2025-09-21: Damsel's Message
- Log: Damsel's Message
- Cast: Yua Ooshiro, Shiryuu Ryouhara
- Where: Studio Chura, Aoba
- OOC Date: 2025-09-21
- IC Date: Sat Jul 14 2012
- Summary: Shiryuu visits Yua to have her pass on a message. And Yua just about passes out from the delivery... even though he never touched her!!
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
Yua hasn't had much contact with the Order's darker parts, since her visit with Para-Mind which left her with her Skill Cartridges. She has been left to her work with the children, work she does joyfully; it is so wonderful to see their confidence and willingness to try new moves as they get more comfortable with the program. So, too, has she been working on her own body, with desire to have her own child; her discreet visits to Rengedei Ward have left her with increasing confidence in her capacity to bear a child for Miho, and she is keeping careful track of herself, just as Miho must undergo her own trials.
She is a woman of structure and schedules in all other aspects of her life, too. During the work week, she takes care of her tasks in the morning, before she's due to report to campus by noon; she runs her afternoon classes, attends to her paperwork, and leaves to return to Aoba Ward to open her dance studio for private tutoring. The weekend is a different beast -- Yua doesn't work on the half-day of Saturday, and of course even students have their Sundays free -- but even when she's harder to pin down, on the weekends, she makes that effort to open Studio Chura in the afternoon.
(There are flyers advertising it, floating around the various campuses where she teaches, the Cardboard Dragon in Hirasaka, and displayed in a few local Aoban businesses. Come down to Studio Chura for dance tutoring by a teacher with experience in many different styles and a strong grounding in classical ballet! Open from four to six in the afternoon, or by private arrangement.)
She doesn't always receive pupils, when her studio is open to the public, but that doesn't mean the time is wasted. (One might wonder, with only a small core list of clientele and such limited public hours, how Studio Chura even manages to pay its rent... but of course, this entire tower is owned by the formidable Ijuuin patriarch.) Yua spends the time not spent teaching others on practicing her own form, attending the barre herself as she drills and drills again the essentials of her craft. Her leg arcs outwards and upwards, gracefully, lifting high above her head before she lowers it back down and begins the movement again. She is lovely in her discipline, a picture of beauty despite the eyepatch covering her face.
Precious jewels often are.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
It's probably the only thing they can agree on.
It's not to be said that the grey-haired boy has an exact schedule, or a specific agenda that he pursues with that level of dogged persistence. In truth, he'd never be able to keep up that level of commitment -- he is definitely a more feel-based artist, and so there's a huge bloc of time taken out of his days for vibes alone.
But being reliable means being able to stick to an idea, when need be. Shiryuu is the type to never be late, nor ever be early -- each is a sin in itself, either a sign of someone who just can't keep it together, and the arc of his days usually involve at least one or two of these types of commitments where needed. Any more, and he'd get annoyed. Any less, and he'd get restless. Just right.
What this means is, Shiryuu, the man ascending the stairs in baggy clothes and newly-cleaned sneakers, can appreciate people sticking to a rigid schedule. Even if he finds it a little cumbersome, it means someone who is dependable, and can be relied upon to be in their place and in their way. You'd be amazed at how many people are just bumbling along through their lives helplessly.
And then there's that weird konbini girl, who is in a class of her own.
All of this to say that Shiryuu doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty about chasing off the daydreamers loitering outside the ballet instructor's studio with a tepid 'Get lost, eh...' before walking inside. He's accompanied by a tinny sound, typified by a juicy-thick bass beat and the clicks of what must be clapping, or snapping. It's hard to tell, since it's being produced by a substantial set of headphones hanging down around his neck and is certainly not being piped for public consumption.
"Well, I guess that's going to be it for the day..." A soft sigh, before he makes sure the door is shut behind him. Some are simple, private affairs, the turn button, or a push button. Big commercial place like this tower? Usually a kind of commercial hook latch, where you need the key to even lock it. At least, unless you slide a metal shim into the hook and force it open through the strike, jamming the door in the jamb until the shim is removed. He's really willing to do either.
"Sigh.... sorry. Nice form, meant to say."
The problem with guys like him is, there's nothing that says he has to tell anyone when he intends to be where. It's enough that he knows he's exactly on time.
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
Any one of those loiterers might have found their passion for dance, if only they'd gathered the bravery to go inside. Lessons are quite affordable for the school-going teen's budget; Yua doesn't have to care about profit, and so her fees tend to exist primarily as a promise between student and tutor that their time spent there matters and will be used to the best effect.
Luckily for Shiryuu, there's a simple lock alongside that commercial latch -- one designed to be employed by hand, installed so that Yua can provide privacy to her private clientele without needing to pull out the key when her clients are around.
Unfortunately for Yua, Shiryuu's just entered Studio Chura.
"Ah--!!" Yua gasps, and it is a testament to her discipline that she doesn't fall, ass-over-teakettle, at the shock of seeing him here. Rather, her leg gracefully descends back down, and she lowers herself back onto the flats of her feet as her hands cross over her chest in the shape of an 'X'. "Y-you are not permitted to be here!" She protests, with a little squeak to her soprano voice as it tears with just a little too much fright. "Please --"
Her face falls, when she sees Shiryuu fiddling with the locks. "Don't!" She cries, rushing forward, only to pull up on the springy wooden floors when she realises that running for the door means closing into his space.
(Speaking of space, most of the space here is occupied with that floor. There's a changing room off to the side, veiled by a curtain, and a front desk with a chair beside it by the door. Tucked in the corner by that desk is a water filtering machine, and on the wall nearest the door is a long bench, suited for parents to wait for their children to be done with class. Aside from that? It's all empty floor, baby, barres bolted to the walls to help people practice their form, and mirrors lining those walls to let them check their posture.)
She swallows, her throat dry. "Th--thank you," she forces out, though her complexion has grown ashen with her terror.
Her hands clasp, as she looks aside, averting her gaze for her comfort as much as to recognise the power he holds.
"What... what do you want with me?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Perfect. It would have looked rather strange to have the Ryouhara scion literally punch a shim into the doorframe, and probably would have left the woman with a somewhat miserable evening of waiting for the locksmith to come fix the door. A thumbturn with an idle flick is far more appropriate to the level of effort that Shiryuu would very much like to invest in the conversation they're about to have, and in so doing, he actually does have time to pay attention to her, he turns to face her, and immediately has the tilted expression of an offended cat.
"Hey. Don't you 'x' me."
He doesn't know the first thing about ballet, admittedly. But Shiryuu is a child of the street, and knows exactly when people are trying to ice him in any language. He is offended by these types of things fairly easily. He has the option to act; the boy is still very, very armed, by the looks of the pack on his back, though for convenience's sake the long bundle carried at his shoulderline is now tucked vertically instead of horizontally, the ties of the red back now dangling freely somewhere below his left elbow. Of course, it's hard to confirm that it's a sword he carries.
But he didn't hit her with a sword, last time.
"...anyway," Shiryuu continues, briefly recovering from the ballet shots being fired across his bow. He coolly steps forward, one hand going to the strap of his bag absently. "Don't get too excited, this--"
*squeek*
As he approaches her, the boy stops abruptly, not even a full step and a half in. Squeeka squeeka squeek. He raises a leg gingerly, absently. The ball of his shoe turns slightly on the deeply polished floors, the rubberized sole sounding very briefly like a fresh set of Nike AZB3s on the basketball court. Squeek squeek squeek. He rolls his eyes in annoyance, running his tongue along his teeth.
"...what a drag."
Faced with a massive dance floor, the boy has only one option, really. The young man turns -- and this time, his steps are silent as he plods over to the merciful bench that is not very far from the door. He sits, with a big sound as he drops himself into the wood. With that, he begins to unlace his sneakers.
"....like I was saying," Shiryuu sighs, clearly showing his distaste with having to start all over again. "You can relax. I'm not going to throw you out a window, or anything like that. Not today, anyway." The little annoyed pulls of his shoelaces fill the air with crisp hisses and pops in the razor-sharp silence that follows. He looks up, suspicious of her anew.
"Just want to talk."
She's looking off that way, and he's pretty sure she's ballet'ing at him again. Isn't that rejection, or deference or something like that? He's going to assume it is, to be safe.
Better not 'x' him again..
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
"I-- I'm sorry!" Yua yelps, floundering for a moment as she scrambles to move out of the gesture. Of course she's terrified; he almost choked her to death, last time she saw him.
And now he has -- a sword? She's familiar with Miho's sword-case, though his looks quite different to her businessman-like affair; she sent Miho off with it, this morning, in fact. (Miho always has more work to do.) The fact that he's brought one here...
Well, it hardly makes her less scared.
But he's scarcely told her not to get excited that he starts squeaking, and Yua claps a hand about her mouth, firmly, to stifle the disbelieving giggle that threatens to mock him. She's definitely making a face under that hand, though. She's making such a face.
It's not that she suddenly wants to laugh with a man who has only ever brought her pain, it's just -- the sheer ABSURDITY of it all.
He reassures her that he's not planning on throwing her out the window, and it's -- well, it's something; her hand lowers, to curl at her chest again, and at length she glances back to him again.
"If you want to talk... first, tell me your name! That's a normal part of conversation!" She speaks with more emphasis than she needs to, because she's using the force of projecting her voice to cover the way it wants to tremor. "I'm Ooshiro... Yua Ooshiro. Now, you go!" A beat of a pause, and she adds: "Then -- then, you could tell me what you would speak of?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The silver'y boy takes a distressing amount of time to untie his shoelaces. He's very much a meticulous set of hands, not content to just leave the laces set out haphazardly. First, he unties his laces so he can slip his socks out from them, matte black plush wool that has a neon green stripe going up the side to mid-ankle, lining up with the emblem on the side of his shoe. Then he sets the shoes a set distance from one another, about a foot apart, perfectly lined up at a right angle with the direction of the floorboards. He re-secures the first overhand of the knots without snugging them tight, and leaves the laces folded and laid over the tongues of the shoes. Then and only then does he stand.
"--ahh," he comments, as if not really wholly paying attention. "Don't worry about it, for now..."
Well, if she -was- going to laugh at him, she probably could have gotten away with it scot free, since the world may as well had shut down the moment his shoes started singing orchestra. Not so much now, though.
"..dramatic," he observes without any real judgment in his voice, straightening the strap at his shoulder as he looks back up at the Order's jewel, who is currently giving him the full JRPG treatment, with the folded hand and everything. She doesn't need to be so loud. Right? Hnr.
A hand opens, without raising, at his hip. "Fine, fine," he relents. "You girls and your obsession with introductions." He keeps his other hand at his shoulder strap, and aside from the one hand, he proves to be a little less animated an individual when the entire world isn't conspiring to annoy him.
It shows in the way he moves, the boy's step a little smoother, a little more dangerous absent having to focus on quelling sound that really shouldn't be. He moves slowly across the dancefloor, keeping a sharp eye on his refleciton in the mirror. His baggy clothes make it really hard to see him move in full articulation, so he almost has a ghostlike drift to the way of him.
"Ryouhara Shiryuu," he tells her in no uncertain fashion. "I'm the private specialist contractor working on our shared account." It's a bold euphemism, because of course it is.
"Our eyes are everywhere," he adds.
That's less of a euphemism.
The next words are a little out of sorts for him to say, but he's learned to have at least an ounce of discretion where it fits; a little 'good to have your company, Ooshiro,' isn't the sort of platitude that is unpalatable, nor would it go amiss. Sometimes girls like that sort of thing, he reasons. And so it is.
"Now."
A tiny flick of a card in his hand appearing through a feat of legerdemain, the boy lifts it up to his eyes. It's a blank business card, with something written on the back of it. It'll take a second to realize that he's not offering it; that it's for his own reference. "You're in league with Katou's ... Ijuuin, right?" If she's paying attention when he lowers the card, it's not the name, but actually the pronounciation he has written down, phonetically sounding out her whole name so he gets it right this time.
He clearly doesn't follow the Olympics.
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
He's very precise, Yua notices. If it were anyone else, she'd admire it, the same way she appreciates having separate containers for every spice in her kitchen which are arranged by heat level and region.
But it's this boy, so instead, all she feels is that vague pit of dread.
All the world's a stage; she cannot deny his accusation of dramatics. "I am a performer," she defends her declarations, and it is only the acting which lends her that force.
Is it girlish, to want to know who has come into her demesne? She wonders at it, for a moment, as she takes a reflexive step backwards to match his movements.
(He may note that she is quite silent on the dancefloor, not a squeak not a squirk nor a slide.)
Still... Shiryuu Ryouhara. If she survives to unlock the door, at least she has a name for Miho, now.
"Our eyes are everywhere," she echoes him, with wan affirmation, her own gaze dropping as she does so.
But he has a business card, and...
The Ijuuin clan is old and well-respected, with a storied history, serving as vassals and retainers of the Shimazu clan. (And as high-ranking officials in the Satsuma han which the Shimazus controlled -- a feudal domain, as it happens, which claimed Ryukyu as a uniquely foreign vassal.) From that history, it's no surprise, perhaps, to find Ijuuins in the shadows of their conspiracy... right beside Captain Shimazu.
Yua doesn't need to hear it sounded out, though; it's engraved in her heart. Anger flashes over her eyes, briefly, protective and fierce, and it is what prompts her to take a step forward.
"What do you want with Mimi?!" She demands, gesturing sharply outwards with a hand. "If you hurt her, you'll wish the greatest problem burdening you was your inappropriate footwear! Leave her alone!"
It's about three sentences into her anger that she realises who she's talking to, where she's standing, and the blood drains back out of her face as she raises her hands defensively in front of herself. "I-- I-I mean -- please, excuse me," she tries to erase her outburst, and with her cowed tone comes that wavering in her voice again. "S-she -- she is my, my handler," and she hates to use that word, but it's the word the Order recognises, between the two of them. "... and my protector. I-I live with her. Ah, y-you worked with her, with us, when we went to kill Sergeant Suou and Officer Hamade... as bride and groom."
She pauses, biting at her scarlet-painted lip, for a moment. "She'll be attending the Olympics soon... there are people who would be unhappy if she wasn't able to secure gold for Japan if you attacked her now."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Dark brown eyes, with one color ever so slightly paler than the other, flick higher, the sacade necessarily too fast to track. Curious to the razor's edge, the sharp-eyed boy seems more interested than offended in the sudden surge of fire she shows him.
It'd be the most defiance she's shown all week, if he had to guess.
His hand is still extended, that business card held at a 'I have trouble reading things up close' distance. It's more a performance than a necessity -- holding the card further out allows him to keep her entire silhouette in his view, and most of his face out of hers. But even so, he can't necessarily hide his response to her when she insults his pride like that.
He stares at her for a few seconds, which feels like a whole on minute.
"...huh. interesting."
It's dangerous in the worst kind of way to engage with _that_ part of Shiryuu.
He'll have to find out more about the Ijuuin later, when old man Takeshi finally feels fit to talk about something other than how the fish are biting. It's ridiculous. He hasn't caught anything in years!
She has more than enough time to pick through her responses while the boy watches her closely. She might notice, now, that he pads forward smoothly to mirror her own stride backwards, keeping the space between them to some imagined standard, for reasons that are important to him. It's reflexive, and it's clear that the moment the proverbial gloves are off and everything makes enough sense to him, the boy locks in. It's almost like facing a different person from one moment to the next. Concentration is a heady drug.
"....well," he finally replies in earnest on the wandering end of her apologies and explanations. The word is unbearably quirky in tone. "...Suppose I should first say, 'congratulations.'"
"Except.."
".. We didn't quite manage to dispose of anyone. I could have done without Suou breathing up all my air anymore. I don't really like wasting my time, or anything like that... and I feel like our little --"
He makes a 'click, gzzt' sound, and draws a thin, theatrically laid-back line from one end of his neck to the other with the corner of the business card to illustrate the point.
"-- caused some bad blood. Being your ... 'handler' ... and all." He clearly doesn't like guessing. "You do understand that ... we're gonna have to sort that out, right? Some stuff just isn't going to let slide that easy. You sure you wanna get in the middle of that...?"
She starts on about people being made unhappy. The corpse? The weird little tech? The mummy? "Yeah, I guess," he agrees aloud, patting the back of his head with the card. "... but that's sort of the thing. I'm gonna ask you to carry the message for me, either way.... you got any money going on Team Japan...?"
Pause.
"...and before I forget. They are Converse Weapons, the latest Undefeated collab, you knave."
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
Yua is quite sensitive, to the shifts in the dangerous people around her; it's how she's survived this long. She can hear the shift in his tone, in his stare, and certainly her defiance feels a horrific mistake now.
He congratulates her, and Yua takes another step back, stammering out, "T--t-thank you?" Except --
At some point, stepping backwards, Yua failed to account for the wall; her back finds the barre, her back reflected in the mirror. (... there are scratches, there, along her back. They've healed, but the skin is still new, compared to the area around them.)
She gasps in quiet horror, her hand coming up to grasp her neck, reflexively, when he reminds her so casually.
But nothing she does to reason with him seems to reach him. "I--I do not gamble!" She protests, with futility. "A-and I really do not care to hear about your tastes in fashion when we speak in this way!"
She regrets it as soon as she says it, of course.
Why can't Miho be here right now...?
"Just -- just listen, please," she tries to reason with him, her breath shallow in her chest. "No one's more important to me than Mimi. And I know she would crush you... she is not so easy to break as I am. But -- but I could not ask her to do anything which would threaten her competition. She worked her whole life to be where she is now... and she has already pushed herself to endure the procedures she must undergo to fulfill my own dream..."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
And, you know, despite the surreal nature of their conversation, the congratulations offered seem at the very least genuine, if in his own particularly distracted mayfly fashion. Chances are, he's already forgotten about it -- but for a moment, it's not bad to just say normal things.
But they are not a normal peoples.
"Relax." The self-described contractor stops just shy of chasing her all the way up against the barre, letting the fading flower to her retreat for the moment. The business card sags in his hands, tilting downward until he can fold his arms at his waist, letting his hips ease into a less active chase with a soft and subtle sigh. The boy is very much content to be the warning at the center of the room, letting his eyes trace across the mirror glass.
It's an advantage, he muses thoughtfully, catching sight of the fresh'ish marks at her backline (claws?...) Well. Maybe a gendai-ryu could be innovated around it.
"... so let's talk about gambling."
The card taps against his opposite elbow while his arms are folded, an idle gesture meant to distract from the way he watches the Jewel of the Order move. "I'm not opposed, but as a rule, I dislike gambling too. I prefer a sure value thing."
"But in this case, the sure value is 'knowing.'"
The onmitsu prince's chin tilts upwards, his lips parted to take a slow, even breath. He even talks like it's a fight. "....I'm sure I don't need to draw you a 4koma."
He shapes the words around his mouth in full theatre. "'I don't need you to deliver the message for me.' That's the truth."
"I could find her myself," he thinks, inexorably. "Somewhere out there in the night. Or you could be my message. It'd be a little boorish, but we .. well, we already know what I do about things that need to get done. Sorry about that. Some of our clients are... what do the Americans say? 'Shitheads?' Yeah.."
"So, I'm going to give you the choice."
"I'm going to be at the Ichibadori Bridge in exactly one weeks time, one minute to midnight. If she shows, I'll know she's the real deal, because you believe in her. But if you want to protect her, then you don't have to tell her anything, and I'll have some time to clear the remix level on Rhythm Tengoku."
Pause. A thought occurs to him. "...or not. Ugh." That would suck.
He shakes his head. "...anyway. If you're really thinking that you wouldn't be saving her, and that she'd --" he looks up, with the _most_ annoyed air. "'crush' me? ... I'm no slouch. I don't wear Undefeated stuff for just any reason, you know."
The boy flicks the card off in a random direction, sending it pinwheeling annoyingly into what is probably going to be the most aggravating seam in all the barre. He's stalking back to his shoes. "At any rate.... either way this clears the deal between you and me. And in the trade, I'll find out what you're about. So, do what you want..."
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
"How am I to relax?" Yua asks, still drawn tense as a bowstring. "Y--you almost killed me! I was s-so scared, and my wrist was hurt, and I felt so small..."
She shouldn't tell him so much, she knows, just like she oughtn't snap at him. but everything inside her is screaming at the danger she's in.
"K-knowing...?" Really, a diagram would be helpful, because when someone is this under siege the very concept of stringing thoughts together becomes like walking through a riptide.
"No!" Yua cries, when Shiryuu suggests he might just jump Miho in the middle of the night, and the fear in her voice doesn't align with her claims. But she lifts her hands to protect her neck, again, when he goes on to suggest that she could be the message, clasping her fingers about her mouth to stifle her cries in the process.
"I-if you're sorry," she says, from behind her fingers, "why -- why do you persist in terrifying me? Of late, I've done nothing wrong... they could not have ordered you back here!"
But... he'll be there, in a week, at Ichibadori Bridge. "What do you mean to do to her?" She whispers, hoarse. "To meet her at the Dark Hour... don't hurt my King!"
She leans against the barre, watching him in disbelief as he walks away. "Y-you -- you think you have made a thing up to me? You come here, lock me in with you, terrorise me, threaten me, speak violence against Mimi, and then say to me it clears the deal?!" Anger stabs into her voice, as her hands grasp the barre, behind her. "I want you to leave!" She demands, her voice raising. "You -- you wretched boy! Darken not our doors again, you, you -- God and his hearths forsake you!"
That one is going to need explanation later, too. ... turns out, one of the major Gods of Okinawa is a god of flame who is given space in the kitchen.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
He's already minding his shoes, the little *krrch* of him pulling the raised velcro emblem off of the side of the shoe and repositioning it just so taking longer than it took to step into his shoes, to sit and tie them -- one smooth motion for each, almost like he planned for leaving. Or fighting. He notices a little smudge on the edge of the EVA. A little finger-sized melamine sponge and a bottle of water is produced from an outer pocket on his bag, and the boy takes some time to get it taken care of.
She's yelling at him, he sort of internalizes. But instead of responding right off with any sort of retort, the boy is mostly indifferent. He wets the sponge, and lifts his heel, scrubbing away the stain absently while she demands he leave.
"... did you just damn me...?" the silver-haired young man asks absently, somewhere off the tail end of her venom. He actually knows a fair bit about the godly ways, and the exact invocation is even lost on him. It's baffling, and baffling enough to nettle him into taking it out on the stain on his shoes. Once he's satisfied that his Poormans are looking their best again, the young man stands, tilting the bottle of water back for a long draught. Hand to strap of his pack again, the sponge pocketed for the time being until he feels like unshouldering his bag to put it back where it's supposed to be.
"... you know what I mean to do," the onmitsu finally breathes. The bottle doesn't make any crinkly sounds as he bounces it against his pant leg. He decides to leave it on the bench.
"And when I threaten you, you'll know it."
"It's part of why you're as nervous as cake on Christmas," he says, careful with his gait and tread so that he can actually cross the studio without the entirety of the ward hearing it. "You know how differently this meeting could have gone, but I'm not interested in that sort of thing with you. And that's all you're gonna get. A choice."
"What were you expecting? Flowers, card, box of chocolates..?"
The door unlocks smoothly, once again reaping the benefits of Shiryuu not literally having to jam it shut. His hand dallies on the thumblatch. He looks over his shoulder. one shining blue eye casually blinked away.
"...you work with killers, thieves, liars and charlatans. Every one of us beasts, top to bottom. Probably even you too. If you're not gonna leave, you should get used to that. I'm just the most honest beast you're going to meet."
Shiryuu will leave the door open slightly as he leaves.
<Pose Tracker> Yua Ooshiro has posed.
"Of course I did!" Yua snaps, holding tight to the barre, as if being on the opposite side of the room could protect her from him. "Would that I had my Grandmother's reach with them!" The Gods, that is.
He cares far too much about those damnable shoes! And if Yua weren't gripped in the clammy hands of fight-or-flight, she might recognise in it her own affection for her pointe shoes, the ones she insists on wearing even out into the street.
But she is, so she doesn't.
He means to... "I-I won't let you hurt her!" She declares, but her bravery is undercut by the way her voice wavers. He claims that he didn't mean to threaten her, and that she believes far less readily.
Still... her hand lifts to her throat, again, and she can imagine it all too easily.
"You think... you're being kind?" She asks, and struggles with each word of it. He gives her a choice; she sees another, in the horror.
Still --
He claims to be an honest beast, and Yua claims, in turn: "I never wanted to!" It is a rejoinder that lifts the end of her sentence in a sob, as she sags back against the barre, clutching her hands to her chest.
"I never wanted to..."