Mishiro

"okay," she says, "we'll try." and if his words were shaped around some strange foreign emotion, she again quietly lets it pass. pinball was the one who could name these things, not only because they were his. and he talks over himself anyway, spilling out surface thoughts as though in a rush. he abruptly stops and she can only conclude that he'd hit a verbal dead end. without her knowledge, the corners of mishiro's lips twitch upwards in faint amusement because the figure he casts at the edge of her gaze almost appears flustered at proving his own point... or as visibly flustered as a pi

she joins him not long after, sliding her rapier back into its sheath and standing an arm's length away from him. her pale eyes follow the spillage of the light up to the unbroken ceiling it is strangely emanating from. more than halfway deep into the dungeon, without the busyness of a fight, without the sounds of their steps moving past this empty space to the next, she almost feels the quiet like a texture. pinball is looking through his inventory, which almost inspires mishiro to check the drops she had received. but he also talks. because it is the frontlines? despite that it is

the point flies far above her head and lands somewhere in the sand behind her, because in mishiro's assessment, the sandwiches had been fully encased in the plastic wrap anyway. standard practice for snacks that might be left unattended at a refreshment table. "i see," she says. they remove the top layer of the sandwich pyramid and uncover the treasure hiding in its hollow: not one blue crystal, but two. mishiro looks at the red crystal beside an's legs and tries to imagine her digging for them whilst running away from the earlier crowd. she takes the new pair and helps an put everyt

she watches her for a second more, silent. on her worst days, an is the type of person who believes that everything is out to mete judgment on her. this is far from it, far from anything that mishiro can still recall, but her mind makes the match-pair equivalent when an snaps her head up and her red eyes trace mishiro upwards from her shadow. an levels her with a misdirected glare. "i told you to go. why won't you listen?! you never listened--" "are you sure you want me to?" an's lips part over words she doesn't give air to. mishiro wouldn't have read them from her silence even

she knows her own stamina without having to shift her focus to that spot in her peripheries. "need to," another fifth vanishes to power the next sword art, then mishiro flicks her gaze to her display anyway, bent slightly lower to check on pinball's. she adds, guilty, "sorry." it is difficult to count these things down to the last number in the heat of a fight. she thrusts her rapier at the wolves for the second time, ends up behind them with a data crystal blooming just above the back of her hand. but as she swiftly turns around to face what she expects to be the mobs' dissolving re

a soft hum of agreement follows pinball's chatter. behind the stagnant tree, a path opens. they continue to descend. content with her place a few steps behind pinball, mishiro considers their surroundings in the halcyon space between enemy waves. there are small flowers, weeds, really, blooming between the stones that she carefully avoids stepping on. the walls narrow the further they venture into the dungeon but once spilled out of the claustrophobic throat and faced with two prowling wolves, the area spreads in allowance for a fight. at least merely being here does not bring them immedi

her hand drops from his sleeve when the moment has been quietly tucked away. she listens. the strange truth is, she knows so little of pinball outside of their shared history. pinball begins and ends on the day she dropped him a generous change for knife tricks and on everything she has seen and heard from him since. there is a name she mutters into the air between them. (she decides: not today.) there are questions she thinks she’ll receive answers to if she asks. but aren’t ten years more than enough? she thinks, they ought to be. ‘before’ is a momentous breach. she listens, a

# 237454: LD 4: +4; 5 total

# 237365: LD 1: +1; 1 total

"great! thanks. take as long as you need." and with not another pause, sibyl wanders off in the direction of the pallankuli tables, leaving her to peer down at the card they had pressed into her palm. map data. mishiro but closes her hand over it, thankful and faintly apologetic. but it is no trouble at all. "yes. let's be off," she tells pinball. she about turns and leads him outside, into the soft, quiet night of a ronbaru temporarily emptied. for a while they walk side by side in silence. the lights of the festival fade far behind until they are nothing more than a vague spla

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one. | two. | three. This post is best experienced in light mode. SHE TURNS THE UNLIT LAMP IN HER HANDS UNTIL SHE IS HOLDING UP THE SIDE THAT BEARS A LINE OF BLACK INK. UNDER A BLINKING STREET LIGHT; DESERTED NORTH RONBARU, LAND STRIPPED TO BONE, SONGS AND LAUGHTER FADING FAR BEHIND; SHE READS THE FIRST INSCRIPTION. | ‘To our parents who guide our journey, we grant of you this blessing.’ [MISHIRO]: I don’t have parents. SHE IS ILL-FITTED TO THIS SUBJECT. HOW MUST SHE REFLECT, THEN? [MISHIRO]: Do you count? SHE IS ASKING TOO, JUST TO BE

she turns the unlit lamp in her hands until she is holding up the side that bears a line of black ink. under the hundred lights of the plaza, she reads the first inscription. 'to our parents who guide our journey--' “for me as well, please.” she almost doesn't believe herself. pinball -- unstealthed in the thick of a festive crowd? she looks, almost without moving her head, still holding the peach half shape of her diya. she hasn't spoken to him in two weeks. the warmth and verve emanating from their surroundings seem to sand down his edges in a manner entirely different from th

they break for food at a secluded corner then resume their appreciation of the festivities. mishiro, in search of more unique items, methodically goes from stall to stall to try each one's offerings. perhaps fermata had missed something in its initial sweep. it is not impossible. there are vanity shops wherever one looks, selling street food, outfits, tattooing services, and a half hour with a rented mount. more games. from a simple ball toss, she wins a feather. she immediately knows what she wants to do with it. the problem is sibyl, who jealously curls a hand over loth's gift. ("one mo

"two orders, coming up!" "thank you." the line moves forward. she has two drinks on a paper carrier, a bag of steaming hot samosas, and her earlier winnings. she shuffles the items around in her arms so that she is not being scalded by her newest purchase, and gently pushing her way out of the crowd surrounding the stall, she looks for sibyl. they are gone. a dark blur crawls up the edges of her vision. (if she lets this one out of her sight.) she catches their silhouette, darkened underneath the shadow of the tent across. she hurries over, flooded by irrational relief