2026-03-08: A Ripple for Two
- Log: A Ripple for Two
- Cast: Shiryuu Ryouhara, Umie Akabane
- Where: Yumezaki Ward, Sumaru City
- OOC Date: 2026-03-08
- IC Date: Oct 6th, 2012
- Summary: It started with a walk in the rain.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"... So ... he escaped."
The sound is a trickle against a slow build of a cognitive rhythm, discordant and meandering, consciously quelled to little more than the subcurrents of a whisper by a tense, unrested mind.
The observation is quiet, terse, absent.
The shihaisha has finished disseminating order to his onmitsu. The Bride, an identity as befits the Order's particular flavor of doomed operational fantasy, had been too weak to ferry away Kurou, an oversight that required Shiryuu to return to Kouhei and Shuuhei and direct them to recover Kurou and direct him to the safehouse in Sumaru for the time being.
Picking up the pieces was simply expected.
It's not hard for Shiryuu to find Akabane from that point -- the entire space atop the mountain is cognitive, and the boy moves at the speed of will. The biggest difficulty was assuring the survivors were in hand while not alerting the children assigned to escorting them.
One or two in particular, Shiryuu didn't find a particular need to alert to his presence. Not yet.
Once he'd reached his confirmations, there's more important things to attend to, for the time being. And as she tries to make her own way, Umie will shortly find him in her path, a white haori flagging slowly in the wind.
The grey haired boy steps forward after a thought, moving with a furtive step as if he'd been waiting in this specific spot the entire time.
A nagging thought at the back of his mind, carefully pushed away.
".... I'm here to take you back now."
Next moment. Next second. Keep moving.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
There were likely offers from various people after the battle at the sanitarium atop Mt. Katatsumuri to shuttle Umie whereever she needed to go.
Alas, that would be a good, responsible decision and Umie is in a mood where the last thing she wants is to be besides the very people who would, in a sense, understand exactly why she stinks like a rotten corpse, why her mouth tastes like metal, why she does not want to talk or think about anything, for a while.
The rest of why Umie is currently walking towards the subway entrance instead, sneakers numbly stepping through the rain, is because--
None of them truly understand at all, do they? All you have, and ever need, is yourself.
Umie looks down at the puddle in the street, and sees her silhouette, framed in the reflection of the lights of the city outskirts above. She can still make out the details of herself at an extreme angle: black leggings peeking out under a sagging, dripping pale rain jacket, loosening blonde buns sagging to hang below her ears, soaking up the drips of blessed rain from the heavens. There's no mask now, having been safely hidden from the rain in the small duffle bag on Umie's shoulder.
... And me.
There's a small girl in her reflection, alongside her, miraculously dry. Her silk kosode (Umie was never able to understand what article of clothing it was) was a beautiful shade of red, patterned with flowers and butterflies. Her hair, not short, as would Umie would *think* would be traditional, is the same dark shade of mouse brown, almost black that Umie's would be, if she didn't fray her hair to get to the shade of blonde she wants.
"... Mmnh." The crossing lights turn, and a passing car disturbs the vision, splashing water onto the hapless Umie, who curses under her breath at the sensation of Wet seeping into her socks.
She loves the rain. Loves being in it. Loves listening to it, or the smell of it on a day that ends in day.
Just not right now.
'I'm here to take you back now.'
She instantly knows that voice. "Shiryuu." Umie looks up to him with a critical frown, tilting her head. "...."
A million quips fill her head, all of them requiring levels of energy she just doesn't have right now. "Is this in a date sense, or did they finally get tired of my bullshit?" she asks, growing more and more aware of how much her toes dislike the falling depletion of 'dry' going on. ".... please," she says, her shoulders sagging.
Please what?
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'Shiryuu.'
The grey-haired boy tilts his head forward, lowering his jaw. Against anyone else, it'd probably be the most threatening expression the boy could level, something that would presage the hiss of even steel. Certainly, the boy has a naturally hostile countenance -- all quiet and sharp edges.
But against the soaking wet bird across the way from him, his critical off-colored stare is simple confusion. Caution, the boy's eyes dancing along her state, sharply taking stock. Any one of a number of variables storm in him -- gait, possible exposure to curses and toxins, the listless shift of someone missing a section of their soul.
But her voice tells enough of the tale for the perceptive boy.
"Mmm."
The sound is noncommittal, the flat line of his expression elusive when crossed with her frown. A line of water drips down a single stringy bang -- and she might notice he doesn't actually wear a rain jacket. His haori is surprisingly well-suited to it despite being made of silk, but there's less to be said about the rest of him. He's surprisingly dry, but that's changing rapidly by the drizzling moment.
But the boy doesn't even seem to notice it's raining.
His lips part, silent for only a second or two.
'...did they finally get tired of my bullshit?'
"... Even if it were so, I don't consent."
The boy steps forward.
"...and 'dating' was something that passed us by, long ago, maybe.."
It's a rare, thoughtless admission that will absolutely come back to haunt the boy later when he bothers to think about it in the very slightest. He's paying attention to her instead, the weight of his appraisal forefront in his mind, even as she's...
...he approaches her slowly, his Nikes rippling the puddle he steps through to close the distance. "... ehh.."
'please?' Closer now, Shiryuu tilts his head just so -- it's clear he doesn't understand what she asks. The vocalization is off the back of his throat before he realizes it, before his eyes drop down, further.
The leggings are a nice touch, but.
"You're soaking wet," the boy notes. "And...."
Her shoes. And ... that scent. His brows furrow.
".... absolutely not," the boy decides. "Did you ... step in them?"
Shiryuu promptly kneels down, taking great care to pull up his haori sleeves so they don't drag on the ground. Little droplets spatter the ground from his hair -- he's still wearing that weird bangle on his left hand, that cord tied around his right. He sniffs, suppressing a cough in his chest, wiping water out of the orbital of his left eye, touching the water to his tongue testingly.
First, he'll untie her shoes unceremoniously. "...splashing in them or something..." the boy repeats, thinking aloud, as if Akabane wasn't even there. Tug. Pull. Then, he ties the laces together in a simplistic square knot. He tries not to pay attention to her new leggings as he does this. He absolutely fails to do this, and has to re-tie the knot at least twice. Sigh. He's really better than this.
"Come on, you." Ryouhara tells her, in no uncertain terms.
He's not cool, like the Phantom Thieves or .. whatever she was on about at Jogashima. A cool person would just sweep her off her feet and jump. No, Shiryuu isn't really like that.
Instead, he presses his back into her hips and -- lift. "Hup." Right across his back, lifting Akabane right out of her shoes, if she doesn't fight too hard and get them both face-down in a puddle. It's entirely likely.
But, he's not interested in having her walk the whole way in soggy shoes. That's unacceptable.
"You'd better not had gotten bitten," Shiryuu notes.
"And if you did, you'd better not bite me while I'm carrying you."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Two birds stare openly at one another, one wet, the other steadily approaching a closer approximation of it.
Two souls, soaked in rain.
"Your clothing's going to get soaked." With her hood up, at the very least, Umie is protected, the rain softly pattering against her rain jacket as she looks him over, her head nearly tilting sideways.
Looking at him seems to have activated her, in some way, though the two pale birds gather their share of looks from passersby, who rapidly decide to look elsewhere on their late night errand runs.
Whatever was activated, it's furthered by Shiryuu's response to her query. ".... There we go..." she breathes, a devilish little smile dancing on her lips--
'... and 'dating' was something that passed us by, long ago, maybe...' "O-oh," Umie says, perplexed, as much as Shiryuu was by her open-ended 'please'. Did he mean that they weren't.... or... that they're even more serious, or.... _but they made out at Jogashima_, surely that leaves no room for this being an idle thing...!!
.... he lost a part of his soul to the Old Maid. Or something like it; a symbolic death that travels on the lines of the cognitive mind. He came, many times, to see if she was alright, and she fell asleep against him on nights when she wanted to feel what it was like, to be close to someone.
She stood in front of him and denied him the act of drawing her weapon, even when he commanded her to.
"... That is what happens, when it rains," Umie whispers, hoarsely, as he comes closer.
'Absolutely not.' 'Did you... step in them?'
"Stepped in who?" Her eyes look down to her shoes, which, is blocked by Shiryuu's head as he hovers over them. ".... Oh, you meant..." Yeah, no wonder people were giving her a wide berth; she's likely nose-blind to it at this point. "It was kind of unavoidable," she grumbles, looking away with a flush of embarrassment.
(Wait, did he just... tie her sneakers together??)
To be fair to Shiryuu right now, Akechi *did* 'sweep her off her feet' (though he'd likely bristle at being considered anything *but* a Phantom Thief, and he swept her off in the most literal meaning of the term). He even did a dashing leap from the trees, triumphant to have caught Umie in the middle of her escape from his watchful eye.
"Wh--" That same wet blackbird is now on Shiryuu's back. She settles there, and doesn't struggle.
'... you'd better not bite me while I'm carrying you.' Do not make the mistake of thinking she wouldn't let him get away with *some* sort of tease.
"... Don't say it like you wouldn't like it." Shiryuu could probably hear the sharp curved, open-mouthed grin as she says it.
As if, by being freed from the ground, she's just become a little more herself, albeit wet and more than a little stinky.
At least the scent of rain takes the bite of it (no pun intended) down a peg or three.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"....mm?" She brings it up and Shiryuu only, just then, seems to notice the rain, as if the sky and her state were not a direct correlation with one another. (admittedly he seems more interested in the fact she's been saber dancing on zombies) Consequently, the boy looks up, a hand held to his head as the rainfall patters off of his bare knuckles. "....ah.."
"...it'll be fine. Akita is usually worse," he thinks.
Apparently, he has much more of a problem with her being wet than him, despite exactly one of them having a rain jacket with a hood.
She gives him that scythe-sharp grin, and the boy's eyes narrow, darkly satisfied.
"Besides..." -hup-
"...you can just protect me, if you're worried about it."
She's grinning like a fiend behind him, and Shiryuu's openly quarrelsome frown rejects the notion openly, puffing at her scandalous nature. "I said -protect-," he grouses, taking one of the fiend's legs into the crook of his arm. "From the rain. I'm not going to be the snack of a messy 'ZANBII' in leggings tonight..."
--he pauses, suddenly looking down with a grimace.
It's a bit of a careful shift, but Ryouhara manages to lower himself just enough to pick up her shoes by the laces with his free hand. By the same, they're hung off of his sword hilt, the sheathed weapon still tucked in his belt. That, and the smell are probably what's contributing to the wide berth just about every reasonable citizen of Japan is giving them right now.
"Well," he supposes, "I know a supralunar area or two nearby, but with you in tow, I won't be able to use Kyotosaigan anymore." He says this like it means something to anyone but him. "And the subway probably isn't the greatest idea for some of the trip, I don't want to deal with police." So Shibuya is out.
"...it's fine," he thinks aloud.
Yeah... luckily, he doesn't know anything about Akechi, whom would probably go up on suspicion of being a Thief just on general principle if he had. Luckily, the onmitsu is busy being distracted.
"I know a place," the boy sighs, taking her other leg in arm until he's reasonably sure he's not going to drop her in the gutter on accident. On purpose, that's another story entirely -- if she keeps it up.
Shiryuu smugly hides a stupidly satisfied grin at the thought. Yeah, don't let her win, Ryouhara.
"Hopefully," Shiryuu mulls, "you like samurai."
COLORFUL! SAMURAI ICHI
The neon sign all but blurts the most gaudy tourist's idea of a samurai club to the entirety of Yumezaki. It takes an unreasonably long and awkward amount of time for Shiryuu to -walk- Umie (most of) the way to the ward, and that's counting the shortcuts over buildings. If there was even a single point at which the grey-headed boy at all felt anything like 'being cool' during the venture, it is absolutely obliterated by the journey with all of the mercilessness of fate herself.
They almost assuredly argued relentlessly for at least the first half of the journey. Likely, mostly about the proper way to dispatch zombies.
And now this. Judging by the rat-looking fellow in a nice suit who may in fact be leering at either Shiryuu or Umie, it is a far, far cry from the upscale hotel in Shibuya. It's actually in full view of the worksite for that burned-down club, so... yeah, seedy types may have taken over recently from all the construction going on.
"It's not bad," Ryouhara insists.
Then someone in cosplay sticks their tongue out at him from the second story window. Shiryuu grimaces, again.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"Eeh...?" Umie looks bewildered as the young man, as if noticing the rain for the first time, simply seems to wave it off. "Ugh... You're hopeless."
One of the advantages of being hauled up like this is that, for a moment, the pink of Umie's cheeks is well hidden, especially when he hooks one of her legs into the crook of his arm. "I'll protect you, alright," she answers in revenge, about to whisper something close to his ear--
wait no, her duffle bag's on the ground. "Augh, grab that too! Don't put the shoes inside it, though, my stuff's in there!" .... "And... the mask Ryouhara-kun made for me's in there, too."
Supralunar area. "... So... a supernatural area?" She furrows her brow, trying to concentrate. ".... to the.... southwest of here, right? Medium sized area? Or the one east of here? Real scattered... that one makes the Badb restless. Most be an active spot..." The Badb, being her, but also the Badb. The mention of Kyotosaigan draws a raised eyebrow, but Shiryuu, as he is, can't appreciate it.
Really, it's all just an exercise in the most important skill of all: showing off.
"How is Ryouha--ra-kun?" Kurou, that is. Even if Umie would like to call him just Kurou-kun, it feels like something she needs him to allow, first, given how mannerly and polite he is.
The odd hitch in her voice was just about when Shiryuu managed to hook in that other leg.
"... And... are you... doing ok--" Oop, they're taking a building shortcut.
Yeah, they're definitely bantering back and forth on the way there to this 'samurai host club', as Umie is calling it. "Ah, a bunch of handsome young men, posing as the Shinsengumi, ready to set a maiden's heart aflutter... you spoil me, Shiryuu..."
Nope that's definitely not what's going on here, as the only thing going aflutter here is that ratty-looking fellow, who Umie can't tell is leering at her or Shiryuu.
She gives the ratty looking fellow her best narrow-eyed glare, doing her best to indicate that the boy hauling her like a sack of potatoes (plus some items) is, in fact, hers. "Could you... get a room with a decent bath? Something I can just sink into for hours and not be bothered," she grumbles. "I want to become a prune at this point."
After a certain someone sticks their tongue out at Shiryuu from above long enough for Shiryuu to contemplate his life's choices, Umie's body seems to loose some of its strength, as she mumbles, "... I don't want to think. About anything."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Aa," he confirms, contemplating her bag, and especially what she said was inside. It is as he'd explained it, once. The clan refers to occult power in relation to the moon -- either above or below it. He thinks on her musing before looking up to get his bearings and figure out where 'east' is. His jawline is close to brushing by her arm, and the awareness is something that arrests his train of thought. Just for a moment. It's bad enough he's wondering what she was going to threaten him with. "....Mm," he asserts the thought wordlessly.
A beat. "My sense of it isn't as good," he admits. "I just remember them. From reports. From places where my eye..."
The boy pauses, thinking better of explaining.
Instead, he comes to a resolution about the gym bag, lowering down just enough to tuck the strap onto his shoulder, adjusting it with a hand (there is a height difference) so that the shape of it sits centered behind him, below her, at about hip level. It takes a bit of coordination, but at the end it's only lightly off-center, so the boy's balance shouldn't be severely affected.
With that and Akabane secured, the boy marches.
"I had Shuuhei and Kouhei escort him to a safehouse in the city," the shihaisha explains, again glossing over critical facts with implication alone. "Kouhei bridles under my word, but he understands the mission. Between the three, Kurou's safety is peerless."
'And ... are you ... doing ok--'
To his merit, it actually matters very little whether they're in a supernatural space or not. He's not cool, the damp, grey-haired boy with the strange, melancholy-ish girl on his back, carrying bags, shoes and a sword, staring up with annoyance at a second-story parking ramp just out of reach. He just scuffs his shoe soles against a dry spot on the ground to make sure they're not slick from the street, and then -- *squeek* he manages a fairly decent jump from a bollard, to the wall, and then a little slide to flick a leg over the barrier. That, in turn, leads to a little hop down onto a roof ventilation duct, squaring himself across the boxy edge and sliding down the curved return so it doesn't crumple when his weight hits it.
He has someone else to think of and doesn't have his hands, so he has to keep the path to a practical one of one or two stories, only relying on those tiny patches in Sumaru where physics truly won't mind to do anything untoward. But he manages, a boy idly picking along the structural supports of an awning.
he never does answer that question, really, lost to other, more important things, like zombie movies, and whether vampires are any better than zombies, and how the devious Akabane is absolutely not allowed to wear vampire-grade heels until she learns how to treat a pair of sneakers.
It's slow going, but he gets there, eventually.
"Iih. Go find comfort in the bottom of a lake," Ryouhara grouses icily at the leering ne'er-do-well, pretending like someone dressed as that one girl from that demon anime doesn't hate him for an undefined reason.
"...Akabane.." he says, undecided as to say anything more, when the fight drains out of her against the silk of his haori.
"...this place has soaking tubs," Ryouhara awkwardly allows, somber for exactly as long it takes for the front attendant to almost fall over.
"R--Ryouhara-sama!" SAMURAI Kenjiro panicks. "woooh~~!!! You're not by your--" the guy with glasses and dressed as an officer of old Japan (yes, a Shinsengumi) stares. "AND SHE'S--" He flails. He makes a sky-blue scene of it. And Shiryuu almost dies on the spot. The shihaisha levels his absolute highest calibre glare. "Send up new sheets and towels in a little while," Ryouhara tells him, with the kind of tone of voice that Shiryuu usually reserves for Katsuya Suou.
"There's nothing cool about the Miburo," he remarks, moody. Shiryuu is still half dead from embarassment.
Seriously, why is it always such a problem everywhere for him to have a visitor...
Luckily, Shiryuu already _has_ a room here. Somewhat bafflingly. It's a sprawling space on the third floor, not at all cramped, mostly so for the fact that it's been ruthlessly stripped of unnecessary furniture, with a little sword stand set on a desk, a chair, and a bed, a linen closet and that's literally about it, aside from a conspicuous box of rolled up wall scrolls and at least eleven folding fans in a stack.
The washroom is set on a slightly lower level than the rest of the room, hooking around a corner. Shiryuu doesn't mind it at all. Depending on how restless this Badb person is, he'll let Umie down right on the bed, not really minding how wet it is. The rest of the things will be set down near the desk, aside from the shoes, which are placed by the door along with his own. Consulting the linen cabinet, the boy makes a face.
And starts stacking towels on the bed. One. Two. Three. Five. All of them are powder blue, and are of varying sizes. How many towels does he think a girl needs? How many towels does he have? Why?
"Off with all that," Shiryuu tells her.
He tries his best not to make it sound like he intends to have her entire outfit burned. He doesn't! It just sounds like it. Because he's not a terrible person, the boy politely steps away, leaving Umie with a disconcerting number of towels. He still hasn't taken off his sword yet, notably.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"... Badb can sense them. Or, well, technically, *I* can," Umie explains, in a tone a touch softer than her usual. "It's... like... knowing where to go." Which isn't that much better in terms of an explanation...
... Except when one looks at what the Badb is. But then again, it's not like Umie is the only one searching for words of any kind, be it Shiryuu's eye, and its relation to Kyotosaigan.
At the very least, Umie is quietly cooperative as Shiryuu tries to integrate the duffle bag into his load, not wanting to walk around in soaked socks or cold tied together sneakers.
Shiryuu gives an answer over Kurou's safety, and he can feel something relax in the posture of Umie's musculature against his back. "... Didn't know whether to be more worried for the people fighting against him, or Kurou himself." There's a soft sigh, as Umie adjusts her posture to better compliment Shiryuu's hold; if Shiryuu wasn't sure before, he'd definitely be aware of the short blonde's core strength at this moment. "I guess that's just part of what I'll have to navigate."
To ignore the boundaries of what she hates, because of the people she's come to care about, within. "The Order sent in an entire faction of Tawainese mafia, just to die..."
Shiryuu wouldn't let Kurou go through an experience like that, again, but he can't be everywhere. "It's bigger than the Old Maid... The Order either doesn't know what they're dealing with, or they simply don't care..." Her words are barely a whisper, her body tensing up once again.
Which turns to her question as to whether Shiryuu himself is okay, given he likely became involved in his own way. At his silence, Umie follows the angle of the back of Shiryuu's neck towards the parking lot. In her mind's eye, Umie can see the invisible trail her body could take to get higher up. Such paths would not be something she'd chance outside of a supernatural area, given how the simplest of fractures could turn bad.
But still, her mind automatically makes these paths, and her body knows, when Shiryuu begins to move. "Wh--! Wait this isn't--!!" She's *clenching* her body against his back as the boy who doesn't think he's all that cool completes one of many paths, with a full load on his back, something Umie wouldn't be keen to try on her own. ".... Wh... Y.... You... What!!"
SIlence. "... That was..." Amazing. Terrific. Terrifying. Exciting. Her mouth is open, and she's fighting the urge to do that dumb little smile she always does, in weird little situations like this.
"Really, really dangerous."
_IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING, UMIE_
------------
The mention of soaking tubs has Umie perking right back up.
The mention of RYOUHARA-SAMA as Umie perk further up, mischievously smiling as Shiryuu grumbles to himself. "... well, they'll think you're cool now, at least~"
Settling against the bed, Umie lays there for a single, golden moment, finally relaxing her muscles against the bed cushions, before letting her head turn to regard the emptiness of the room. (She's beginning to see the pattern here.)
The towels begin to be stacked, one, two, three. "Uh..." Umie begins to object, but then, just leaves Shiryuu to it.
'Off with all that.' "... So demanding," she says, eyelids lowering halfway, as her lips split in a smile as he steps away.
.... whatever effect this may have is likely offset by the fact that she's sitting up surrounded by a pile of towels.
'I'll go draw the bath.' Her expression softens, then, reminded of how he's treated her. "... Thank you, Shiryuu," she says, as she takes off her coat. "... We can... split the check, on this one."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'So demanding.' "Iiih! Akabane. We've been over this."
Shiryuu doesn't want to become a zombie.
It would seem strange, except that Shiryuu literally re-killed three of them on the mountain. In that context, it's a perfectly reasonable thing to say.
The room is very different from the noticeably classier Hotel Indigo in Shibuya. For one, the windows are noticeably smaller, though aside from a tiny crack visible of a construction zone from the bed, the heavy curtain is drawn as it was before. The lighting is much less baroque -- though attempts have been made to tie cellophane filters to the string of hanging lanterns providing most of the lighting for the space to tint them blue, the warm lighting grudgingly persists in lighting the space much more invitingly, with the only thing the wrapping accomplishing being to add a spray of bright blue halos across the ceiling, in murky shades somewhere between sky blue and indigo.
The entire floor is spotless, despite the questionable locale, and kept that way by what is clearly a merciless fastidiousness, though there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of space for 'storing' things. Just a few drawers in the desk and that hickory sword rack.
He remembers what she'd said before, about worrying more about Kurou or the people he was fighting against. 'Kurou understands the role we have to play,' he'd said simply, at the time. 'And the Ryouhara blood is strong. Stronger than most,' he'd said.
But... it presented another interesting conundrum. About the Order, and their presence there. 'It's reprehensible to say, but there's no one who isn't disposable to them, for the right purpose...'
Nothing to say of their purpose there, the Ryouhara clan. He was there too, though he'd not interfered as he may have liked. But on that journey, he'd said nothing of it.
Yes, another person would be cooler about it. She would, he thinks. This is a world where Thieves fly and devils dance with inimitable grace. Compared to that... well. He feels her against him, and makes sure his grip is sound. He makes sure not to be distracted. Compared to those stylish, flying things...
He's skilled. It's enough.
Now, Shiryuu is in the washroom, fiddling with the deck-mounted knobs of the private bath. Set near the actual wash shower, the bath is a large and tall stone-cut heated affair that has been inlaid into a deck made up to look like wooden barrel-style tub bindings. It would be imposing without that sprig of charm, and the boy kneels, pulling his sleeves up to check the temperature. "Hmm." Turn. "Iih." Turn. "Ow! ... ah.. ow!" It's probably right. *bonk* The bamboo noisemaker at the end of the tub also activates with the running water, filled with a recirculating tap that causes the bamboo to *klonk* hollowly against the tub, adding little bits of heated water to it, and ostensibly *klonk* ambiance.
Shiryuu glowers at it. He hasn't figured out a way to turn it off. It's infuriating. *klonk*
While the water's running, the boy just barely catches her words, and only because he's sharply attuned to hearing them. "Iih," he objects, glaring at the noisemaker. "It's fine. I stay here. There's a discount for me, anyway. Even if there was, I *KLONK* .... don't need anything."
sigh.
Shiryuu drops the little novelty box of incense in the washroom left in the drawer at least twice, and little muffled curses betray him. A tiny sniff. Then a sneeze. Urgh. He's getting distracted.
"...and you don't have to thank me, anyway. I intend to roast you until we can be sure. Just don't say anything about it to the Miburo child." SAMURAI Kenjiro is not a child. Sure of what? Is she done? Shiryuu knocks on the washroom door before looking out expectantly, the little box in hand. His hands are absolutely not covered in dust and he doesn't smell like damp sandalwood. "Ano, Umie... we sh--*KLONK*"
sigh.
"nevermind."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
They've been over this! .... But it bears repeating.
The same goes for Kurou, as well. ... But again, it bears repeating.
*klonk*
Huh, what's making that sound? Well, Shiryuu's likely just dealing with whatever, so, she should just leave him to it.
*klonk*
She continues undressing, and, out of force of habit, nearly leaves her clothes in a pile on the floor. "....." Yeaahhhh, she probably should at least acknowledge Shiryuu's tidiness, even if he'll likely need them to be folded again, possibly. Kneeling down, she picks up the clothing, and, with the stench now concentrated, makes a gagging sound. She went around smelling like this?!
*klonk*
The clothes are now properly folded. Umie presses her hands in a small prayer for the souls of the undead now dead.
*klonk*
".... Shiryuu. You're... what, my age? A little younger or older, at most?" She clears her throat. Get to the point. "He had to have been around our age, so, I think calling him 'child' is pushing it a little?"
..... wait, he called the person he kidnapped... ..... a child
_oh ffs_ shiryuu, you idiot, you had Umie thinking you were kidnapping kids for a moment there
*klonk*
"We should what?" ... Damn it, Shiryuu needs help, doesn't he
Umie grabs the biggest towel, wrapping it around the midsection of her body and tying it securely as best she can, and turns around, trying to adjust to make sure any scandalous views are properly masked.
He'll probably still react, but _Umie can't help it if he's like that, can she_
*klonk*
"I'm coming over there. Don't freak out, I'm in a towel." Marching over, another towel at the ready in front of her for *extra protection*, when-- "....!"
Bare footsteps pad over to the wash area, Umie looking around the area, eyes wide. "... Whoah..." she breathes, with barely held enthusiasm. "I haven't been in a place like this in forever. It's like something from a retro Showa era roadside hotel..." Shiryuu can see the dark outline of the Mark on her right wrist as she kneels by the bamboo noisemaker, breath held, waiting for the end to tip over and make that characteristic--
*klonk*
noise. She giggles, left hand holding the towel close to her. "Okay, let's see that again."
*klonk*
".... So. What were you going to roast me about?" she says, a smug grin on her lips as she turns to him.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Well, luckily, Shiryuu has it mostly under control. Mostly. 'It' being the situation at hand, not his patience level, as the boy is entirely nonplussed by the very ambient sound of -- *klonk* -- a bamboo cup. Serviced by twin waterfall faucets mounted to the deck--one slow for the mood, the other fast for efficiency--the efforts made for authentic style are all completely lost on him.
That does not mean Shiryuu gets away with not still smelling like he lost a fight with an incense-wielding corpse now. In his defense, part of that is Akabane's fault. He was fine when he left the sanitarium.
*klonk* Frown.
He doesn't answer her first question, conspicuously, but still absolutely appreciates being warned. Though as she rounds the corner in full riot towels, he is grimly satisfied to see his number was absolutely put to good use. Even if the boy tilts his chin up in slow dismay at the shield she holds between them.
He doesn't flush, but he does take some tiny exception.
"Hey ... i-it's not like I'm some maniac..." he notes, catty and cavalier as he makes room for her to pass by, relaxing with the incense box clasped in a hand.
There's a moment when they are entirely too close, and Shiryuu notices, the soft brush of silk against her bare arm, so close to that Mark. Her warmth is noticed.
"...Hh..." He looks away, pointedly. "...you.."
'pushing it a little,' he suddenly remembers. "...No, it is not," Shiryuu finally says, quickly cutting the subject short. "The Miburo boy is earnest and honorable, but the difference between our power levels is the same as a trickle against a tsunami.."
*KLONK* Why does it sound like it's louder to him?? You can see the moment where Ryouhara visibly fails to relax the moment Umie is against outside of his immediate company, the boy gripping onto the incense box with both hands now, holding it close to his chest.
"I don't use it that often," Shiryuu remarks tensely. "But it's the primary selling point of the club," he says. "You're free to come and use it whenever you *klonk*...."
Sigh. What was he going to roast her about?
"I-- that wasn't what I was saying," Shiryuu sighs, sword-long in full objection. Turning on a hip, he's still holding the box with both hands, one index finger pointing at her. "I was just saying that you're thoroughly contaminated, so I intend to *klonk* --!-- rngh! I intend, thoroughly intend, to heat you up, not roast you."
Pause. Shiryuu frowns.
"Make you hot, that is."
Pause. The boy's withering glare can neuter a cat.
"/Boil you alive,/ don't test --" *klonk*
The boy sighs, tight-lipped and in full rout.
".... just scrub up, don't contaminate the bath before I come back."
He leaves her to wash up, while he deals with the clothes in the main room and lights incense to dispell the evil spirits he's sure came in with the zombie juice.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"What, if I was that afraid, would I let you haul me in like a sack of potatoes?" Umie gives Shiryuu a lopsided smirk, tilting her head towards him. "I was trying to be gentle, and not prey on your noble, honorable nature."
*klonk* "Besides, I stink like un-death. You *really* want that on you when you got such nice clothes on?"
Yet, there's that brush of silk, as Umie presses her path just a little too close to Shiryuu, her bare upper arm brushing by. Having been covered previously by the combo of her long-sleeved shirt and jacket, it's not as gregious as the more exposed areas are, or the ones that have been throughly soaked by spare splatters of tarry gore and rain.
If she lingers a second, would anyone mind?
(.... Just a moment, before she realizes she should move on before she's tempted to stay longer.)
*klonk*
"So," Umie continues, raising a dark red nail as she's facing away from him, "it follows that you'd call anyone you perceive as respectable, but with a power level lower than yours, as a 'child'? Not to diminish them," she offers, carefully, "but to..."
No, she's trying to dress up what he did, all over again.
*klonk*
'I intend, thoroughly intend, to heat you up, not roast you.' Umie slowly turns, looking over her shoulder, lips pursed slightly, lower eyelids crinkling up over devilish red brown eyes.
'Make you hot, that is.' She hovers her fingers in front of her mouth, in a silent 'oh my' gesture.
'/Boil you alive,/ don't test --' *klonk*
"Hehe." She turns back. "Right, righttt. You can trust me."
After he leaves, and Umie begins the process of cleaning, she offers a final, parting shot:
"You better not peek," she says, in a singsong voice.
How is this the same melancholy girl on the wet sidewalk? The difference would lie with Shiryuu, but she avoids admitting to it, looking instead at the Mark on her arm as she begins showering down.
Nyarlathotep....
She shivers, despite the heat of the spray of water from the hose in her hand.
Tightening her lips, she powers through it, remembering, and feeling comfort in, the presence of Shiryuu nearby.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The strange, awkward moment twists along in the air, like a leaf on the fall wind. The boy isn't inclined to move, his hand separated from her own only by a thin drape of silk. His eyes half-lid. This close, Ryouhara is .. tempted, to remain. To forget whatever it was he was doing. But..
Beneath his turtleneck, the boy swallows a lump in his throat.
...duty. Right.
*klonk.*
The wily blackbird's _infuriating facial expressions_ notwithstanding, the grey-haired boy manages little more than a tiny growl to carry out his frustration before he turns on a brisk heel, crashing out the moment he's out of eyesight.
"Iiih!! I am the leader!!" The boy declares, almost knocking the incense off the desk with furious clawed hands. "A shihaisha doesn't go around daydreaming about peeking at bunned devils!! No matter how good her fitness regimen is, I'd wrestle Kagutsuchi first!!"
Shiryuu angrily faces the folded-up pile of clothes, with an imperious glare. "Hmph," he declares to the stack, sliding his arms out of his sleeves of his damp, thoroughly desecrated haori, giving it its own courtesy sniff, before wrinkling his nose in distaste. The garment is folded, and draped over the curve in the cradle of the sword stand, shortly followed by his sword, which he rests curve-up in the stand's arms.
The interminable racket stirred by the noisemaker is almost forgotten, eclipsed by easy routine and fast decisions. Her clothes are gathered, pockets checked, loose change, phone, keys and varying other trinkets carefully removed and sorted on the desk. Then, Shiryuu throws the entire pile onto the bed, to fold the comforters over it. This is gathered into a bundle, which will later be surrendered to housekeeping to launder at a generous fee ('any price is fine, just make sure it's clean,' he'll say, as the new bedding and towels are delivered. Ostensibly he will remember to ask for a robe.)
It's actually quiet for a long time, as she washes up, as Shiryuu sets about cleaning up the little box, splitting it into two, unscrewing the tiny tools from it, and tamping a little wrapped paper package out. Cedar ash mounded in the censer, with the cursed sandalwood dust kneaded with oil until it's only a tiny ball. Shiryuu sits at the desk, working at it patiently, quietly. He bows his head once before he ignites the coal beneath the little mote.
He waits until it's quiet enough. *klonk*
"....Oi. Umie."
His hands lay flat on his thighs, working out his thoughts in the play against his fingertips, supporting himself as much as his thoughts.
He'd heard the way she trailed off, trying to reconcile something in her mind he can't quite put his finger on.
"...It's no different than it was at Jogashima," he says into the quiet. "If you need to..." he thinks, searching for the right word. Fight him, Stand against him? Hate him...? In the end, no words come to fit just right, and the boy's lips part. "....so be it," he continues, as if the word would take care of itself.
The tiny *klonk* of the noisemaker seems harsher now to his ear than it did even before. Such contraptions were used to scare away birds in the old times. Now, just sound. Just a way to space out the seconds.
"'That woman' you were fighting...she's someone I've placed under the clan's protective aegis," he states plainly. "At some point, it may come to be that we're..."
It's easier, talking to the next room, but some ideas are hard to convey no matter what. The boy lays his hands flat on the table, watching the incense smoulder, tiny amounts of smoke curling with its sweet, warm aroma.
He thinks of that room, and the scrawl across the wall. Of her.
"....it's important to me, that you do what you have to. To be able to stand proudly by an ideal."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Umie grins, as she hears the fluttering of the shihaisha's anger, like a controlled whirlwind.
'No matter how good her fitness regimen is, I'd--' He thinks she... well, yes, of course he likely thinks she looks nice, but he appreciates her fitness? Umie can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, something that surprises her, almost the point of dropping her spraynozzle.
"...." She's quiet a moment, patting a now cleaner hand against her cheek, as if to confirm its warmth.
"... I was recommended something called 'bouldering', from a friend," yeah let's just call Akechi a friend, "of mine. Sort of... a controlled way to strengthen myself." Her lips curve into a gentler, fond smile, carrying into her voice. "You were... really impressive too, when we were getting here. You did all that, while carrying me and my things."
She lets the silence move back in to populate the room, the quiet 'tock' of the bamboo an accent to the rush of water and the rustling shifting of things in the other room.
*klonk* 'Oi. Umie.'
"Yeah?"
It's no different than it was at Jogashima, Shiryuu says, with that quiet tone of his. And that woman...
To be able to stand proudly by an ideal.
Umie's eyelids lower, as she turns the sprayer off.
"What happened at Jogashima, that was... me communicating with you, directly."
*klonk*
"You mean a lot to me." Is this what he meant, by them being past dating? She can't delude herself into thinking her feelings only belong to herself.
"Do what you need to, and I'll do the same. Just know that... I only will use the amount of force I need, and no more." She wouldn't harm the Bride or the Groom, in the end; when the latter carried the Bridge away, Umie gave no thought to attacking, just to Kurou's safety.
*klonk*
"I'm not..." the strong person you think I am, she wants to say.
She thinks of that room, and those scrawls.
".... I've... never let anyone come as close as you have, to me. For so many reasons, I shouldn't have, but maybe, the idea that you were my enemy made me not care about being anybody else, but me."
*KLONK*
"If you were gone. It scares me, to feel like I'd... to be alone, with...""
An outline of an eye blinks, against a wall.
It's not there.
"The same thing that's in that serial killer, is in me, and in all of us, including those two."
* K L O N K *
Umie's voice grows more quiet still. "And that's even worse than being truly alone."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Bouldering?" Ryouhara echoes, putting down the ash brush with a tiny clink, to set off against the little *klonk*. In his heightened state of agitation activated by being hassled, a hundred thoughts broadside across the inside of the boy's skull. Is this that person she respects? No, she didn't describe that one as a friend. Wait a minute.
"Iiih..." he sweats. "Are you breaking boulders??" Incredulous. Even Shiryuu has to use explosives to get that done. Is her core strength really that powerful?? What if she decides to break him too? Shiryuu suddenly is victim to a tremendous influx of anxiety.
and curiosity. *klonk* shut up
He almost forgets she's complimenting him, in the exchange. Actually, he's really forgetting just about everything. "Eh.. I mean... it's fine, just, ah, my training. I'll do better next time," he insists, suddenly remembering the trip here, and how hard he had to try not to slip and faceplant the two of them in concrete, or when he got a little cramp in his thigh and had to walk it out. Honestly his thigh still hurts a little bit if he's thinking on it. Ah--ugh. Don't tell her anything, Shiryuu.
"...."
The unyielding chain of agitated thoughts subsides quickly, like a summer storm. The bamboo cup teeters, then drops in the background as he falls silent, letting the pour of water trickle into the following silence.
"...No matter what amount of force we use," the boy reflects, quiet and slow. "...and no matter what side we're on... people will get hurt anyway. It's in the nature of these things we do." It's what fighting demons entails.
"It's important to face it, with full resolve and spirit."
Shiryuu hears what she says, at first. 'You mean a lot to me.' It's not something he responds to at first, preferring instead to address the practical thought, to say the right thing first.
But then everything else is left, and...
"...both of you are under my protection," he says simply, trying to make sense of the matter rationally, no matter how hard his heart beats in his chest. There's something in her voice, something haunted. The boy stands from the seat, taking with him the scent of sandalwood as it clings to the wool in his sweater. He steps closer to the washroom, but stops before it hooks around into the open room, out of respect. She can't see the way he touches the wall, with her just beyond. But he sounds closer now.
"...she's someone I think I owed a debt to. I would like to see her child enter into a peaceful life, as best we can. But that organization... is not kind."
*klonk*.
"...I don't know anything about what I saw in that room," he tells her, absently touching the silk cordage that hangs low on his wrist.
"...but.."
The boy thinks hard on it, picking his way through the abomination all over again. "...I do know... sharing a legacy with an evil person doesn't doom you to also be a monster. The dark isn't always that simple."
The boy rests with those thoughts, folding his arms and settling against the outside edge of the doorframe. The far wall across from the washroom's entrance serves as his attention's focus, that empty space where wall scrolls used to hang before he took them down. He listens to the water, the patient little plunk.
"...what happened at Jogashima," his thoughts finally alight upon the heaviest subject. "I ... think.." he pauses, looking up for the will.
"...I realized, then, that I did want to ask you that question, forever ago, at the yakitori stand. I think that you were the person that I wanted to ask most. And .. I think I realized why."
He doesn't ask the question.
"...anyway. If it's for you, it's fine. I won't let you be alone. Even if you try to kill me, you won't have to worry. I'll be three times as invincible. That's what counts." He presses a thumb into his chest, deeply confident.
"It's what's in your heart that matters. And mine is steel."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Breaking boulders? Umie snickers. "No, ah, like... rock climbing, but it's much shorter heights. There's no ropes, so you have to navigate from hold to hold with a lot of thought."
No, there is no room for mercy, Shiryuu. You are in the lion's den. "Ah... so you want to train carrying me around more~?"
The playful banter subsides, leaving the quiet klonk of the bamboo pipe and their thoughts, in the large space.
'No matter what amount of force we use...'
To face it, with full resolve and spirit.
When he's like this, a part of Umie's heart begins to flutter, just so. The notes have to be right, the tone quiet, the mood bare of brassy bravado.
Just a boy's words, thoughtful, unhurried.
Trusting in her ability to rise to the occasion, as she must do.
"... Then I'll meet you there, at the bar you've set for yourself." She draws a tendril of wet hair against her ear, her skin prickling against the cold beginning to seep in. "But I'll do things my way."
How like her.
And how like him, to respond to her confession with anything but.
Something prickles at her heart, whispering how this was a betrayal, and that he truly didn't love--
wait, love?!
His voice is closer, now, and her confusion over her own feelings recedes, for now, existing only in the way her heart beats.
"... I want you to uphold that promise to her," she says. Later, something in her heart will accuse Shiryuu of betrayal again, only to be forced to bleed away in the face of these words. "She needs someone to protect her and her baby, too."
Her eyelids lower. "The other two with me were SEES students. They were just as concerned for the Bride's baby as I was, and we all tried to work around it. But things may not work out that way, next time."
The things in that room....
"...." Shapes crawl through the lingering steam: butterflies and eyes, fanciful images, prophecies scrawled in chalk and paint.
'The dark isn't always that simple.'
A question.
What is the question?
'If it's for you, it's fine.'
"Shiryuu..." SHe wants to say something, blast out another quip to hide the naked truth of her feelings, and why her heart beats the way it does.
"... I told prophecies, too. Ones like those on the walls. I was just a kid, back, then." She gets up, walking over to the tub, in order to carefully step in. ".... I probably told you this, but... they were lies that I told my parents."
There's a sound of a rush of water as the tub overfills, and she sinks in, her head poking against the edge. "My parents got absorbed into this weird group. First my dad, then, my mom. There was all this talk, about how all of this suffering was to go towards this sinless, pure world, and how..." She trails off. It really wasn't important, that part. "Nothing I did was ever good enough, when that happened. Grades, friends, what I was interested in, how I acted... so I began to tell them about my visions, about this 'better world'. They probably just humored me, but one day... the lies wouldn't stop."
"After that, it was just a matter of time before..." She frowns. It happened... before, huh.
"I felt like I recognized those writings, somehow, even if I've never been in that room before." She lets out a burble of a chuckle. "That strange 'deja vu' people keep talking about... I finally get it, and it's over this shit."
....
"My photo was on his wall, but that felt like the least disturbing thing. The other part..."
Water drips from her hair. "Did you go into that room? And if you did.... did you see the name, besides the drawing of the eye?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Somewhere between this and that, Ryouhara had stopped paying attention to anything else. The infuriating sound of the noisemaker, the sound of the water, the scent of the incense chasing away the malign scent of the undead. He doesn't see the empty wall, and he's really only peripherally aware when she slips into the tub. Not even his thoughts, the streak of unreality in his memories, or the things he wants to say the most to her have any relevance to him, in that moment.
"Aaa," he replies distantly, arms still folded. As if keeping his promises -- to everyone -- was a foregone conclusion. It was secondary.
The grey-headed boy's feelings were a far-flung and distant third priority, if even that. His heartbeat is steady and even, and however fast it moved only a few moments ago, he carefully keeps it in rein. It doesn't matter.
Instead, the crow in him is focused on her voice, attuned finely to the details, a creature very much of sound. And, he thinks, if he pays close enough attention ... he can hear the slightest bit of sadness in it.
"The sinless world." Shiryuu echoes the oft-repeated refrain with an edge of derision in his voice. A child, left all on her own. Shiryuu knows some of the story.
'After that...'
"...they put you in front of the head," Shiryuu notes, thinking hard to lace together the pieces he already knows. "And then... you were hospitalized."
A little girl, tortured for hoping for her parent's love. Ryouhara's eyes half-lid, ice cold brown reflected in his irises. His mien is a thin pressed, noncommittal line of icy consideration. For a second, his thoughts stray from her, and take a very different tack indeed.
He only warms when she asks him if he went there.
"...aa," he confirms.
"I saw you there."
The admission is quiet, the implication passing fast, like a leaf in the wind. A tiny, small sniff cracks the air, as the onmitsu catches a disagreeable hint of sandalwood. "Was it a name?" he asks. Shiryuu's memory is very, very sharp, and the peculiar arrangement of letters stood out amidst the ravings. N Y A R.
"At the time... most of it didn't mean anything at all to me ... just some words, painted in the reprobate theatrics of a man who needs to choke on a knife. But.."
... they meant more to her, didn't they? That was a name? The thought goes unsaid, instead the boy settling into a thought, a silver strung moment.
He settles on his better nature.
"... hey, Akabane ..."
The boy thinks hard about it, something sitting with him as ill, wrong.
"..This world isn't... kind. But ... it's not sinful, like they say, either. Maybe ... not today. But ... maybe you tell me about what else you were interested in, back then. And... the friends you had. And ... your grades."
The sinless world doesn't really matter to him.
And he's not afraid of that eye, whether it's on a wall or on her arm.
But someone should hear that little girl.
"Even if it's late... if it's okay. I'd like to hear it sometime."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Shiryuu isn't the only one here paying attention to each minute shift. Turning in the bath so that she can perch her chin on the tub's edge, Umie tries to identify where Shiryuu is, mentally drawing in his outline on the other side of the room.
They all choose something else, instead of what's here. This Umie Akabane, and the world she lives in, is not good enough for them.
'The sinless world' has no room for an Umie Akabane, or a Shiryuu Ryouhara, for that matter.
Anger, like a sharpened pen knife, wedges itself into her thoughts, digging in deeper with each run of the thought through her mind.
'.... they put you in front of the head.' It stops her from going further, as Shiryuu inadvertently brings the image of her parents having to stay behind, as Tatsuzou urged her on with a grace that felt grandfatherly to Umie at the time. (That, perhaps, was just her inflicting what she wanted to see in the old man, at the time.)
"My parents weren't the ones to do that," Umie says, after a pause. "As far as they knew, I went to go see the Order's highest sage. Since it was sacred ground... only certain people could enter that place." A sacred place-- a white shrine, cast in the red line of the sacred bonfire. Thinking back on Akechi's words on how dangerous just this much is... "Just by knowing what you know, if you didn't know this already, I've placed you in a lot of danger."
....
'I saw you there.' "... The white crow." She smiles fondly, at the memory, and at the warmth in Shiryuu's voice. "He was cute." She was in a hallway, hiding from many, many people who would likely understand, or at least try to, with her struggles.
It would take a crow to know another crow's tricks.
Was it a name? "The Old Maid had mentioned the name before."
"Nyarlathotep." She says it, quietly, like it could sneak past without anyone noticing.
K L O N K K L O N K K L O N K K L O N K
What would be a single sound for Shiryuu's ears is magnified in Umie's, startling her.
".... I'm fine!" she yells, instantly, a foot angled out of the bath to hold the noisemaker in place with a clasp of her toes.
'... hey, Akabane ....' She lets the bamboo piece drop free from her grip. "Mmn?"
The world isn't kind...
... but it isn't sinful, either.
And the boy that had threatened her, held a blade to her throat, had told her how terrible it was for her to become his enemy...
... wants to know her memories, of the things she did. What a normal life is like, for an Umie Akabane.
She's finding herself tracing the outline of Shiryuu again with her eyes, her fingertips resting on the tub's edge with the lightest touch.
"I'd... like to hear the same about you. What it was like, growing up in Akita, what you did to pass the time. What you liked to do. Your friends."
"And even if you can't tell me about any of those things, you can tell me about the rain."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
His hands never quite sit still, a tiny tap of his small finger on the dense wool sheathing his upper arm, idly drumming a miniscule rhythm against his bicep. The boy is otherwise shock still, arms folded, one sneaker crossed in front of the other. His voice is low, calm, never quite disquieted, but never quite relaxed either.
Every step closer to a 'bond' is a dangerous one, isn't it...
Speaking of. ".... Iih."
He shakes his head slowly. He was the one who warned her after all, about placing the Order's name in the open air. But this was a different assertion, a different time. That was forever ago, wasn't it?
"... it wouldn't matter what you said," the boy replies, his voice trailing off, thoughtfully.
"We are not mice.."
The thought comes from beyond the borderposts of that invincible rhetoric, a raw, untame thought. The way he says it, trailing low at the end... it begs words left unsaid. 'We are not mice...'
'...not anymore, and never again.'
He leaves behind the idea of her parents, of relations, and being alone. His illusion, though her reaction drags a hidden face in the awkward pause that follows. Cute?? ... it must be a girl thing.
Shiryuu leaves it aside and doesn't object to anything he made being labeled cute, in a Herculean effort. It helps that his mind is on other things. "...I'd tried, already, to kill that man." The harsh cicada buzz of desaturated memory of dance floors without color reminds him in painful reproach. "....Now," he says, his breath hitching lightly on the sharp, clarion sound between his ears. "... it's up to you all to succeed where I failed."
"None of you deserve to go it alone."
Nyarlathotep. The onmitsu barely gets the time to focus on the name, before the sound of the noisemaker and her subsequent surprise jar him from his regrettable acceptance of it. Shiryuu is intensely attuned to sounds, and the panic in her voice and accompanying splash almost sees the boy cutthe noisemaker off of its mooring with Juurishojin's blade, still coiled up at his wrist.
Luckily, the content of her words reaches him shortly after her distress, and he doesn't incur any unfortunate charges on his host bill.
... the toebox of his house shoe taps against the wood flooring.
Ryouhara reins in every instinct he has, filing them down as she instead thinks about the rain. His eyes raise up, brown against the light. Any objections, or other such argument fades in the sunlight of that honesty. For a moment, Shiryuu truly doesn't know what to say.
"We'll.." the boy thinks aloud, in that room just beyond. He never finishes his thought. *Klonk* the noisemaker goes politely as Umie releases it. The boy frowns.
A tiny, slow sigh, as he steps off the wall.
Shiryuu has never really been the type to worry overmuch about skin. The boy's footfalls are hushed to a sound just above silent as he pads into the room after her, mindfully taking off his house shoes just before he enters the washroom area. There is no announcement, but Shiryuu is not looking at her. Instead, the boy stretches out an arm, pulling -- is that a garrotte wire??
With nary more than the whisper of his clothes and the warm scent of sandalwood, that boy kneels beside Akabane by the soaking tub and with slow, crisp movements, ties up the noisemaker for her.
"...we'll have to ask fate to grace us with more time together," Shiryuu finishes thinking in that closer space. He's careful enough to suspend the bamboo tube at half-drop before twisting together the ends of his wire. It lets the water from the spigot trickle off of it and into the basin, without splashing everywhere.
It's probably bad luck, somehow. It doesn't matter to him.
Shiryuu is very intent on looking at the 'fixed' noisemaker, instead of literally anywhere else. No, it doesn't really matter to him, but... "...sorry," the boy says, straightening. The onmitsu turns, to attend the linens.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'We are not mice...' She waits for the answer that felt like it was coming in Shiryuu's voice, but like the question he intended to ask her that one night, he leaves it unsaid.
So there is Umie, in the round tub; if her hair wasn't done up in a single bun but instead two, she'd be a proper mouse.
A tiny hawk is as much a predator as a giant eagle, as the steel in Umie's voice calls out in an echo to Shiryuu's own.
"... We'll succeed, Shiryuu. He's got less places to go now."
'None of you deserve to go it alone.' ".... Neither do you." Insistent, persistent, resistant; all three apply to Umie Akabane, right now.
... And the beat of those words exist in Shiryuu, in a different key.
Just like how Umie's heart charges a beat faster as she hears Shiryuu's movements, the pause of him taking off his house slippers, and--
Pressing her knees to her chest, her cheeks still red, she forces herself further into the tub, trying to mask any hint of something more secret disappearing into the steaming water. He's not looking at her, after all. Aside from a comment about her abs, or a quiet appreciation or satisfaction of an outfit, he's never shown any indication that he'd someone she couldn't trust to be respectful. So instead, there's no exclamation, only her back turned to him, knees pressed in as she sinks down, her chin touching the water.
.... He smells like sandalwood.
Wait, is that... wire?
Her head turns, trying to look towards him as he kneels beside her, so close that she can see his hands move, and hear the brush of his clothing.
Soon enough, the act is dropped; there's a face there watching him, her body angling to avoid anything showing as she watches him work.
'... we'll have to ask fate to grace us with more time together.'
"My, my," Umie breathes. "I never thought you'd leave anything to chance."
The playful comment is replaced by something softer, as the onmitsu turns.
"... What was the question, Shiryuu? The one you were going to ask me."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The boy is fast with the wire. Despite appearing relatively less than hostile at the moment, it's hard to forget that it's very seldom that Shiryuu Ryouhara is not armed to the teeth. And in so doing, the ninkougakusha ties snug the offending piece, its fate sealed the moment it disturbed Akabane's peace.
Somewhat tellingly, his own is a secondary concern. That does not mean he isn't grimly satisfied when the telltale *klonk* and *splash* is replaced with a steady thread of hot water rippling on the surface of the bath.
But...
They are unconscionably close. In his work, the onmitsu is hyperaware of her, though his eye-line remains locked dead forward, with little variance. With it, her words meander across his mindspace, itself a featureless, flat plain instead of the convoluted network of impulses and thoughts that normally plague him.
The shape of her words are different now, this close.
His hands still on the final tie of the wire. "... I've lived an advantageous existence," the boy replies, carefully. It feels better, correct, to say it like that. It wouldn't be right, proper to let victims stand for the guilty. And, he is...
Even if, when he thinks about more time with her...
He's still looking towards the wall when the blonde devil decides to tease. He's crouched there aside the tub, his elbows sliding over his knees, hands hung in the space between.
"...I..."
It feels like everything she's said, from training to carry her to that frustrating 'oh my' face in the minutes previous all rush in to finally hit critical. His cheeks grow warm, and his glance runs the fine stone line of the basin without turning his head, beyond one single infinitesimally small degree. He is painfully aware of the distance between them. And ... it's really the only time she'll catch him flush and at a loss.
He really doesn't know what to say.
'...Sorry,' he'd settled on.
He'd stepped away quickly. She can see the cloth wraps over the arches of his bare feet as he goes, picking up her towel and re-folding it neatly. A second towel, the one she was using prior for protection, stacked neatly atop, placed as close as possible to arm's reach on the deck without... well. Another cabinet opened. Another (...) towel. At least this one is smaller.
The sound of the faucet fills the room, the hand basin on the other side of the washroom filling. Cool water runs over the small towel, Ryouhara working quietly to wring the towel out in two hands.
'What was the question, Shiryuu?'
The sound of the lever squeaks lightly as the water shuts off, as the basin drains. For awhile, the onmitsu is quiet, fangs and strands of stringy grey darkening his eyesight. For a second, he's simply tempted to gloss over it, dismiss it as unimportant. There's a hundred other things to attend to that take priority. It would be rational.
"....It's.." Torrent thought arrested in his head, the boy pauses, picking his way through, eyes downcast. "...something I've been thinking about, for a long time."
A slow blink. "About the way people naturally relate to eachother. I .. lived well, so .. it's different for the people I meet, it's only natural to expect that."
He's punishing that towel, with all the wringing.
"... and.. it was when you told me about when you escaped your bubble of safety, how you'd never go back to a normal, boring role again. It was when I'd decided you were 'my responsibility.' ... it was simple, then. I think I just wanted to see you be free. But... I thought ... if we to become close... does that mean I would hold you back?"
By now, the grey-haired boy has ruthlessly wrung all the drips out of the now-damp towel. He smooths it out on the edge of the basin, uses it as basis for a fold. It's absolutely a pretense, something.. anything to keep his hands busy.
The empty-headed boy frowns.
"It's strange ... not to know what 'it' even is supposed to look like."
His shoulders sink into the weight of his frame, the boy setting down the towel so that he can sink his hands into the smooth finish of the basin around it.
He recites it slowly. "'If freedom is important... what does a 'bond' mean to Umie Akabane?'"
A beat passes, just long enough for him to breathe. "I've asked the question... a lot. But the answer never sounds right to my ear. Not unless 'that person' tells me, I thought. Not unless I hear it from you."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Watching him work has always been like a window into a different side of Shiryuu, someone without all the prideful trappings and pomp that, while it has its own charm, overshadows the quiet underpinnings that mark the onmitsu.
"I guess we have that in common," she says to Shiryuu's side lightly. "You'd probably not think it from my apartment, though."
The pink the settles on Shiryuu's cheeks make Umie stop, briefly wondering if she stepped too far. Her own cheeks, already flush from the heat of the water, somehow manage to redden just a note more. For someone whose background is as old-fashioned as Shiryuu's, would that really matter that her body isn't visible? He doesn't even let himself be underdressed. This may even be the first time she's really seen his bare feet-- well, mostly bare, as his arches are wrapped in cloth.
Umie remains silent after launching that question, letting the grey-haired boy have the silence to process it without a single comment or tease.
It may have been the cruelest thing she could have unintentionally done at that moment, not providing any safe harbor for Shiryuu to hide from his own words and thoughts. All he has is his actions, like the towels that are meticulously folded and placed within reach, which Umie extends a hand to slide them the rest of the way to her, once Shiryuu's turned away.
'... if we to become close... does that mean I would hold you back?' "..." Something inside her tenses, afraid of what would happen if she answered the question wrong. Still, the very act of him asking her turns in her heart, as she regards him with a certain fondness.
As she crosses her forearms over the edge of the tub, creating a space to lean her head into, her eyes shift down to the matte black of the Mark. What sort of mark did Shiryuu carry, to place himself as separate from others in a way that felt painfully resonant?
The water trickles into the tub, reserving the space where Umie would normally speak. "No, that's... not strange at all, to not know. I'm not so sure I..." She doesn't finish it; her eyes instead follow up the line of Shiryuu's back, his posture, seeing the way he folds that towel.
"Freedom was what I lacked, so... everything else felt unimportant."
'The absence of something holding you down--some call it 'freedom', and are glad for it. ...But 'untied' is another word for 'alone'.' Oh, if only Shiryuu knew that it's Reiya's words she's remembering. She wasn't even asking for advice, he just said that.
"Someone getting close to me meant them having to find out all those things about me that I've kept secret." But what about Shiryuu, then? He's being vulnerable now-- how could she answer him, in a way he'd understand?
".... Remember, in Tartarus? When I looked back at you, and you responded? It was natural; you understood why I looked back at you, and I understood your response. We didn't have some kind of telepathic connection or plan; it was something we had built up to."
"I think... that is a bond. Not that moment, specifically, but that slow--"
Umie trails off as a dark-haired girl is suddenly there, next to Shiryuu, sitting within the trajectory of Umie's line of sight as she looks at Shiryuu's face. There's no weight on Shiryuu's hands, no depressed fabric from where she sits. She's not even a ghost; her entirety lies within the mind that observes her.
"...." A trap. Don't react to her, Umie thinks. "... build-up."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Yes. Trying to pick out his thoughts from the pure empty sky, he is acutely aware of that quiet. The silence burns like a brand, the absence of her voice for him to fix on manifests in the way he works, his hands faster, more restless. Idle hands are the devil's plaything, and there are no hands less idle than his.
The damp towel is folded over twice and once again, in fitful attempt, the wet linen contemplated before being unfolded, thrown over into a chevron style shape againt the basin's edge.
"...Aa," he thinks. "It's nice of you to say."
"Your apartment... absolutely not," Ryouhara decides quietly.
"But... it's comfortable. For the moment."
It's possibly the closest she'll come to a tacit admission that her cozy nook in Shibuya is even livable, let alone thriving by the onmitsu's standards. Stripped bare of the pretense, with only his intense disquiet to carry his thoughts, Shiryuu is far less inclined to the performative.
After all, she's ...
Shiryuu closes his eyes, now acutely aware of the disadvantage he's at. Why wasn't it important at all in Sendai? He'd been much closer and in far more forward company.
The boy he remembers was slung deeply into the sofa, lost somewhere in the labyrinth of soft touch, a bramble the affections of the ambitious. It doesn't feel like he felt ... anything at all ... back then. Or would he remember it at all, if he could? The days then lack color..
Days like this, not being able to see beyond that boy's 'helmet' seems more of a curse than a blessing. What was it he felt...? Was it anything like now?
"...Ah.." he finally breathes, sliding a hand into his hairline to soothe himself. The way he speaks, it's very evident that he appreciates her assertion as a privileged caste, but..
... no matter how nice the house, the idea of a poor, heartbroken child all alone in it haunts him.
'I'm not sure I...'
His hands still on the damp towel still on the basin as he listens, bold brown eyes focused on the middle space of nothing. Were it not for the 'forbidden distance' between them, she'd be seeing his eyes closely, but as it is, the eye that is even partially turned towards her is his left -- the unnatural, modified one. At the end of it, the raw unfinished hemp edge of the braid of thoughts, drifts an open question, the very same one she navigates so carefully.
And the boy is quiet.
Does he remember that night in Tartarus? "Aa." It would be hard not to, the fear he'd felt of it not being enough. The worry he'd had of her being hurt. The appreciation of the way she found her way on his path, as he exceeded his own ability. The ache he'd felt in his hands as he pushed harder, and wanted her to go as far as she wanted. But, even with that apex, the boy's attention shifts in that space she makes with the pause in her voice. A brief suspicion draws his attention, carefully trying to trace the source of that shade of displeasure. ..was it him, somehow?
...his smile is faint.
"...look at us, then."
A slow, quiet breath out, as the onmitsu's eyes close.
With reservation, he turns, padding towards that soaking tub, the little chevron of a damp towel folded and held in both hands. He's walked back and forth enough that 'seeing' is not entirely important. Instead, the boy navigates by sound alone, by the feel of his bare feet on the boards, by the way his words come back to him.
"'Synthesis' is a phenomenon where every person has a bond, and through that bond, is connected to everyone else. One great conduit to unify the world. It's what I hope for this place, not that dismal world of theirs. But ..."
The boy slowly kneels before her, closer now than he was before. Unlidding his eyes, he allows himself that much; to trace the bare line of her neck, the subtle shape of her chin and the bounds of her hair. He sighs, as he kneels on the other side of the wooden boards hiding the tub and its deck, prim, heels to thighs. Once there, he's mostly at eye level with Akabane; the reflection of the light dancing off the surface of the water.
"..." It's very hard for him to form a comparable thought to the one he'd had when his eyes were closed, and it shows in the faraway distance of his voice. "That all starts with a 'bond.' If I don't.."
That grey-haired boy thinks, his eyes peeling off of hers, never quite settling. It's only when he realizes her cheeks are rosed from the heat of the bath that he remembers what he was doing at all. He reaches over slowly, patiently, to take Umie by the nape of the neck, to give her something to rest against as he presses the cool compress of the towel against her cheek, bleeding off the heat with his touch, the cradle of her jawline in his hands.
No matter how hot she likes it, she'll get nauseous if she soaks too long and doesn't regulate her temperature. Shiryuu is patient even while fretting, pressing the damp, cool towel to her forehead, in lieu of saying literally anything else.
And then the chevron-folded towel is crowned atop her head, leaving the edges of the shape a perfect cut to make room for the single bun on her head. A soft, quiet, sword-long sigh from that boy as he settles, who only just now can meet that woman's eyes with his own, two disagreeing shades of brown rising. He is, in that moment, brave. It's a strange time for it, isn't it?
But even so.. the thought of 'doubt' dies, the boy abandoning his notion then and there. "... I want to find out with you, what that is. You're important to me as well."
"And ... I'd like you to be my 'bond.'"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"Of course. I can't let Ryouhara-kun deal with my mess." And in fact, Umie has been keeping up on making sure things are moderately cleaned up for Kurou's comfort, as well as to ensure at least some space exists for him to relax in.
To have someone regard your place as 'warm', when you had seen it as simply a means to an end, had awakened something within Umie. Maybe, then, he'd look for the same in his own surroundings...
.... it'd be sad to see him go when he does, but likely for the best, given what happened at the sanitarium. What would people like Hyousuke and Minako think, if they saw Kurou heading for her apartment?
At the same time, Shiryuu thinks about Sendai, and the monochrome memories that feel like another world, and may as well be. There is no part of Umie Akabane that would be in those memories; no sharply smiling teasing, no quiet moments where the gremlin seemed to thrive in. No moments of someone falling asleep on Shiryuu, or finding comfort in his presence as he had in hers.
Umie wouldn't consider it a bad thing; she'd find it sad that he's been so rudely disconnected from them, especially when she feels she herself was the cause of that disconnect.
That night in Tartarus... even if Umie hadn't hugged Shiryuu that night, she imagines Hyousuke would still make that connection between her and Shiryuu. For two people to respond and act in such a way...
But there is a girl in a red kosode there, smiling coyly as her tabi-covered feet, peeking from underneath the hem of the richly patterned garment, swing to and fro in languid movements. Watching. Waiting for things to go wrong, as they always have.
'Look at us, then.' He closes his eyes, making a quiet path to the soaking tub without the aid of sight. "...." Umie's mouth opens slightly, about to say a warning, or point out he might trip. She makes the decision to not say a thing a nanosecond later, as Shiryuu exerts his confidence with a soundless grace, save for his words.
One great conduit to unify the world. A part of Umie's mind bristles at that, looking for some catch like it was another one of the NWO's many pretty claims. A vision, whose weight and price is kept underneath, to ensure no one is distracted from the goal.
All one needs is to give everything.
Yet, this is the boy who told Umie to fight him, if needed, and to stand for what she believed in, something none of the NWO would ever be caught doing, especially if it deterred from their goals. But the idea of connection... that itself... "Like ripples on on the water's surface." Things people do, and say, and act, and how those, in turn, influence others, whether in positive or negative ways.
Whatever thoughts she has, they flee in the wake of Shiryuu's closeness. "...." His eyes travel her face and neck as hers cover his, unable to see or care about a single other presence in the room with them.
If there was ever a detail that could identify the photo of that slightly younger Umie Akabane, it would be the small mark below her right eye-- a beauty mark, some would call it. That itself never changed, though the hair color and expression did.
This, Shiryuu may notice, if he hasn't already, especially as his hands press cool against her skin, the cloth siphoning away the heat, her eyelids briefly fluttering before she has a chance to stop herself from--
Oh, no, on second thought, fuck that, she'll relish this; her eyes close, and her head weighs heavy against Shiryuu's touch; the corners of her mouth angled upward, slightly.
When she opens them again, she sees Shiryuu's own, mismatched shades of brown.
He reciprocates Umie's feelings. It takes everything to keep herself from reaching her hands to caress his brave, vulnerable face.
She's still in the tub, after all...
"Of course." Her voice is a soft whisper, lacking any irony. Underneath it all, she's as romantic as the next person, and just as weak to such words from someone she cares for.
"... It'll be a complicated one, you know." Her eyes are shining, as she gazes at the onmitsu. "But I think... you prefer that, don't you?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'Like ripples on the water's surface.'
"Just so," Ryouhara confirms, kneeling close to her just then.
There is something awakened and activated in Shiryuu as he looks after her, his touch careful yet firm, the cool press of the damp terrycloth a fitting surrogate for skin. Hands that can't stop moving are still and calm when the boy comes aware of her, the way she relaxes into his wrists and care. Anxious, fitful movements are slower now, tiny beads of perspiration patiently daubed away, the boy attending to rosed cheeks before bestowing upon her her due crown.
There is something in her--a warm, unrestrained, fey presence that makes it far easier to misplace troubled thoughts. Easier to push the thought of neon rooms turned to cruel greyscale out of relevance, replaced with an ephemeral constellation of minuscule details, keeping his attention as captive as all of the facets of a deep crystal.
It doesn't matter. Not much does.
His hands -- hungry, stifled things though they are -- are reluctant to leave her, not in that vertiginous, chasmal space before and between 'yes' or 'no.' Instead of minding his own, he is content holding her custom; one of those myriad facets capturing his memory all anew. The beauty mark just below her eye enjoys the slow blink, the tiny saccade of his attention. Traced beneath a wondering thumb, the boy lingers with her far, far longer than he needs to.
It is better, perhaps, that she doesn't get the boy wet by inadvertently splashing him.
Slowly, the searchlight interest of the boy's own confession flickers, shaded by sprigs of grey and the glint of his jade pendants. The gravity of the moment plays out in his heartbeat, quickening as a single, unbidden notion echoes along a thoughtless plain. A realization of how vulnerable he is to her; and exactly which words she could say to spear him right here.
Those words... are never said.
"...mm." The slow, cool rinse of satisfaction steals the anxious verve from his shoulders. His countenance breaks in the face of her answer; a sharp, intent confession gives softer way to something that could at best be described as a half smile. As with so many things, the boy replies wordlessly, the warm vibrancy of his satisfied sound a subtlety that says it most.
He rests his hands on the deck of the tub, slowly shifting his weight forward, into the long pitch of his knees, into his hips. The boy leans to cross that space between them, temporarily giving her bare skin the warmth of not water, but his own thick wool and the paint of his struggle with the incense.
The kiss he gives as he leans into her, left uninterrupted, is soft, sweet, brief, his lips barely touching hers for long than a second, perhaps a scandalous two, the muted crack of affection softened by the boy's gentle, eagerly pure heat.
It is, notably, not even a tenth of what they've already shared.
But it feels like a 'thank you' all the same.
He doesn't mean to interrupt her bath -- instead, the boy settles relatively quickly, resting back so that he can share space with her on the deck, folding his arms in front of him on their very edge, so that he can tuck his chin -- and most of his face -- in the crossing between his forearms. It causes his voice to be slightly muffle by his own wool, comically.
Luckily, Shiryuu the master orator is not at all in attendance today. "Is it?" the boy asks, more of a curious thought than any true question. Is it complicated at all...? There's a lot of things about bonds that Shiryuu doesn't understand.
But 'what he wants' is not one of them.
He watches her carefully, eyes open and tracing lazily along her neckline. "...I should check and see if they have a robe in your size," Ryouhara thinks aloud.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Like ripples across the water's surface.
An attack on the beach. A threat in a dark corner of an underground mall. Warnings cast to certain people (even a brief mention to Joker, ironically), a boy with a sad, bent umbrella being bought a new one, a meeting that ended with a trip for shoes, another for yakitori, an angry meeting with a ghost under a green moon, and more, more after that...
Each a drop that resonates across the ties of one to another, drawing out sides and words normally kept hidden. She had described her relationship to Hyousuke as 'an understanding', but that was an understatement.
There's a trust in how Umie's head rests against Shiryuu's hands, an unwinding that comes easier to her since that night when he offered to her his shoulder.
It would be a simple matter of spearing the boy through with words, like Umie did at Jogashima. There, they stood on equal grounds, each having their own matters to turn their will into steel.
Umie's gaze outlines the half smile on Shiryuu's face; she answers it with an equally wordless smile, her eyes glinting in the scattered light of the bath.
A rustle of clothing and a kiss, barely louder than the drip of water from the spigot, pure in a way their kissing at Jogashima was not.
There is nothing to release here; just a content softness of two people who have confessed, and made a tranquil pact of bonds.
His warmth leaves her, instead settling down, sharing a space where Umie lets out a content giggle.
No one, least of all Shiryuu, shall ever find how cute she finds him in that exact moment, as he wonders at Umie's question.
She just doesn't say anything, letting her impish smirk make endless explanations, none of them particularly enlightening.
There will be room for many lessons, in the future.
"I suppose that'd be a good idea." Umie's eyelids lower, angling her head back. "Better not take too long... I may dissolve in the steam and become a steam yokai, forever doomed to haunt this single tub..."
Her body lowers in the water, in preparation; during all of this, she's still managed to keep her modesty, whether due to Shiryuu's own attention to his angles, or her own positioning.
This does not change here, as she lifts a hand up now, in order to brush a wet thumb against Shiryuu's cheek with the utmost affection.
"You'd have to rent this room so many times, in order to kiss me." It lingers there, then lifts, to take a gentle detour against his lips, lifting before the temptation grows too great.
"Ah, it's not as cute when my fingers are all wrinkly..."
A Badb's smile is then hidden underneath the surface of the water, its owner content with a new prize, as Shiryuu has gained his own.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"/..../"
That onmitsu is deeply suspicious, not understanding in the slightest how and why that devillish blonde giggles, whose ear-to-ear smirk implies enough potential answers that any particular answer is not easily guessable.
Even so, the boy's expression narrows, brows arching sharply enough to rival a bird's wings at full dive. It's easy to imagine him leaping back in full revolt whem she paints his features softly with a water-gnarled finger.
No.. he seems to like it.. wrinkles and all.
Yes. She complains, and the boy is -very- serious when he looks her in the eye.
Don't let her win, Shiryuu.
'You'd have to rent this room so many times..' "You can become a demon witch a hundred times if you want," the boy points out, calm and cavalier as he finally makes the move to get up with a tiny breath. No sleeping legs this time.
"I'm rich, and the staff gives me a shihaisha discount. I'll kiss you as I like..."