coming to a rest against the thief’s knee, her eyes closing, as if trying to rediscover some hint of that peace that he had given her all those years ago - knowingly or not.

the turmoil inside her doesn’t instantly cease, it’s not a miracle after all, but as she shifts to get more comfortable, breathing in the scent of him with the movement, it’s like there’s a pressure lifted from her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying with her suddenly easing away if only slightly. if only momentarily. but it is enough for her to be able to take a first, proper breath since walking away from kinam. from her entire past, really.

she breathes then, a tremble in the sound, and lifts a hand to put it gently atop kafka’s shin, as if she’s seeking comfort from his leg. and perhaps in a way, she really is. because after another moment’s silence, the softest spoken words leave her, a question that might not really be asking for an answer but that still had to find its way past her lips somehow, at some point.

“have i, too, become a monster?”

[hanaxsy-blog]

💔

28. My muse visits yours in prison

Though the alliance has won the war, corruption and disobedience still reigns on. Prison, is one such place where money, not just status, can go a long ways. Often guarded by soldiers of the alliance that have given into the vice of gluttony and sloth. Weakly guarded unless containing high value members, but those were at high security prisons. But this one...well this one was for those that committed low-class offenses. Often held until either their trial or one was willing to pay bail. Rumor had it that the young echo lied within. 

It is in the night she slips in, the soft moons of a thousand planets lighting her way through the slits they call a windows. Inmates shuffle and growl, trying to keep warm as the night robs the room of heat. While torture was still illegal to certain extents, prison wasn’t somewhere anyone wanted to be. The technology had upgraded so that each cell adjusted temperature based on an inmates body temperature, keeping them in a space where living was only bearable. ( 22″ - 40″ degrees celsius but never the perfect 37.) 

Perhaps the song was a coping mechanism, entertainment to those that couldn’t sleep. but she surely heard him first. The soft humdrum of song, a melody over-played by lips that seemed to be losing strength. Hana had never seen such lifeless eyes; never seen kafka without a sparkle in his eyes. Though he was young and his strength to survive burned strong, she could see the flame withering...surviving by the smallest spark while his body strained to adjust and survive. 

And so she watched, quietly at first, hiding herself in her modified shinobi shozoku that retracted light, creating what some called ‘near invisibility.’ Black-Market tech, as they’d call it. Pulling a string to expose to her eyes, her voice rang out softly into his cell. 

“and so the magpie is caught.” 

The boy whips his head around. ah. now there’s the fire. Though Hana could see the confusion lurking in Echo’s eyes. It was not a name known to most, the old thief had mentioned in his broken health. After all, she had been tasked to investigate, hired to find Echo’s whereabouts, a hefty sum she would receive for his release too, but Hana was still debating whether she wanted to be involved with whatever he’d gotten himself into. 

“this is merely a setback.” he growled. ah yes. the sass. Though she could see the pounds lost from the smiling child she’d seen in photos and in passing from past jobs, it heartened her that they had not broken him yet. Ragged hair, bruise marks from beatings, but the echo was still there. intact. 

"broken wings, broken voice,” she hummed, “entangled within chains “she paused. “give me a prize, and perhaps, the magpie may be free.” 

[syxhenry]

🍸 Kafka sits down next to Henry, watching him out of his peripheral vision for a moment before sliding a glass of water in front of him. He falls silent after that, a million questions in his head but he can't bring himself to voice them and so he doesn't, instead grinning as he makes a shadow puppet of a rabbit being chased by a dog on the wall.

send 🍸 + a question and my muse will reply drunk

the glass of water comes into view, causing henry’s attention to shift over to it. he doesn’t know what to make of it, however, considering he is far from in a mood to drink water. there’s little to no thought that goes into his movements, as he considers the glass, runs his fingers over the rim of it and then pushes it back to where it came from.

it’s a little flicker of his gaze that suddenly brings kafka into view as well, and henry finds himself temporarily looking at the male, before noticing from his peripheral view the movement on the wall. the shadows play in front of his eyes not long after, but he’s far too drunk (and tired) to properly realise what he’s looking at.

eventually he turns his head back to kafka, who’s sitting there chuckling to himself like some sort of madman, waving his hands around in the light of the lamp behind them. for a good minute he just looks, then he sighs deeply and puts his head down on his arms.

he’s too tired to deal with the other beaumondian’s antics.

[syscarlett]

▲ + "If you could do anything you wanted to right now what would you do?"

it took a few minutes for her to answer. her brain went into overload at the idea of having no limits and trying to figure out what would be at the top of her list of things to do without them. instinctively, she thought back to home and how it would be nice to wander through the streets; smelling the familiar slightly dingy scent of poverty along with the various wafts coming from people’s windows as they made their food. the street vendors calling out their wares and the familiar faces who used to look at her with little smiles and waves. children playing and weaving through peoples’ legs as they laughed; older siblings watching them with worn looks that made them seem older than they were. the safety she had felt in alleyways that were intimidating and dangerous to those outside the community and the feeling that no matter where she went, she’d be safe because everyone looked out for each other in the tiny communities residing in the slums of the planet. what she really wanted was to go back in time and feel all those juvenile feelings once again and to truly believe them. 

but she couldn’t do that. not really. it would have never been the same, even if she did have the ability to step back onto the surface of persephone without the threat of a warrant for arrest on her name. 

             “i’d find a beach to lay on and maybe go swimming a bit.”

the answer wasn’t far from the top of the list. that would have been lovely. she did love beaches and being able to swim freely in waters. but it certainly wasn’t what she wanted to do in her heart of hearts. but sometimes, even in a theoretical situations, you had to be realistic.

                                                            [ ✕ ]

[syharper]

i've wondered periodically how you've been over the years. being able to see you again was a surprise but a nice one, though you'd felt familiar long before i realized who you were. even if you like treating me like a baby, i'm happy to be able to see that you're doing alright.

on anon, tell me what you think of me and i’ll try to guess who it is

'baby’ is all it takes for harper to think of kafka and she’s already grinning brightly before a new thought strikes her; sonmi. but then she has never treated the girl like a baby, not as far as she’s aware, and so she decides to settle on her first thought and instinct.

“alright, baby, i’m happy to see you’re doing alright too, although you probably would have done a lot better if you didn’t have to periodically wonder about me and instead could have seen so from up close. then again, not everyone can handle that much of me in their life. perhaps it was better for your mental health to be separated from me for a while so that we can now meet as ...”

she pauses then shakes her head. “i was going to say equals but we’re far from that, aren’t we?”

[sysidereus]

HC: Kafka has an almost instinctual urge to always doodle on Sid's face when he catches him sleeping in the hallways, but Sid's probably noticed that he usually wakes up with a blanket covering him and sometimes a pillow or rolled up blanket behind his head nowadays. That's courtesy of Kafka because as much as he likes pranking Sid, he doesn't like seeing him lacking in proper comfort.

HEADCANON: ACCEPTED!

Sid’s definitely annoyed at Kafka’s masterpieces on his face and Kafka’s really lucky he has never been woken up by him (you sly thief). But he guesses it’s a minor annoyance compared to the care Kafka has for his well being. Sometimes Kafka finds his blankets or pillows by his doorstep with some shiny trinket and a note that ranges from a “>:(” to a funny bad drawing. It’s stupid and pointless but he figures Kafka could use a laugh out of his bad art skills.

[syxsol-blog]

👀 + "What would make you the happiest you could be right at this moment?"

Before Serenity, he held onto intangible hopes. He escaped into his dreams until he took control of his circumstances and risked his life to run from slavery. The scars to prove it still decorate his back. Everything has always been taken from him, nothing has ever been permanent. So, there are few things Sol has ever wanted. He can’t bring back his mother, but he holds onto his memories like tiny treasure troves. Even as only an echo in the back of his mind, that soft voice of hers always manages to calm down the wild animal of his soul. He has always chased freedom, desiring a place to belong. Family.

As far as he believes, he has already obtained what would make him happiest. 

“I dunno’...” His smile is crooked, gaze trained on the fox curled up and dozing in his lap. “I’ve never been happier than I have been with you guys, but I guess that doesn’t answer your question.” And he laughs, loudly, at managing to say a lot without revealing anything. Again. “Sorry, Kafka.”