serpent / * SKINNED

@taileaten

88 posts

Katashi Shibata, 34, has called Coronado home for all their life. As an assassin, their world is steeped in vials of venom, snakescale leather, and the soft glow of lights on the highway. Often found tending to their snakes, they move through life with Fighter by The Score in their ear.

Ah, the non-answer, his favorite Katashi-ism. Dimitri wants to laugh, but there's an order to these things; the precarious feeling of the propriety of Coronadan high society. There isn't a moment where eyes aren't on the both of them, and so they must dance and sing like the best of them. He assumes that Katashi's feet can still follow the byzantine movements, but Dimitri grows old, and with the night's events, he could barely care. For a second, he pats the man on the shoulder. A touch longer than is proper, of course, trying to express his sympathies. The Shibata name is a sharp blade that cuts through the din of Coronado, but its members, for all their posturing, are still flesh and blood. "Well, if the intense scrutiny of historical integrity of your banks are what was meant to be, then good job." Dimitri continues, "But if that isn't it, then tell me. I'm hardly a mind reader here. What, you still sore over me ferrying you into a cab or something?"

katashi stiffened, feeling their hand on his shoulder. why did dmitri always want to pick at him? it was like making conversation with a vulture. it was in his nature to assume ill intent with anyone—outside of his family—that was determined to know him. why would they? he made himself deliberately boring. he couldn't understand the desire to move beyond that, peel back the layers to reveal what lay beneath. he couldn't understand it because he knew what resided there, that terrible, thrashing, angry creature. "i don't have anything further to say on the topic," he mumbled, slurring on a few of his words. all the same, it was practiced. and true. katashi wanted to avoid what had happened tonight, the betrayal that had been foisted upon them. not even prior notice. that was the most damning part of all. but he didn't want to talk about it. "i ate something that didn't agree with me," he said instead, avoiding too the subject of that night. "that's all."

#ft. dmitri saint romain

The thing about rancor is that more often than not, it leaves a certain signature in the space between two people. Like a kind of heaviness, or the whiff of something sour in the air. Distinct enough that Teodósio can sense it even with his back turned. It doesn't bother him, he knows Katashi won't do it... And if his calculations are incorrect and the kagehito does stick a knife in his back, well, there'd be something almost poetic about it. To meet his death while doing a favour for the Man Who Never Smiles, the one who's hated him for years now. And here of all places; blood mixed with wine, skin losing all color, turning as cold and lifeless as the cellar that surrounds them...

He'd bet Gabriel would even immortalize him in a song.

A smirk touches his mouth at the thought as he rips the gold label off the bottle's neck, freeing the casing from the top. There's no cork, so all it needs is a firm twist before he frees it from the bottle. His smirk widens, before disappearing altogether behind the lip as he leans his head back and drinks heartily from it.

'You don't know anything about me if that's what you think.'

Teodósio chokes on a laugh. "Come off it. I've known you since you were a boy. Much as you'd like to pretend you sprung from the sea, fully formed and armed to the teeth."

He takes another long swig from his bottle, before wrinkling his nose as Katashi's own choice wafts in the direction of his nostrils. "I thought you wanted wine, not vinegar... And for the record, I'd love to skip this entire evening. But what would the family say?" There's a mocking lilt to his voice as he strolls towards the kagehito, reaching a hand for his bottle. He tilts it in order to better read the label.

And then he drops it just as carelessly, attention centering on the man. "Worse, it'd add to the long list of mortal sins I've committed in your books, too... Wouldn't it?"

teeth sunk into the back of his lower lip, he fought the smoldering anger that lurked within. it took several long moments to kick it back into its cage; in the scuffle, disgust found its opening to pass over his face. "no," he said, curt and unfriendly; "you haven't. you've seen me since i was a boy. that isn't the same thing." shallow creature that he was, katashi didn't expect teo to understand the distinction. it seemed that almost nothing came to him naturally, the only talent he seemed to show for himself being improvisation. anyone could learn that, though. that had been a result of repeated, very repeated, punishments... hardly an intellectual pursuit. he was positive that they weren't even capable of that. he took a swig from the bottle. vile as it was strong, even that much left him grimacing—it took all his training not to break into coughing and spitting. collecting himself, he wiped his mouth sloppily with the back of his sleeve, unlike himself. more like himself. "since when do you care about what your family thinks?" he snorted, derisive. instinctively straightening his back as teo approached, he regarded his proximity with a tell-tale scowl. a few more drinks and it could have become a snarl. "let alone what i think?"

#ft. teodósio del bosque #something something secret fire vs secret ice idk #is that anything #also i agree with continuity <3 #also hey so have u ever seen hannibal #and hey so if u have #do u recall the ladder scene in hannibals office #just bringing it up for no reason #if u dont know what im talking about um #disregard <3

“There’s something you’re not saying.” Fumiko won’t look at him directly—and only does so to match the indignity of his actions. (@taileaten)

"it's just not... something that... concerns you," he finished, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

#ft. fumiko shibata

"Means exactly what it sounds like," Teodósio returns, as the door to the cellar creaks open and reveals rows and rows of racks, barrels, and even a few refrigerators at the back; each intended to keep the wines at variable temperatures, humidity levels, and speeds of ageing. "I didn't think you had it in you. The small talk, the subterfuge..." He tosses Katashi another grin over his shoulder as he advances into the dark.

"Thought you were too strait-laced for it." A beat, "Something about all those consequences you've been mumbling about."

It occurs to him as his back is turned that this would make the perfect spot for the kagehito to murder him. He knows Katashi won't – knows he can't, because of their families – but that doesn't stop him from wondering whether the man's tempted. It isn't fear that creeps up his spine as he keeps walking, but something closer to relish.

He likes pushing the man's buttons, likes that Katashi hates him for it. Likes seeing a Shibata break from the mold, knowing all the while that he's the one who dangled the apple to lead him astray. What other surprises is Katashi Shibata hiding?...

"Take your pick, we're spoiled for choice." Teodósio turns on his heel, splaying his arms outward. One bottle catches his eye; glass dyed a sea blue, a wiry gold closure around the neck. He eases it out of its tilted hiding hole, squinting at the label in the dark.

"Only hurry up. They'll be serving the aperitivo, soon."

teo's wiry frame sunk deeper into the darkness of the cellar, more outline than man. katashi didn't know it, but it was as close as he'd ever been to seeing what he really was. teo didn't know it, but equally was he close to seeing katashi's true face, the writhing pit of fire and death that nestled at his core. his conceptualizations were close. almost the moment they had slipped past the doorway, the kagehito in him had recognized the value in the location—dark, quiet, prone to accidents. the other had shifted the song toward the ease in which he could rid himself of a nuisance. it was exactly what his rage was meant to do—to cleanse. but certainly, he would not ( could not ) do it here. teodosio was too grand, too noticeable, a target. this was too public an event. he would just have to quell the fires of his rage in something stronger than raw emotion—the haze of an age-old blessing, alcohol. but the promise alone wouldn't keep him contained entirely. this man didn't deserve the respect of his careful, cold exterior... but neither did he deserve the clarity of explanation. "you don't know anything about me," he growled, confident in his truth; "if that's what you think." but playing a part so alien to him took time, effort, observation—the disguise he often wore was the most reliable one he had. clearly, it had worked even on teo. he didn't realize that the same could easily be said for him, though. they were both dancing masked. but who would drop theirs first? katashi's choice was something dark and strong, stench accosting as he pulled the cork. good. exactly what he needed. "here i thought you'd be happy to skip it."

#ft. teodósio del bosque #UGBDUFGHDFGHIDUFHGDF sorry to ur cousin </3 #that sucks truly </3

She has no choice but to listen to her brother. “Fine,” Fumiko says, her voice so sharp it pings against the gravy boat in front of her. There are more important things in life than her brother’s secrets—at least, that’s what she tells herself. “Never mind, dinner will start soon.” — And as it turns out, it’s true. Fumiko hadn’t batted an eyelid toward the new premier and vice premier—she had a hand in their winning, after all—but this ‘cultural preservation’ act was more than a bit too blatant for her taste. “This feels like a test,” she whispers to Katashi, “though for whom, I’ve no clue.”

"we shouldn't talk about it here," he mumbled through the corner of his mouth, under his breath. there was something deeply disconcerting going on, something that had not started with the death of the premier... and wouldn't end with whatever this new age of cultural preservation was meant to bring. "wait until we get back to the island. we don't know who might be listening."

#ft. fumiko shibata #we love to see it

"Don't worry, I'll watch your alcohol intake. Can't have you falling into a cab again," he teases, shaking his head. It's a refreshing look to Katashi, to know that the man wasn't all sharp blades and grimacing, hiding a small bit of vulnerability underneath it all, even if it's only uncovered by drink. He should get the guy drunk more often—it looks like he needs it, anyway. And even if he didn't it amuses Dimitri either way, what you call a win-win. He waves for some water, given to them in perfect glass as Dimitri takes a simple flute of roving bubbly for himself; something to tempt Katashi, should the night call for it. "Well, either I'm bad company, or someone's childhood pet just died," he says, taking a sip of his drink, "I know that this might be overstepping to you, but how you feeling? The, ah, presentation can't exactly have gone down smoothly."

it was impossible to keep the scowl from his face... but it didn't help the fact that it was clear he was embarrassed more than he was angry. that was the reason he had been avoiding dimitri to begin with. tonight was supposed to be all about his image. he couldn't afford being confronted by the results of his severe lapse in judgement. that was exactly what it felt like. truth be told, it felt a lot like how this evening was beginning to go, too. his expression didn't change, hawkish. the fact that dimitri knew of his feelings on the matter, overstepping or otherwise, was not of much comfort to him. "i don't know what you're implying," he said, scowl drooping in favor of something more careful. another reason to request water instead of wine. "the presentation was what it was meant to be."

#ft. dmitri saint romain

"It worked," The redhead concedes, throwing his unlikely companion a sharp grin. "I'll admit, I didn't think you had it in you." The conversation might've been stilted, a little awkward in blips — but truth be told, he hadn't been sure the kagehito could pull off even that. Not because Katashi is unreliable, but because he'd needed to lie through his teeth, and to Teodósio, he'd always appeared too horribly transparent for that.

Then again, it's his hatred that's transparent. A hatred Teodósio perpetually provokes, sometimes for purpose, sometimes for pleasure. For all other intents, Katashi may not have as much trouble improvising a face to fit the occasion.

He considers this possibility as they resume their walk down the winding hall behind the kitchens, an area that's meant to be off-limits for guests, as evidenced by the fact they're alone. The wine cellars come into view, and he casts a glance over his shoulder to ensure that they haven't been followed as Katashi resumes growling at him about a childhood full of consequences.

"Consequences don't stop most kids... They just make the end-goal sweeter."

The only rule regarding breaking rules in his family seems to be 'don't get caught'. Not that he's actually bothered to confirm it with any of the older Del Bosques — everyone knows it's better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. But what the kagehito says is true: had he encountered more consequences, perhaps he'd have gone on to break fewer rules. Fortunately for Teodósio and unfortunately for the rest of Coronado, he's been caught red-handed and needed to ask forgiveness too rarely to motivate change.

Had that been the case, he wouldn't be here now, trying the lock on the cellar door with both of his keys before nodding to the one in Katashi's hand. "It's yours. Go on," He affects a voice full of gravity and wonder. "Oblivion awaits."

"what is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, bristling. of all people, he couldn't stand to have teo reprimand him for incompetence. there were more important skills in life than improvisation, but katashi knew that he could do it well—in the right setting. leave it to an unruly brat to give him an unnatural opening. it would have been better, he thought, to insist upon matters of security... rather than trying to account for a list of allergens he didn't actually have. who in the world was allergic to peaches, anyway? completely unbelievable. the closer they drew to the cellar, the more agitated katashi became. he couldn't have explained his discomfort in words, but in the urge to escape—just before they turned the corner, he shrugged his arms off his shoulders and stood back. he felt much like, he imagined, a cat might feel when touched by human hands. dirty. degraded. distinctly in need of a cold shower. "you didn't have our consequences," he stated, tone just shy of sharp. he stepped forward to try his key before teo could darken his mind with yet another of his inane comments. as expected, the lock clicked once joined with its key, swinging open into the dark dampness of their cellar. sea air, he had heard once, was not good for keeping liquor... but that didn't seem to stop them.

#ft. teodósio del bosque

Katashi's laconic commitment to the role is enough for Teodósio to move into action, taking a step back so that the Maître D and the kagehito are closer together, catching the latter's eye long enough to spur him on with a subtle nod. He pretends to occupy his time by dawdling nearby; peeking into a pot over one cook's shoulder, swiping his thumb into a bowl to taste-test the remnants of a mystery sauce (Périgueux... Not his favourite), shooting a grin at the harried-looking assistant who rushes past carrying a stack of dirty dishes. All the while, his ear is trained on the chatter behind him.

He waits for the right moment and thinks he's found it, prepared to move in for the kill when there's a sudden lull in the conversation as Lacourt glances oddly up at Katashi over his spectacles. Thwarted, Teodósio pivots away quietly, busying himself again.

Damn Katashi for being so fucking awkward.

Thirty seconds later, another window of opportunity arises. The Maître starts droning on about desserts, and Teodósio moves like a shadow behind him, reaching to unclip the keys. At the hard part he jostles abruptly into Lacourt, creating a distraction as he frees three keys from the ring. "Stars! It's busy in here... Did you say something about peaches?" The keys are already in his pocket as he moves forward again between both men. "Oh no, Katashi can't do peaches. Deathly allergic, I'm afraid."

He slings an arm over the kagehito's shoulder again, not as heavy-handed as last time, but with enough pressure to suggest he play along. "But that reminds me, you simply must see the fruit trees in the garden this time of year... Don't you agree, Mr. Lacourt? Maybe we'll even find him a better dessert out there." He winks at the old Maître and receives not even the slightest twitch of the lips in response.

Jerome Lacourt's always hated him for being the most effective kind of child pest: the one that rarely gets caught. But Teodósio doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty over it. In fact, he's fairly certain it's that continued hatred which still powers him at 81 years old, more than any life-giving energy left in his bones. So really, he's doing him a favour.

With some luck, Katashi may live just as long.

... Judging by the man's expression, anyway, as they pour back out into the hall and Teodósio releases him, quoting one of Katashi's stilted lines as he'd attempt to keep the conversation going with the Maître D. "Really?... That was the best you had?"

But he slips a hand into his pocket and retrieves a key, tossing it at the kagehito. Two more are in his grip. "It's one of these, anyway. We'll just have to try all three." Teodósio begins walking in the direction of the wine cellar, already debating how he'll go about returning the keys, later. "Did you never break any rules as a child?"

to say this was where he excelled would have been a poor choice of words, but the heated words exchanged—politely, but insistently—echoed an environment he knew well. his home on the island was a battleground of minced words and balanced tempers. if there was an indirect way of saying what you meant, it was considered impolite to ignore it. his training in the kagehito had reflected this—he was an indirect assassin, offering a pinch before a painful death. katashi knew how to fight, but an effective killer knew how to perform before it came time to exchange clumsy blows. all to say, he managed to keep the old man's attention—mostly. the stiffness that returned to his back, his neck, his shoulders as teo's arm snaked around him only cemented his displeasured performance. the maître was equally unimpressed, but katashi couldn't help but feel a rare spark of kinship. he wasn't the only person who found teo and his antics insufferable. "i wasn't aware i was being rated on my lines," he grumbled, sour now that he wasn't in position to mind his image. like he cared what teo thought of him! what did it matter if he could do better if nobody would believe him? katashi didn't have that same reputation to consider. "it worked, didn't it?" good reflexes helped him to catch the key in question. turning it over in the light, he noted that it looked old, unkempt. a little worn around the edges, used over and over and over again. "my childhood had consequences," he sniped, sparing him a sharp glance. "something you would have done well to experience."

#ft. teodósio del bosque

for @taileaten—

There's always a certain charm when it comes to fancy events, sponsored by one of the wealthier families, but even he can't spin whatever the hell this is. It was as if he was tasked to stop a bomb, sitting on its own dead man's switch—Dimitri felt his age, the years catching up to him quicker and quicker as the night progressed, letting his own body slow in order to at least catch himself up to the night's events. It should make him ecstatic, but the faces of the big names and players looking like they'd swallowed lemons did nothing to ease his nerves.

It was hard, at least, but even he didn't look as miserable as Katashi—the man who, not too long ago, Dimitri had ferried, a little trashed, into a waiting taxi. Ironic then, that he was the glimmer of hope in an otherwise caustic night; if everything blew up now, at least Dimitri could tell himself he enjoyed the the burning debris as it rained down onto the partygoers.

"Katashi Shibata. Looking as glum as always," he teases, giving him a small nod. "Anything I can do to help the night go down smooth? More veal? More drink? Worse beer? I hear they're serving the good stuff, but if you ask me, the good stuff runs out too fast."

oh, no. the exact person he didn't want to see. apparently, his escape with fumiko had been short-lived. a master of surprise himself, katashi should have seen the ambush coming. he had known, of course, that his name had been on the invitation list. katashi had also known that it was impossible for him not to attend. a reunion between them was practically inescapable. perhaps even literally. fate itself continued to shuffle them back together. "if i have any more to drink..." he trailed off, grimacing—a little more than he already was, at any rate. but he didn't much want to reference what had happened the last time he had overindulged. embarrassing. unused to the sensation, it left a deep score through his brain. "maybe just some water." some fresh air, too... but that was something better left to himself, long after the festivities had concluded.

#ft. dmitri saint romain

It’s not like that. That only confuses her more. Fumiko has never been one to feel frustration towards her brother (not in any significant manner, anyhow), and she wouldn’t dare to speak out of turn; yet, in this moment, she feels utterly lost—and that is something she cannot stand for. “Katashi,” she says, firmly now, “exactly who are you talking about?”

embarrassed, katashi sat hunched in his seat. "fumiko... please don't ask me that." or anything else, for that matter. wasn't it enough that he clearly didn't want to talk about it? it wasn't her fault she was concerned. "distract me with something, please."

#ft. fumiko shibata

She allows a soft, mildly disappointed 'Oh' to escape her lips at his rejection. But whatever disappointment is left on her face vanishes quickly. "Well, to tell you the truth," Dira leans in just slightly, her voicing dropping to just below the ballroom's din. "I believe you to be one of maybe a handful-- and that's a generous hand, mind you-- of people here that could actually be challengers in our ring." It's an opinion almost solely based on looks, but one that she believes is true none the less. "I suppose you could say that I'm advertising. While it's true that I pull a decent sized crowd most nights, almost no one here has ever has had the pleasure."

A beat, then, "Do you frequent often? I feel like I'd remember you."

katashi couldn't place it in its entirety, but her disappointment piqued his interest as much as it amused him. did she really want to see him fight? he presumed she was under the assumption that as an office man in his father's company, that he couldn't—but without her thoughts on the matter, it was purely speculation. "every once in a while. i've always been interested in the sport." the street variety was so inelegant in comparison to his training... but real fights often were. it was up to the kagehito to bring order to the world of violence. "but i try to keep myself anonymous. you can imagine what kind of scrutiny i'm under."

#ft. dira gowda

Well. Maybe Hell really has suffered a cold snap tonight.

He doesn't need to be asked twice. There's already a smirk playing on his mouth as Katashi's growl meets the flat of his back, one he makes no effort to hide as he pivots on his heel to face the man again, splaying his hands outward.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The instructions to follow are implicit as Teodósio weaves politely through the crowd, feeling the kagehito's unmistakable haunt with each step. They slip out into the hall, empty enough that their footfalls echo as he leads the way to the kitchens.

This is the tricky bit. The Maître D has the keys to the wine cellar, but Jerome Lacourt is a cantankerous old fart, as likely to hand them over as he is to hang his cap up and retire. Teodósio surveys the bustling scene from the kitchen doorway a beat longer before reaching behind him to sling an arm round Katashi's neck. "Play along."

That's how he's dragged hopelessly into the light of day, Teodósio babbling loudly beside him. "—I promise we'll find something that's kind to your tummy. Don't wo- ...Jerome! What luck!" He crows, and the Maître lifts his disgruntled head out of a conversation and turns to fix the Del Bosque with an unloving stare.

"I know Josefina's far too busy for any interruptions tonight, but if there's one person who knows the menu almost as well as she does, I knew it'd be you." The Del Bosque continues, moseying over to the Maître with Katashi in tow. "I don't need to introduce you to Mr. Shibata, yes? Well his list of allergies extends all the way to the Mill, so I told him we could double-check the ingredients with you before dinner. Katashi?"

He releases his companion. All he needs is the keyring. Correction: He needs Katashi to distract Lacourt long enough so that he can swipe the keyring.

it took all of his well-earned shibata self control not to rip teo's arm from around his neck. touch was something katashi kept to a minimum, even from his closest family. to have someone so disgusting, so unworthy, wrapped around him—it felt like an insult to the very essence of who he was. a shiver threatened to ripple up his spine, ( angry? ) but he managed to stamp it down, as with the tension steady in his shoulders. by the time they rounded the corner, he appeared tolerant, if not enthused... but he was never enthused. teo's voice was loud in his ear, drowned out like the yearly chittering of cicadas. if he kept his gaze steady on the maître, like a point on the horizon, he could keep from giving into his nausea. finally, that arm retreated, and with it, the weight from his shoulders. so why did it feel almost too light, now? katashi was a machine built to compartmentalize. he quieted his thoughts and soldiered on. "yes, it's best if i check things myself," he agreed, but before he could continue, they had already begun to protest. setting his jaw, thus began their fevered argument—now that he had a suitable outlet for his rage, it was almost easy to forget his purpose, distraction.

#ft. teodósio del bosque #EHEHEHEHE #no but pls i love it...#ur mind... big and brilliant

The more he speaks, the more perplexed she is—what is he on about? “Katashi…” Fumiko says, almost a whisper. “What happened? What have you done?”

unfortunately, he didn't seem to realize that the cagier he continued to be, the worse he made himself look. "nothing," he insisted, red creeping up the back of his neck and into his face. "it's not like that. i just don't want to see them."

#ft. fumiko shibata #hes like its WORSE than murder....#i fucked

"You don't care about my anything." Teodósio spares him a moue, about as real as the smile he's spending on the cameras. "Well, except for my sellos. It'd wound me, if you weren't so exquisitely consistent about it."

There's some truth to that murmur, even if it's delivered in the tones of a joke. He does appreciate Katashi's consistency; from his dependable (if ill-humoured) attendance for every one of their sessions at the gun range, to the man's steady hatred for him.

There are things he doesn't understand. Like why Fumiko doesn't see her potential. Like what Andrea and Ariya could possibly have to discuss between them. Katashi's hatred, however, he understands. As constant as the current of electricity that feeds the island's avid appetite for new technologies, as reliable as a lighthouse in the dark.

Apparently satisfied for now, their photographers slink off in favour of new meals.

"Look at that, Tashi, your prayers have been answered." Teodósio exclaims, daring an amicable clasp of the kagehito's shoulder before releasing him. "Well, run along now, seeing as you're so keen to escape me... Do give your parents my best regards."

"finally, something we can agree on," said with as much disdain as the moment called for. that katashi thought it called for, at any rate. there was nobody else in the entire estate that could have pulled such a reaction out of him. teo had adopted the perfect disguise to get under his skin, burrowing deep into the soft flesh of his belly. one of these days he would flip him over and that would be the end of it—he would explode or he would die. his only respite would be to know that it would have to be away from the flash of a camera. try as he might, katashi struggled to work his face out of its scowl. thankfully, the photographers had better things to do than slink around them. he had always tried to make himself intentionally boring—that helped to keep him out of their sights. "i'll do nothing of the sort." this time, his voice was just shy of a growl. "show me the stores. before the cameras come back."

#ft. teodósio del bosque #ur not escaping me that easy #also damn this got homo and i didnt even intend for that #accidental homo #thats kts life tho

"Such objection. Though you certainly have the second half down." That same smile painted on her lips, a deflection for curious eyes. The gloved hand retreats with the tray, back to their rounds.

"Appearances are only as good as the picture they paint," she seems to have forgotten the jalabrisa, holding it idly in her hand. "I for one can't stand finger foods."

katashi sucked in a breath so sharp, it felt like swallowing a knife. was she... being flirtatious? it wouldn't have been the first time, but that didn't make it any more welcome; it was a possibility he considered with dread. "the main course should be more to your liking," he mumbled, the same tone he always took. it was neither harsh nor polite, a perfect charade of neutrality. "appetizers don't interest me." he deliberately chose not to use the coronadan word.

#ft. elena del bosque #and u would be RIGHT for that #unfortunately he has some decorum yet

"you mean to tell me no person working in media before myself has made the trip to come see you at your workplace? don't make it sound too lonely now, mister shibata, or i might have to start making it a new habit." the ease with which she says it sounds light-hearted. a joke shared between two people at this event that didn't hold loaded history. she's not sure she's fooling him but she'll be damned if she doesn't try. "not quite. the quest for knowledge never ends. comes with the job, i suppose. but your input was certainly appreciated. i only wish i'd had more time to pick your brain."

"i've had plenty of media personalities knocking at my door," he corrected, even gently; "but not under the circumstances." as if an assassination would be anything more than routine... but katashi was meant to pretend like the premier's death had wounded him, just as what was expected out of everyone in their nation. "not quite? what's been getting in your way?" there was something sharp in his gaze, not quite suspicion. "more time? time is all we've got. what's really got you waiting?" not, of course, that he expected her to share...

#ft. ariya chanthara

serpent / * SKINNED @taileaten - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag