sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

...?

[ He genuinely looks like he doesn't understand this question... ]

I live in the park. [ HOBO CLASS ACHIEVED ]

...

[She reaches over to squish his cheeks with the palms of her hands.]

[ WHY THIS?! ]

Wh-what?! It's a nice park!

[ Shrinking back...! His ears have turned an unusual shade of pink. ]

It's not that.

[Monts puts her her hands down and shakes her head with a sigh.]

Remind me to take you to my place at some point. But anyways, I'm in. Let's go to that mansion.

We will, but...

[ He pauses, as if he wants to make a point. His jaw works, lips moving from side to side. A little kid, trying to prove his worth. ]

Lived in a house before. I know what houses are. [ hmph ] Lived in plenty of houses. Lived in a temple once.

[ technically he lived on the roofs of these houses or like, under them, but you know what monts ]

... Hey.

[Her voice softens along with her eyes.]

Am I making you feel bad?

...What? No.

[ The question, again, seems to genuinely puzzle him.

And, without a good brain-to-mouth filter, he states with alarming simplicity: ] Just. Don't want you to think I'm. Y'know.

Not good to hang around.

... Pffff.

[She lets out an amused noise, but there's sincere relief behind it.]

No wonder I like you so much.

[He's so eager to please!? And in a subtly alarming way, Monts realizes she wants to please him too, but maybe the way they go about it was different, that's all. She didn't want to shame him for his circumstances, but she probably didn't have to worry.]

I don't give up easily, so you're stuck with me.

[ He still looks baffled for a moment, but he breaks into a genuine grin at her last statement, "stuck with me". As if he finds that turn of phrasing funny. ]

Dunno. Might change your mind. Mansion might be scary.

[ Emphasis on that last word, and he cackles— the sound might be a bit off, almost birdlike. ]

Might run off screaming!

Do I look like someone that would scream...?

[Monts tilts her head, her eyes glancing to the side as if considering the notion novel.

Her sense of fear and her sense of pain were rather warped (or rather, underdeveloped in her opinion) and yet the one fear she may have is very common...

Ah, best not to think about it right now.]

... En. If you screamed, would that be a bad thing?

[That, however, is a question she finds interesting.]

[ Hm. That's right, he hasn't been very forthcoming with his powers, has he? Mostly because he keeps himself on a tether and doesn't really ever see the need in engaging in combat, but that's liable to change depending on the situation. ]

Mm. Yeah. If I took this off, 's even worse.

[ He taps at the particularly heavy earring on his left ear, a cuff that extends from his earlobe up to the cartilage's halfway mark. A good look at it, and it might almost look painful— clamped on in several different places, needles bolted into place with several fasteners. ]

One time [ he says, with a little bit of regret in his tone ], before I knew how to control it. Got mad at someone. Yelled at them. [ His feet scuff the ground, guilty. But he's never been afraid of admitting when he's done something wrong. ] Other guy got so scared, they threw up. Fainted. Almost died, I think.

[ It's not a happy memory; it'd been around that time that he'd realized he'd have to be a lot more careful than he'd been. ] So. I got better.

[It amazes her really, how he's willing to say more than she does. There were still things she hadn't divulged, but not so much out of reluctance as it was timing. There's timing for everything.

Her eyes move to his piercings when he gestured to them. If he hadn't pointed it out, she wouldn't have noticed how deep they pierced into his skin, how tight they were.

He's 800 years old. How many people that weren't necessarily spirits, had he been able to talk to before her? It's a sobering thought.]

... I'm glad.

You're good now.

[ The funny thing is, that despite all his posturing and puffing and getting offended for trifles, all he wants is for someone to look at him and talk to him. He's fickle, and it's often hard to gauge what sort of compliments he bristles and gets shy about, but this one hits the mark. 'You're good' is basically the greatest compliment he can be given, like a stray cat that waits until the last possible moment for someone to pet it between its ears.

En actually beams at this. ]

—Yeah? Not bad, right? [ he hasn't hurt anyone too recently, right? This is an accomplishment, for him. The designation is a reward. ] Got better, right?

[ The fireflies around him start flitting a bit faster, almost as if they're feeding off his energy. ]

Took a long time! Figured it out, though. Humans wear a lot of things. But piercings stick around! Not like clothes. [ he's chattering now, talkative. ] The first few were too weak. But this one did it right. No one's thrown up. Cool, huh!

[ oh my god en shut up ]

[There's a sigh of fond exasperation and she reaches up to ruffle his hair. But she meant what she said and it makes her happy that En's happy. It's been a while since her feelings towards another person had grown like this, like a flower that had the fortune to be uninterrupted in its blooming. The feeling had spread in her heart and it's unexpected warmth makes her smile.]

You're a very clever Nue and I'm glad for it.

Let's get to that mansion then, alright?

[IT'S BUSINESS TIME.]

[ For the first time, he doesn't look too put-off when she ruffles his hair. There's even a reciprocation of her smile, pleased and genuine, before he hums his acquiescence with a short mm and starts walking again. ]

—This way, 's close.

[ And it is, in fact, close. It's an old, abandoned Japanese-style mansion by the water, tucked just at the base of the mountain that the river winds down from: a secluded place that seems deceptively beautiful, comprised of long, wooden hallways shrouded by weeping willows and overgrown shrubs.

It seems innocuous enough. Like something out of a Miyazaki film, if not for the strange littering of offerings that meet them at the gate leading into the mansion proper. Small wooden dolls draped in red, triangular bibs, lining the stone in a morbid array. ]

...Weird. Didn't hear about all these offerings. Must be the anniversary. [ OF WHAT, EN

OF WHAT ]

Edited 2016-08-12 06:42 (UTC)

[Unsettling. The back of her neck tingles and it's both natural and unnatural, coming from her demonic mark as their instincts merge and resonate with one another. If it had been daytime, the mansion wouldn't have looked as daunting and intimidating as it did now. It may be even beautiful with some sunlight to pierce through it. So was this a good idea...?

Ah, well it was too late to back out and curiosity was a serious problem with Monts. She looks at the dolls incredulously.]

Aren't offerings usually food, candles, flowers, or... I don't know. Not these? They're kind of cute, but...

Mm. Probably because of the story of this place.

[ Which he has woefully neglected to tell until now, because... because. En's an airhead like that, sometimes.

That, and because supernaturals lingering around have become so commonplace that he doesn't even find explanations for them to be necessary. Japan is a predominantly Buddhist and Shinto country, so polytheism and spirits being everywhere is just a common cultural fact— grass is green, water is wet.

But, okay, here's the story: ]

Uh... 300 years back? Girl used to live here. Really sickly, y'know? People didn't know why she was sick. So her parents made a house here. Near the mountain, near the water. Thought it would help her recover. Real rich people.

Her parents didn't live with her, though. They were probably assholes. [ EN PLEASE... ] Probably didn't want to get sick too. So they gave her dolls. Lots of 'em. Visited her once a month. She had maids and stuff.

Until they stopped visiting. They died in some accident? Fire, I think. Dunno, who cares. They were assholes. [ En... ] Maids couldn't just live there with her. Wasn't getting paid. So, you know.

Humans do that kind of stuff. Used to, at least. Culling. [ The girl was going to die, anyway— or that's how they justified it. ] Put her in a room with all her dolls. Smothered her in her sleep.

No one wants to live here anymore. People think the plague's in the walls. Her sadness.

So sometimes they leave dolls. To keep her happy, I guess.

—Anyway, I heard that there's a real good hunk of jade in there. Wanna make a necklace out of it. [ ok en but what's wrong with you ]

Well, it sounds like they had a few steps right, but the rest they got wrong.

It DOES feel sad... [Her voice trails off and she steps forward to go further into the premises.]

I could have been like her.

[For obvious reasons. That last part is said quietly, almost a whisper.

The countryside isn't a bad place to recover. Less urban disturbances, less noise, and fog. And yet, what good were those things if it couldn't be shared? Monts feels for this poor nameless girl, mainly because she had been lonely before until her grandparents with their strength kept her at their side even when she made things hard for them.

She raises a brow at En at that last part, c'mon man.]

Are you sure you can take something from a sad place, unscathed?? I kind of doubt it.

Edited 2016-08-12 07:28 (UTC)

[ He catches that last fragment and frowns, spins his words over in his mind to attempt something like an indignant comment in response. It doesn't quite land, because all he manages is a clumsy: ]

You're here now, 's what counts.

[ Quickly waving his awkward statement aside (even if he wants to ask), he presses on. ]

Problem is that people stop coming to places like this. Makes some spirits even more lonely, y'know? What's it called... 'negative reinforcement'?

People keep saying 'don't go there', so they don't. If there's a ghost, might want company. Might not have talked to someone in decades. Centuries.

If there's someone in there, can't just assume they wanna kill you.

[ This is a very nice sentiment, but En's been wrong before. ]

I think I get what you mean.

[She reaches up to brush a hand over a leaf from one of the overgrown trees that have low enough branches, abundant with greenery.]

If you keep them lonely for that long, of course they might become dangerous.

Yeah. Y'know. Like...

[ He almost says too much, a quick 'some mononoke just want attention'. It's clear that that would be a bit too pertinent to him, though, so he stops and.

Looks a little embarrassed. ] ...Being lonely sucks for anyone.

So we're doing a good thing. [ He is, in fact, not doing a good thing. ]

[And that last point, she'll gladly poke at.]

Well, I'm not sure if the ghosts will be happy if you're taking their stuff, but that's your call.

[She goes up a step or two that leads to one of the sliding doors.]

And they're not getting any deader, I'll jump right in.

[ He's not sure whether to puff up or be pleased by that comment, but eventually he settles on the latter, canines flashing between arched lips. ]

—Yeah, well. You wanted to do something different. Right?

[ En why did you make this assumption.... anyway, he also slips between the gates and starts balancing on the rounded stone pathway leading to the main house. The manor is made up of one main mansion with several smaller offshoots, lacquered wooden halls leading, serpentine, into other residences. The screens on the doors have all but rotted away, leaving only the skeletal wooden frameworks to sit sadly along the walls.

Once En makes his way into the entrance, he's immediately followed by a sense of punishing foreboding. To the right is a pathway leading to the servant's quarters, but to the left, there's that eerie row of unblinking wooden dolls again, in various states of disrepair.

Some are missing their heads, and some have been painted over with a childish hand. As if the owner tried to apply makeup onto the smooth faces and got frustrated halfway in the process— smears of red, blue, and yellow dot a portion of them.

Flatly: ] Okay.

This is weird as hell.

Curious...

[The mark on her back is trying to crawl all around her in agitation, but Monts simply brushes it off. She has no time for it to go hog wild unnecessarily.

She kneels down to poke at one of the dolls and...]

... Was it just me or did some of them blink at us?

[ When Monts pokes at once of the dolls, the one next to it might look like it's suddenly swiveled, tilted its wooden head upwards to open its mouth, to whisper:

You hate them too, don't you?

Don't you?

En, too busy crouching down and picking at another doll with its face entirely reddened out, doesn't seem to notice at all. ]

Urgh. Creepy. [ He frowns, straightens back up. ] Might be better if we make this quick. 's a weird place. Not a great hangout.

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