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INHUMAN COURTESY

I. PUSHING UP DAISIES

cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror

The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.

It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:

► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.

► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.

if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured

II. DO NOT PASS GO

cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity

Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.

If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.

When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.

► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!

Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.

III. TO THE RESCUE

As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.

The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.

The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”

Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”

It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.

so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She's already busted her friend out, and she's still here?

That's if she's taking her claims at face value, which she sort of has to. Even for Fukawa, conspiracy spinner extraordinaire, it's hard to imagine Sakura taking such extreme risks lightly. Unless she was counting on a future benefit. It's possible. She's already bought so much goodwill as their local practitioner. Spearheading a rescue mission is a one-way ticket to the hearts of the public.

None of this is voiced aloud, of course. Fukawa's only tell is going from stunned to disgruntled, then back to fearful again as they confront the guards head on.

It's hard to look at the poor bastard they've been beating on. His oozing wounds make playing the meek and quailing prisoner easy as pie. None of her shivers are faked. Sakura takes charge of the situation flawlessly.

Only the impromptu costume that does her in. Fukawa screams as the first punch connects, and she launches herself clear out of the way at once. She smacks against the wall, her new scissors knock against her hip. Should she swap over? If she switches now she has to trust that Syo won't bungle her chances at escape, or further mar her reputation. Or get her killed — either by the guards or Sakura herself. After what she did to Sylvain...

Don't be a fucking coward.

She snatches the ends of her hair, ready to tickle her nose and trigger the switch.

But there's three guards. Two are tag-teaming Sakura. The third has come to whack the side of Fukawa's head so hard she sees stars. She hits the ground with a sharp cry, coiling inward instinctively. It's no use. He's snatched her by the hair and hefted her clear off the ground. She's screaming, kicking wildly, but he's now wrenching her arm back, as if to pop it out of its socket.

And he's laughing. The bastard is enjoying this.]

（ one of the guards has torn the hat from her head, revealing the messy streaks of pink/black hair hastily shoved up beneath her cap. it means her hair's in her face, and blocking blows becomes a matter of instinct. she's used to using chakra to read the air, an extra sense that's sharp as a blade — without it, it's like missing a limb.

the first blow gets blocked. the second catches her above the eye, splitting the skin in an injury that's more dramatic than dangerous, effectively blinding her with a sudden glut of blood. but she doesn't have time to worry about that at the moment — she hears fukawa's shriek and turns, a stolen knife dropping out of one sleeve into her waiting fingers.

it's a poor knife, badly balanced and not nearly as sharp as she's used to, which is maybe why the hilt of it bounces off the man's hand than actually does as she's intended and gets him through the wrist. it's just enough to make him drop the other girl, at least, probably more in shock than pain.

sakura twists, ducks another blow and kicks the first guard in the solar plexus. there's real power behind it — as small as she is, and as bereft of her chakra, one thing you have to know when you can punch a hole through a mountain is the mechanics of the body so you can keep from hurting yourself with the force.

the man goes down without a sound. if she's lucky, he'll stay that way — but he'll at least need to catch his breath. to fukawa, ）

Run!

[Though the blade would do better, the hilt gets the job done. On top of being thrown with deadly force it strikes a nerve. The guard hollers and drops Fukawa, who scrambles out of reach on hands and knees. Then she's on her feet, caught in a fraught split second of indecision. Fight, or flight?

Sakura is bleeding — her gut lurches at the sight of it, but then the girl thrusts her foot into the man's chest and he crumples. Almost literally, it's as if she's hit an off-switch on the body. She's barking orders at her now. Run?

Run.

Fukawa doesn't confirm. Doesn't hesitate. She sprints, high-speed, bare feet drumming a machine-gun rhythm on the stone floor. The tunnel should be nearby. She just has to trust Sakura can handle it, and that she can make it out alive.]

[Fukawa had asked around. The clinic stayed open late sometimes, and it was almost always Sakura closing up. So after she's recovered, let the shakes out, had a few good cries, and tried her own remedies, she succumbs to her last resort.

The sun has already set. Evening darkness has draped over everything, and so Fukawa is no more than a dark shadow as she creeps in through the clinic entrance.

She doesn't speak at first. She regards the other girl from a tense distance, refusing to step further in. Her shoulders are squared and her jaw is clenched tight.

Half of it is calculated. The other half is all trepidation.

Sakura had taken those guards on with the surety of a killer. She'd used some concoction to paralyze a man. Not the sort of person you should meet alone late at night.

But neither is Fukawa.]

（ the fight ends in her favour, as soon as she doesn't have to worry about another active participant. the man curled up on the floor even helps — albeit inadvertently — by posing a tripping hazard to one of the men in the fight.

sakura walks away. she leaves them alive, but hurting — and just like back home, life goes on.

a little worse for wear, perhaps, but on.

the cut above her eye is the most obvious of her injuries. other things beneath her clothing leave her mottled and bruised, but it isn't worth wasting the chakra on, but the cut she fixes. it's less a matter of vanity and more one of utility — if violence follows violence as it so often seems to, she doesn't want to be in a position where it re-opens at a critical moment and blinds her all over again.

she's just tidying up for the evening when fukawa creeps in like a shadow, and sakura turns to face her. gives her a bit of a look, and then: ）

Can I help you?

（ it's perhaps a bit frosty. ）

M-maybe.

[There's not much warmth from her end either. She takes a terse moment, swallows. Deep breath.

She could just ask for help with the brand. Make it easy on both of them and carry on this awkward stalemate from opposite ends of a broad city.

But that's the cowardly move. She needs help, but she needs answers first.]

The way I see it, there's th-three main reasons for someone to hide their abilities. [Her gaze dips away from Sakura. It'll be better to spit this out without trying to win a staring contest.] The first is for heroism. Being seen as capable puts a target on their back, and sometimes it's m-more effective to fight in the shadows than in the light. Perhaps there are enemies present they need to avoid, or unknown elements they need to root out. Maybe they've taken an oath of secrecy.

The s-second is villainy. For the same reasons as the first, but also to instill confidence in the public. Playing dumb is effective. Or maybe by putting themselves into a softer position of p-power, someone seen as vital or trustworthy to the community. [Politicians, doctors, teachers, you name it. After the Soulidarity application launched, Sakura's official introduction had been to name herself as a healer. Plenty of people came to her. She saw her name being recommended ad hoc all over the place. And as a medic, she could keep better tabs on the secret lives of her patients. Their struggles, weaknesses and strengths, their exploits gone awry.]

And the third, they're leaving an identity behind. There are several reasons why. Amnesia, shame, d-dishonour. Betrayal. Fear of retaliation or ostracism.

[Which was the least likely case for Sakura. Much more on the nose for herself. Rightfully so, after being hauled to the Gallows.]

There could be any number of circumstances for secrecy, it's a common trope in several genres. But most lead b-back to one of these three.

So?

[Now she watches her. Waits for the strike back. Sakura had plenty of time to come after her, so either she doesn't see the need, fails to see Fukawa as a threat, or she hopes to gain her trust. That could mean any number of things. At best she'll offend Sakura by asking. At worst, she might be dead in a moment.

Confrontations aside, Fukawa thinks the latter is highly unlikely. If she though her life was at stake she wouldn't have come at all.]

I don't think anyone studying m-martial arts as a hobby would paralyze a man without flinching. So don't try to play it off. What are you?

（ as fukawa speaks, her expression becomes increasingly icier, the lingering frost of a frigid spring, until she may as well be speaking to a brick wall for all that sakura surrenders of her interiority. even her body language has gone dark and unreadable, no crossed arms, no hipshot stance.

when the other girl is finished: ）

I'm sorry, but you haven't exactly given me all that much reason to like or trust you. You've been horrible to me even when I've tried to help you, and seeing as how I recently saved your life, I'm not really sure what's lead you to believe you're entitled to any sort of explanation about me at all.

（ she tilts her chin up, as if daring fukawa to contradict her. she never used to be very good at standing up for herself at all, but it's almost as if she can feel the ghost of ino's hand on her shoulder, that encouraging weight. she exhales sharply, and then continues: ）

I might have actually told you, if you just asked. （ and not stood there giving a speech that, if anything, sounds accusatory. ） But as it stands — if all you're looking for is something you can lord over my head, forget it. You know where the door is.

[This, like all things Fukawa tries, backfires immediately. Sakura goes stonier and steadier, and in turn Fukawa gets the shakes. Her ears start to burn. Cheeks too.

Horrible? She hasn't done anything wrong. She hasn't been kind, true, but until Komaru most of her kindnesses were returned with kicks. Why should she make an exception now? And for what? Lessons on fixing sprained ankles?

Sakura had shown her that in this very tent. Smiled and encouraged her. Even after she yelled at her over the app. Even though she was doing a shit job.

She had memories like that of the others, too. Two years of thawing her out, of good times with the whole gang, and it meant nothing to them at all.

Tears well at the rims of Fukawa's eyes.]

Fine. Y-you're right, you d-don't owe me anything. And honestly, I don't care about the details. If you made a p-promise to your "sensei", or you're fighting crime in a spandex catsuit — I don't care!

But I won't allow anyone to be hurt. You understand? [The quaking comes out riotous now. Her hands are jittering at her side, clenching and unclenching. She fights to speak through a throat grown thick, through teeth that chatter, a twitching curl in her lip.] If you're hiding something and someone ends up killed over it, I'll never forgive myself. I won't allow it to happen again. Even if I fail, even if pay the price. Even if...

[That thickness grows to a steel ball. She could almost choke on it. Nearly does, swallowing it down. And there the tears go, flushing down livid red cheeks.]

Even if everyone despises me for it, I refuse to let anyone else die b-because I was too st-stupid to think twice! Never again! Not ever!

（ if she's moved by this show of... what, chivalry? it's not immediately obvious. it's all built on fukawa's perceptions, most of which are incorrect to start with.

(hurt people hurt people. she knows that. but sometimes knowing and understanding are two separate things.)

it's the courage that softens her, eventually. finally. and then sakura sighs, comes over to her with a box of tissue and holds it out. ）

Now who's trying to be heroic? Dummy.

（ but her tone is gentle, the insult more exasperatedly fond than cutting. then: ）

I'm not interested in hurting people. For right now, you're going to have to trust that. If you want to know more about me, then earn it.

[Her eyes trail Sakura, reaching for the tissues, walking over. She sees it but she doesn't understand it. Even less so with the words coming after.]

Huh?

[There's a poignant pause. Her face is still plum red, but the fraught expression has fallen.]

B-but...you're not mad? [She should be furious. That's the next step of this escalation, she'd be blowing her top in her shoes. Instead Sakura has stepped off the ladder and pulled Fukawa off with her.] I basically called you a murderer.

[All right. Fine, she'll take a damn tissue. Fukawa presses it to her nose, stifling any disgusting overflow before it starts. Her breath makes the tissue flutter as she speaks.]

...I d-don't think you're dangerous. [Chances aren't zero, of course, but they are low. She's feeling very stupid all of a sudden, and too tired to deny it.] More than one person must have s-seen you during the escape. And you didn't c-come...you could have snapped my neck at any time.

Edited (analogy didn't work) 2022-11-15 01:50 (UTC)

I'm annoyed. （ she says, simply, honestly. ） I think you have more imagination than sense. But it takes courage to stand up to others — especially given that you seem convinced I could 'snap your neck at any time' — for what you think is right, and that's an admirable trait. It reminds me of one of my best friends, actually.

（ she sighs, and sinks down into one of only three chairs in her makeshift little 'waiting room'. she takes a second chair, swings it past her out of its neat line-up and then nudges it towards fukawa with a foot.

in a gently corrective tone — ）

I am dangerous. But just because someone is capable of harming others doesn't mean they want to, or will. I'm a doctor first. Preserving life is important to me. But sometimes that's meant fighting for it in battlefields as much as operating theatres.

（ she drags a hand through her hair, working it out of its tail. some of it is still stained with the black ink she'd used, and she's been too damn tired to sit and try to scrub it all the way out. for now, she's just living with it. ）

[Annoyed. Fukawa can't fault that one bit. How often has she been compared to an insect, buzzing and stinging and biting until patience has been worn wafer thin. She should be grateful the girl is hearing her out after all. She'd be within her rights to put a boot to her ass and send her sailing out the door.

She dabs at the tear tracks now. Her voice has gone stuffy and pathetic.]

R-reality can be worse than anything you imagine. [It's nice though, to be considered brave. It's not a badge she feels she's earned. It's more like a noose strung around her neck. Defeated, she drifts into the chair, sweeping her too-long swathe of hair to the side.] It w-wouldn't matter what happened to me anyway. Cowardice j-just keeps you on the chopping block. I'd rather die trying to do something than wait for the blow on my knees.

[A few years ago she would have said the opposite.

She continues to clear the mess from her face as Sakura lays out the bare bones. Her eyes stay on the girl this time. None of this suspicious tension. At least she admits that she could be a killer. Playing innocent now would be just plain obnoxious.]

So you st-studied medicine first? [She pauses with a flinch.] Nevermind. I probably haven't "earned" that.

[She sighs, rubbing at her temple and thinking the confession over as Sakura teases her hair loose. There's still inky streaks in it. She hadn't seen it before, shadows and ponytail and what not.]

R-rubbing alcohol will get that out. [Fukawa makes a quaint gesture to the mess.] Or h-hairspray. I used to get p-pen ink all over myself, and it always did the trick.

（ rubbing alcohol, huh? she has some of that on-hand, and since the clinic is officially closed for the day and she isn't expecting other visitors, she gets up and pads over to one of her little cabinets, pulling out a bottle and some gauze to dampen. she'll have to condition it afterwards, but in the interim, she dumps a healthy quantity into the gauze.

she could use a clone, she supposes, but after a moment she comes over to fukawa and holds the concoction out to her in a silent request. if fukawa takes it, she'll settle on her knees in front of the chair facing away from her. quietly, ）

No. Medicine came after. But I liked it more.

Oh! Y-you mean — I, um...

[Fukawa's hands extend to the gauze, then retract. Then extend again, slim fingers plucking it from Sakura's hands like she's gathering up strands of fresh spun silk. To think that she'd let her grimy hands anywhere near her hair is gobsmacking, yet here they are.

Fukawa's heart stutters as Sakura assumes position just in front of her knees. Her mothers had been merciless when it came to her hair, and turned more furious still when she fussed over it. It makes her nervous to start. If she's not brushing anything out maybe she won't risk pulling too hard?

Gentle. That's the key. Pretend this is like petting a baby bird.

Fukawa gathers the first lock with no small timidity, taking the wet gauze to it lightly. Sakura has very soft hair. Even streaked up like this, she can tell it's well cared for.]

So you started t-training young, then. [They're close to the same age. There wasn't much time to gain expertise in multiple subjects without a childhood leg up.] Was it out of necessity?

（ if she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine it's ino fussing over her hair during a sleepover years ago. no one else has touched it in years, and she's surprised to realize she actually missed it, this simple sort of togetherness with others... it's a form of intimacy she can't imagine men ever sharing, whose language among one-another always seems to involve violence of some coat or colour. ）

More cultural practice than necessity. I was born just at the end of a war, and grew up in relative peace.

[It's a pity more men didn't share it. Perhaps they would be better adjusted if they did.

Where Sakura pictures Ino, Fukawa imagines Komaru. They haven't done something like this. Oh sure, the little brat has wrestled her into the bath against her will once or twice, but they haven't done anything so tender brushing each other's hair. Fukawa would feel stupid asking anyway, and she's not sure what Komaru would think. It seems like the sort of inane, overfamiliar, girly bullshit she'd be into.

Though...it's not so bad. The ink is coming out well, which is good. She won't get called a liar. And it's soothing work. Something quiet and private. She parts Sakura's hair in another section and applies the gauze with a touch more confidence.

There's still traces of the sniffles in her, still heat in her cheeks. Maybe that's lingering for another reason.]

A war? [So it was a lingering paranoia in the community? Train the children well, lest peace fail to last?] I guess that m-makes sense. Plenty of countries had mandatory military service once you reach a certain age.

So, if it was p-peace times, were you tasked with maintaining it?

I never really had that much on my shoulders, no.

（ she was unremarkable in almost every way. more burden than help on those early missions, it feels like. she'd worked so hard to put it all behind her, and even now, sometimes... she still feels like she's chasing naruto and sasuke to catch up.

she shifts how she's sitting, moving so she can draw her knees up against her chest and cross her arms.

after a moment of silence — ）

Thanks, by the way. For helping. When I was younger, I was pretty vain about my hair... I guess some habits are hard to break.

So then...j-just as a precaution? Or for tradition's sake? [It could run in the family. Sometimes things were simple. She's gotten too used to endless layers of deceit, gunning straight for the worst case scenarios and the most elaborate ruses.

When Sakura shifts she mistakes it as her own fault, dropping the hair at once. But she's only changed positions. She looks much younger all balled up like that. Knees pulled in tight to protect her soft middle, arms buckling them in.

Why the move surprises her, she can't quite say. They're already in the middle of a much too intimate exchange. Why should the sight of her drawing in like a pouting child make such a difference?

Fukawa resumes her combing. All the worst mess is closest to the root. She refolds the gauze and works closer to her ear, brushing back one face-framing lock from her cheek. Lightly, carefully. Her nails are uneven, she'd hate to scratch her unwittingly.]

I g-guess it's nice to have one vanity. [She doesn't acknowledge the thanks. Doing so is beyond her at the moment. Is she breathing too loud? She has to lean forward to better see this side, one of her own unruly locks dropping off her shoulder to dust the other girl's back.]

You should consider y-yourself lucky. Not all girls can make do with short hair.

[And it's a pretty colour too. Just as poetic and pink as her namesake. Some people just have it all.]

Would you believe me if I said it was something I just thought was cool? My parents didn't push me into it or anything — I thought it was glamorous and mysterious, I practically begged them to let me go. I had it all planned out in my head — being the dashing heroine rescued from certain death by the boy I liked. The reality ended up being a little different.

（ she laughs, the sort of haha that's meant perhaps a bit lightly, as a cover for something else. she doesn't mind acknowledging the silly girl she'd been, the wild fantasies she'd held to herself. after all, without that girl, the woman she is now wouldn't exist. ）

But it's funny you should say that. I used to keep it much longer than this. For that same boy, of course. It turns out, when you spend all your time worrying about what you look like, and not enough time worrying about what you're going to do in life-or-death situations, sometimes you have to make a choice.

（ she reaches a hand up, brushes her fingers through the shorn hair at her nape. she's kept it short since that first chuunin exam, almost as a promise to herself. she still looks after her hair, of course, but she cares less about callouses and broken nails and scars and dirt and grime than she used to. now, her primary concern is whether or not men will take her seriously as a professional, not whether or not they find her attractive. ）

[What do you know. They have something in common after all.]

Th-that's actually much more believable than any secret agent crap. [She almost sounds fond saying it. The way her mouth quirks at the ends would give more away, but while Sakura's got her back to her it's hidden safely out of sight.] Chasing a sense of r-romance is a greater factor in more behaviour than anyone would l-like to admit. Whether its the fantasy, or the literal connection...

[Herself? Nearly everything she did was in service of Byakuya-sama's will — the only reason she even went to Towa City was because she stowed away on his flight. She'd gone the extra mile for countless boys before that. Her novels were all escapes from the dank pit of her existence, creating a world where even the wretched and reviled are worthy of tenderness. Admiration. True love.

And she's not the only person who acts that way. Love wove in between the killings and the crucifixions of Hope's Peak. Whether as something to be manipulated, to be protected, or even a fantasy to destroy everything for.]

So something did happen. [Figures. It always does.] Did this boy come s-save you after all?

[Maybe too tender a question, but this is her favourite subject. How can she not pry?

She leaves the section at her ear now, patting the side of her head.] I need t-to do the front. Can you...

[Tilt back?]

Edited (One more example) 2022-11-16 19:13 (UTC)

（ she adjusts herself as directed, but instead of tipping her head back — a position that would get uncomfortable quickly, and reminds her of nothing else so much as how easy it is to slit a throat besides — she just pivots so she's facing the other girl instead. ）

Not the way I wanted.

（ it wasn't like sasuke ever threw her to the wolves. they were teammates. he had helped her and looked out for her and she had been greedy for the affection she read into his actions even when it seems like it had all been her imagination after all.

but when it mattered, when it counted... she can still remember him telling her and kakashi that saving them from the grip of infinite tsukuyomi had been incidental, that they were useless and unnecessary.

green eyes flick up briefly, and then away. whatever is happening here is a delicate accord, and she realizes... she'd missed having a girl her own age to talk to. she doesn't want to ruin whatever this might become by being hard-headed. sometimes, you need to be willing to be vulnerable first, and finally: ）

I don't think he ever cared about me at all. I was just a nuisance.

（ it's the first time she's ever said it aloud. but... between what happened after the war, his leaving the village and now here in stygia... as much as she knows about trauma now and how it shapes people and follows them all their lives... if he felt anything about her at all, there would have been some indication of it by now. he has no trouble speaking about naruto and the depths of their bond, but he's only ever been cold to her. ）

[What's less vulnerable for Sakura is doubly nerve-wracking for Fukawa. Her courage flees as her gaze hits direct into sea green eyes. She loses precious seconds to blinking dumbly, looking ever so stupid before she clears her throat and just...pretends she can't see anything. She scoops back the bangs and starts anew. Her eyes will remain square on this here hairline. Do not cross the border. Gaze not into the void.

Hard to do when the story carries on. The fantasy has gone sour enough to clamp Sakura's mouth shut. She tells it in five words instead of fifty, and that's all Fukawa needs.]

What? [So did he abandon her? After she'd dedicated her life to studying martial arts for his sorry ass?

Their eyes meet again in that brief flick up, and Fukawa realizes she's already broken her only ground rule. She grunts and resumes the work with more vigor. Not rough: just swifter, with a petulant scowl set in place.]

M-Men can be so callous. [Easy now. It's not even her own story and she's getting riled up.] Even if th-they don't like you back, there's no need to treat somebody like a...l-like a hot turd on asphalt!

[Where the hell do they get off behaving like that, anyway? What happened to chivalry? Basic human decency?

She works in silence for a while. Then there's a bitter mutter from behind gritted teeth.]

The f-first boy I ever liked was the only one in my class who would talk to me. I found out he was moving away, s-so I wrote him a letter confessing my feelings.

[She refolds the gauze to a bare patch. It's turning grimy but Sakura's hair is already showing vast improvement.]

He pinned it to the bulletin board the next day. Everyone k-kept laughing at me, quoting parts of it back like it was the funniest joke they'd heard. When I asked him why he did it, he said he'd always hated me. [Such a sad sob story for such a little girl. It's been nearly ten years and she still gets choked up thinking about it.] The other k-kids had been making fun of him for spending time with me. My company had made his life a complete hell.

He said he was glad he'd n-never see me again.

（ it paints an awful story, doesn't it? she can imagine fukawa, who must have been a child then, standing miserable and hurt in a circle of taunting children. she may not be familiar with that specific sort of cruelty, but she remembers being teased well enough that she can picture it. ）

Sounds like an asshole. An entire class of them, actually.

（ such crass words for such a professional woman, but hey, she means it. men certainly can be jerks when it comes to feelings, and it isn't as if she means only sasuke. they are truly and unilaterally terrible about it.

funny, how it's easier to be mad on someone else's behalf than on her own. oh, sasuke never humiliated her like that — she doesn't think he would, he's not that sort of person. he used to be sweet and gentle, once upon a time. ）

You deserved better than that. I'm sorry that was how he repaid your feelings.

[The sweep of thinning ink tapers to a crawl. Fukawa's fixated on the fine part of Sakura's scalp. Does she deserve better?

She could finish the story. She'd seen that same boy again weeks later, after he'd moved to Shikoku. Waking on cool tile in a classroom she'd never been to, a dark and foul splatter all over her body. Pooling on the floor. His body suspended on the wall, two pairs of scissors punched through his hands. A lover's crucifixion, his blood smeared in crooked kanji beside him. It was her first real introduction to Syo. The first time washing up had turned into a horror show, how blood became unbearable in any amount.

He was the first notch to appear on her thigh. She could give Sakura a run down on all thirty-seven. So many beautiful boys who wouldn't give her the time of day. Names in bold on the nightly news thereafter.

She doesn't say anything. Her lips twitch. She swallows audibly, resumes cleaning her hair. It's nearly done. Maybe not perfect, but with another wash or two she should be good.

Her pulse picks up anew.]

I d-did have... [Her jaw clamps shut. She has to swallow a second time, work the twist out of her mouth.] C-can you...is th-there anything you can do for a scar?

[The brand from the Gallows. Her stolen sweater sheathes it well, but she wants the risk of recognition gone. Only now those raised lines on her leg tingle, clamouring for attention she's loathe to give.

Syo would be furious if she messed with them. She'd probably think Fukawa was wiping the scoreboard clean.]

A b-b-burn mark.

（ she's attenuated to the girl's breathing, the way her pulse jumps. sakura's expression stays neutral, she doesn't know why she's suddenly undergoing physiological changes, but she isn't going to ask, either. ）

The brands?

（ normal healing hasn't worked, but she still has a few strips of that creature's skin... ）

I think I probably can. Here — （ she reaches up, takes fukawa's hand gently and gives her wrist a brief press of thanks before she stands up smoothly. she has a little medicine cabinet she keeps stocked with a variety of things, and the badiliscus skins are there, pressed between sheets to preserve them. she takes one out, as well as an unguent that smells like camphor and a combination of herbs, and gestures fukawa to come join her at the small working desk. ）

Here, show me.

yes AGAB, i'm with you bbgirl (also cw: violence)

every new thing i learn about this canon is a wild trip.... nose?? tickling???

don't worry it gets even stupider (1/2)

And a week or so later....

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Spoilers again, possibly throughout from here 😬

dragon rompers strikes again

them dragons just keep romping around

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this entire thread has me just 😭😭😭

I KNOW I've been crying about it all day, every day 🥺❤️❤️

bangs hands on table WHY ARE GIRLS!!!

Sairose Ronan saying "Women" gif

same energy tbh

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cw: child murder, blood, self-harm

'ah, the rompers are at it again'...