hurrrr durrrr a test thred

[lingua sounda]

『Jackson Hirst』
▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄ ♛ ▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
NineteenXXX26 OctoberXXXMaleXXXX5"7XXXXVillain

♛↠[Superhero name]
Solaris
♛↠ [Power]
Ability to control electrical currents.

♛↠ [Biography]
Jax was practically born to be exploited-- his power manifested at an early age and all his father could see were dollar signs. By the time he was ten, Jax was an accomplished thief; able to shut down complex security systems with a single touch. At the time it was all a game for the boy, something fun to do that pleased his father. It was never a matter of personal gain for Jax.

However, his father got greedy and directed him to steal from a major corporation involved in some shady dealings. Jax was caught, but once the head of the company realized that he wasn't dealing with your average run-of-the-mill cat burglar, the teen was shipped off to one of the CEO's mafia ties and forced into indentured servitude.

His jobs have run the course from petty theft to assassination. Jackson's attitude toward his transgressions has shifted to pure indifference--he may have cared years ago, but at this point he's simply doing what's necessary for him to survive.


♛↠ [Imperfections]
Jackson has absolutely abysmal eyesight, on a steady decline as he forces electricity through his system.

♛↠ [Likes]
☑▬ Electronics. When not in costume, he's never seen without his phone.
☑▬ Pixy stix. If it were possible, he'd live on them.
☑▬ The internet. If he's not 'working', he's undoubtedly watching some stupid viral video.
♛↠ [Dislikes]
☒▬ Being ordered around. He'll grudgingly obey, but only to get by.
☒▬ Wearing his stupid glasses.
☒▬ Those holier-than-thou types.
♛↠ [Costume]
x x x
♛↠ [Username]
lingua sounda

[lingua sounda]

I love myself, I am the best
I got it made, now you're impressed★

☢sxαxтxιxnxεxx αxяxgxεxnxтxo☢

▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐

filler text doop doo

▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐

★i'm your problem now

[lingua sounda]

ZOLNEROWICH, MISHA

i am one with porcelain skin perfect for stains of blood and bruises
i am one with porcelain skin perfect for stains of blood and bruises
i am one with porcelain skin perfect for stains of blood and bruises
i am one with porcelain skin perfect for stains of blood and bruises

NICKNAMES ➤ Misha.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
AGE ➤ Fifteen.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
RACE ➤ Demon/Human.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
LANGUAGES ➤ Russian, English.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
PERSONALITY ➤ Playful, Curious, Naive.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
HISTORY ➤ Misha lived a relatively normal, happy life with his parents and younger sisters. They weren't exactly the richest family in the city, but they made do with what they had and Misha never went without. However, Misha's father fell ill and was soon unable to work and support the family. This left Misha's mother as the sole provider, which caused her no shortage of stress. Misha, intending to help out, left home in search of work but was snatched up off the streets and carted off into the slave trade. Despite being scared out of his mind, he's attempted to make the best of his situation and hasn't raised many complaints.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
COLLAR ➤ Yellow cotton, yellow velvet, and white silk.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
CHARMS ➤ A heart, a cherry, and a bowl.
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
MASTER ➤ N/A
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
i listen to the rest i listen to the rest i listen to the rest
➤ lingua sounda

[lingua sounda]

I'm so glad that I could simply meet you
the world became filled with light♫ ♪

❝мxιxsxнxaxx zxoxlxnxεxяxoxwxιxcxн❞

▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌

What a wonderful dream, home again. Sadly Misha couldn't manage to retreat fully into the fantasy, even his dream self knew that this wasn't real. Therefore he didn't mind too terribly when he was startled out of sleep by knocking his head against the bars. Wincing, Misha sat up and nursed the bump on his head. The cage was small, yes, but so was he; he fit within its confines almost comfortably. No, the problem was that Misha tossed and turned in his sleep and so it seemed every morning his wake-up call was destined to be smacking some part of his body against the bars.

Normally he would have gone back to sleep, but the shop wasn't completely quiet this morning and that meant that he possibly had a shot at getting out of here. Both cages opposite him were now empty, which surprised him a great deal. Had he really slept through that? Blinking, Misha turned in his cage to get a better view of the shop. Yes, some familiar faces were gone. He hoped that they'd gone to good homes; Misha was new to this indeed, but he'd heard stories. Bad stories. Things he didn't particularly like to think about.

After stretching to the best of his capabilities the boy ran his fingers through his long pink hair, trying to make himself look presentable. This proved to be somewhat difficult without a mirror, but he simply did the best with what he had. There wasn't much point in complaining about the conditions as he was well aware that they were not about to change. Not until he was 'adopted' (to put it lightly) and taken elsewhere, at which point he would have to hope that they didn't become worse.

At some point during the morning, a fresh glass of water had been placed in the corner of his cage. Misha marveled that he hadn't knocked it over in his fitful sleep. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank, eyes closing. It was lukewarm by this point, but he didn't really mind. One of the slaves toward the back was making a fuss again; Misha recognized the voice, but hadn't really been near enough to catch a face. He scooted toward the back of his cage and peered out, attempting to catch a glimpse, but saw nothing. Disappointing, honestly. He was ever so bored.

Idly his fingers found their way to the silly collar that he was made to wear, playing with the charms. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying much attention during his 'processing' and had no idea what any of these things meant. At the moment, they were just something to occupy his idle hands. The occupant of the cage nearest him seemed to have finally woken. Misha examined the being in the other cage as he took another drink from his glass, then frowned and scooted closer to that side of his prison. The slave with the pretty silvery hair never seemed to have water in his cage.

"Here." Misha said softly, glancing out from between the bars to avoid being seen by a guard. The glass of water was extended between their cages. "They always skip you because you're asleep."

▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌★ ▌

♫ ♪if you can, please love me
please set wings upon my shoulders

[lingua sounda]

test post herp derp [br]h[/br] via phoooone

[lingua sounda]

... ******** >:<

[lingua sounda]

xxxx
nxxιxxкxxιxxтxxaxxxx lxxaxxgxxuxxnxxoxxv
bite my nails right down to the skin
where one trust ends, another lie begins
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄ ♛ ▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

WORDS WORDS WORDS

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄ ♛ ▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
patch over holes in my weakened heart
which angels hold and devils pull apart

[lingua sounda]

xxxx
nxxιxxкxxιxxтxxaxxxx lxxaxxgxxuxxnxxoxxv
bite my nails right down to the skin
where one trust ends, another lie begins
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄ ♛ ▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Cold. It was absolutely freezing, and that was what woke Nikita. Had it been this cold earlier today? His eyes opened slowly, fixing on... well, nothing. Blackness was all there was. Feeling too tired to sit up, Nikita simply stared up into the darkness and tried to worry out where exactly he was. Cold... blackness... maybe he was dead. That wouldn't come as much of a surprise, to be honest. It was bound to happen, sleeping in the streets.

But if he were dead, why would he be concious right now? Frowning, Nikita attempted to sit up only to find that he was held down by... something? Finally paying attention to his surroundings, he could hear the sounds of rattling chains and whines around him. Well, this was certainly unusual. Sighing heavily, Nikita simply closed his eyes again. None of this made any sense, whatsoever.

"Alright. Who would like to tell me what exactly is going on here?" Nikita was a bit surprised by just how loud his voice seemed, but he simply chalked it up to the fact that this pace was so quiet. There was no answer, at least, not one quickly enough for Nikita's tastes. "... no takers? How lovely."

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄ ♛ ▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
patch over holes in my weakened heart
which angels hold and devils pull apart

[lingua sounda]

『 xxᴅxxᴇxxᴛxxʀxxᴏxxɪxxᴛxx』
•♫ ♪god money i'll do anything for you♪♫•
▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐

"Sh~it."

There went his gas mask, jerked off of his face and shoved unceremoniously into the backpack slung over his shoulder. The air was clean, fresh-tasting after breathing through the mask for a few hours. Air wasn't his concern; Solanum was only communicable through direct introduction into the bloodstream. His mask was simply to protect himself from getting infected blood in his mouth or eyes. Some of the raiders favored goggles, or even sunglasses, and a bandanna over their mouth and nose, but Detroit wasn't one to take chances when it came to infection. Plus it made him stand out a bit, almost a trademark. Detroit rather liked that.

Raiding had its perks. The money was good, and doing favours for residents of Elysian Fields earned him brownie points; but sometimes Detroit wondered why he bothered. Some moron on another crew had broken open the glass door to a convenience store's refrigeration unit, and Detroit had cut his arm open on it. Maybe he was the moron for simply reaching in through the shattered glass, but... well, it was just easier to blame someone else. He'd tied the wound with a torn bit of his shirt, but it was bleeding through. He'd have to go get it stitched up. Hopefully when he took his cargo up to Argento, the man would let him see the doctor in Elysian Fields rather than send him back out to get sewn up in the slums. There were a number of doctors down in Romero, but Detroit would much rather be patched up in the sterile medical office in the Fields.

[********] Detroit answered himself aloud. He sighed and shouldered his bag. The bottle of whiskey it contained would fetch him a good $500 in the Fields, double that in Romero. However, this was a gift to Argento. Detroit did all the sucking up he could do. Anything to get into that ******** building. Mostly running errands and fetching less-than-necessary goods for the wealthy residents, but sometimes things that he wasn't particularly proud of. Whatever. It didn't matter, wouldn't matter once he got out of the city.

He hated walking through Romero, let alone living there. In the beginning, it had been a nice place. A safe place. These days you had to watch your back. No, the barricades held just as well as they ever had, the undead were largely at bay once you passed through the checkpoint. It was the people you had to worry about. Humans were more dangerous than zombies in a place like this. Old laws of conduct died with the rest of the nation. Sure, there were 'police', but they were largely unconcerned with the crime on the streets as long as it didn't near Elysian Fields. Most people tended not to mess with Detroit, though--they knew he was good for providing. Booze, pills, smokes. Whatever. They weren't terribly concerned with expiration dates. Long as it got them high, or drunk, and made them forget, people would pay for it.

Yeah, the city used to be a nice place, until things started to get scarce. Now it was dirty. Decaying. The sky was a peaceful bright blue overhead, but it did nothing to beautify his surroundings. Detroit fixed his eyes squarely on the towering apartment complex in the center of the city as he walked. Keep your eyes on the prize, Detroit. That was more or less his mantra, these days.

▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐▌▐
•♫ ♪bow down before the one you serve. you're going to get what you deserve.♪♫•

[lingua sounda]

the world changes its look;
at the ends of the earth, sky and sea mingle★

•εxxℓxxιxxנxxαxxнxxxx αxxяxxgxxεxxnxxтxxo•

♔████████████████████████████████♔

Above all else, the one phrase Elijah couldn't stand was 'Master Argento'. He heard it countless times a day. Did they live in the 1800's? Was he some sort of prince? ... well, the second option may have been true enough. However, the moment one of their bodyguards opened his mouth and that phrase fell out, it was Elijah's cue to tune out. Something about how Romero was a very dangerous place for someone like him, how the residents would eat him alive. Blah, blah, it is your father's express intention for me to watch over you. Blah blah blah, I'm not to leave your side. Go ahead and play in your garden. I'll be right here watching.

The man in charge of Elijah's well-being for today was a new recruit; ex-military, having traveled up from some other safe haven a few weeks prior. Elijah was certain that he'd been chosen for his menacing appearance, not his mental capabilities, as he seemed to be laboring under the impression that Elijah was an innocent twelve-year-old or something. The man had excused himself to use the bathroom, and the instant his back was turned Elijah bolted.

It was easy enough to slip out of Elysian Fields unnoticed. There were countless emergency exits and fire escapes, lest the undead actually breach the fence or the rivers surrounding the city. It was simply impossible to man all of these exits at once, though Elijah was sure eventually his father would get on top of the game. Why he was so concerned with keeping him locked up, Elijah would never know. It wasn't like he was incapable of protecting himself.

No, the exits weren't guarded, or even locked; but there were security cameras trained on all of them. Even so, the chances of him being spotted as he was leaving were low. His guardian was more likely to find him missing and run to the security office to check the tapes after the fact. Why not have some fun with it? Elijah grinned. Winked, stuck out his tongue, and flipped the camera an obscene gesture before hauling the door open and making a break for freedom.

The air in Romero was intoxicating. Nothing like the sterile environment in the Fields. Clear. Free. He simply couldn't get enough of it.

By this point, when he made his grand escapes the security team sent out to find him would without fail position themselves at the fence that blocked off the fourth side of the city. Smart enough, but Elijah wasn't exactly adverse to a little difficulty. They all seemed to think that he didn't want to get his hands dirty, and that he'd try to walk right through that gate. No, Elijah's modus operandi was to crawl under the fence down by the river on the north side, and make his way around and out of Romero.

Dodging zombies was a lot easier than people made it out to be. Elijah rarely had trouble with them. He was far from a professional raider--if you could call them 'professional'-- but he'd learned where it was most likely to find goods. Today he'd had a decent haul, seeds from a general store for his garden, some of those junk-food snack cakes that would probably last through a nuclear apocalypse. Typical.

Undead were starting to get restless. Probably meant there were a bunch of raiders out today. Elijah ducked into a nearby alley, back pressed to the wall, and began to work out his path back into the city. Rooftops were probably his best bet, it wasn't like zombies could go up stairs, anyway--

A rustle in the alley startled him, and Elijah jumped. There was someone else in the alley with him! He was ready to bolt, but upon closer inspection... this person was moving with a little more purpose than an undead would have. Elijah bit his lip. ... might as well make his own presence known, lest he surprise this guy and wind up dead.

"... hey." He said before glancing out into the street again. Hadn't drawn any attention to himself yet, that was a plus. "... it's a dead end that way, heads up."

♔████████████████████████████████♔

★if you can, please love me;
please set wings upon my shoulders

[lingua sounda]

S W I N G the heartache, feel it inside out
when the wind cries, I'll say G O O D B Y E

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄♛ εxxιxxяxxoxxsxxxxαxxnxxgxxεxxvxxιxxn

"Alright, raise your left arm for me?"

A pause.

"... no, left. There, that's better."

Notes scribbled down on a clipboard.

"Can you move your eyes?"

Again with the notes.

"Very good. You haven't said a word though. That's troubling. Can you speak?"

"Yes."

"Alright, good. You can hop down now, Eiros."

Carefully Eiros slid himself from the table, keeping his hands flat on the surface to hold his balance. The man holding the clipboard now seemed disinterested in him, eyes trailing along the notes he had been so furiously scribbling down. Eiros watched impassively for a moment, before curiosity got the better of him. "What have you been writing about me?"

A laugh, but not a mean-spirited one. That put Eiros at ease just a bit. The man glanced up at him, over the rims of his glasses. "Nothing bad. You've done very well, don't worry. I'm just taking notes on your status. There were a number of pieces we had to replace, I just needed to make sure they work properly." The clipboard was finally set down, and the man strode over to place his hands on Eiros' shoulders. "And they do. Look good, too. You're all clear to go up for sale, sweetheart."

But he didn't understand. Eiros stared up at him, face blank. "Sale? I'm meant to be sold?"

"Of course you are. That's what you've been made for, you know that." Concern crossed the man's face for a brief moment. "... don't you?"

"Yes, I know that. But... I already have an owner."

A sigh. The man lifted his hands from his shoulders. "We've been over this. Your owner brought you here to be refurbished and resold. Don't you remember?"

"... yes, I remember." Eiros looked away. Sometimes, he wondered if people thought him stupid. However, he supposed the way he'd worded that hadn't been exactly correct. "... I thought he would come back."

"Better to try and forget about it. There's only so much we can remove from your memory without damaging you irreparably." Now the man was patting his head like he was some sort of prize pet. "Now, we're going to shut you down an--"

"Don't! Please, I don't want to turn off!" Eiros knew that his emotions technically weren't real, seeing as how he wasn't really human, but that didn't mean he didn't feel them. Right now, it was panic. Overwhelming panic. The last time he'd been turned off, when he was brought back into daylight he'd been here in this workshop without a clue what had happened. He grabbed the man's arm. "Please."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's not an option."

And that was that. The man had reached up to press the button on Eiros' ear that was disguised as an earring, and Eiros shut down. Shutdowns were the worst feelings--almost like sleep paralysis. He was achingly aware of what was going on around him though he couldn't see or move. He could feel and hear everything, however, and it was evident that he was being packed away in a box. The arrangement wasn't physically uncomfortable, but the isolation and boredom was overwhelming. The only thing Eiros could really do to pass the time was think, and all he could really think about was what he could have possibly done wrong to be re-homed. Hadn't he always been on his best behavior?

It seemed like weeks, but was possibly only days, before he was in motion. This meant, Eiros knew, that he was now in transit to his new home. The idea wasn't particularly comforting, meeting new people wasn't easy for him. He supposed he had been programmed that way. The ride gave him ample time to try and steel himself for the inevitable. More than enough time.

It felt like another eternity before he felt himself in motion again, what he assumed to be a delivery man complaining about the weight of the crate. More complaints, and a lot of uncomfortable knocking about, before he came to a stop once more and heard the delivery man rapping impatiently on the door to his new home. Well, at least he would soon be active again. That was the best thing he had to look forward to.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄♛▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
C R U C I F YxxM YxxL O V E
if it should be the way

[lingua sounda]

ｅｖｅｒｙ ｐ ｒ ｉ ｎ ｃ ｅ ｉｓ ａ ｆ ａ ｎ ｔ ａ ｓ ｙ ← •·.·´¯`·.·•
•·.·´¯`·.·•→ｔｈｅ ＷＩＴＣＨ ｉｓ ｉｎｓｉｄｅ ｏｆ ＭＥ

dxxεxxvxxεxxnxxdxxяxxαxxxx vxxαxxnxxтxxαxxs
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄☠▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Above all else, the one phrase Elijah couldn't stand was 'Master Argento'. He heard it countless times a day. Did they live in the 1800's? Was he some sort of prince? ... well, the second option may have been true enough. However, the moment one of their bodyguards opened his mouth and that phrase fell out, it was Elijah's cue to tune out. Something about how Romero was a very dangerous place for someone like him, how the residents would eat him alive. Blah, blah, it is your father's express intention for me to watch over you. Blah blah blah, I'm not to leave your side. Go ahead and play in your garden. I'll be right here watching.

The man in charge of Elijah's well-being for today was a new recruit; ex-military, having traveled up from some other safe haven a few weeks prior. Elijah was certain that he'd been chosen for his menacing appearance, not his mental capabilities, as he seemed to be laboring under the impression that Elijah was an innocent twelve-year-old or something. The man had excused himself to use the bathroom, and the instant his back was turned Elijah bolted.

It was easy enough to slip out of Elysian Fields unnoticed. There were countless emergency exits and fire escapes, lest the undead actually breach the fence or the rivers surrounding the city. It was simply impossible to man all of these exits at once, though Elijah was sure eventually his father would get on top of the game. Why he was so concerned with keeping him locked up, Elijah would never know. It wasn't like he was incapable of protecting himself.

No, the exits weren't guarded, or even locked; but there were security cameras trained on all of them. Even so, the chances of him being spotted as he was leaving were low. His guardian was more likely to find him missing and run to the security office to check the tapes after the fact. Why not have some fun with it? Elijah grinned. Winked, stuck out his tongue, and flipped the camera an obscene gesture before hauling the door open and making a break for freedom.

The air in Romero was intoxicating. Nothing like the sterile environment in the Fields. Clear. Free. He simply couldn't get enough of it.

By this point, when he made his grand escapes the security team sent out to find him would without fail position themselves at the fence that blocked off the fourth side of the city. Smart enough, but Elijah wasn't exactly adverse to a little difficulty. They all seemed to think that he didn't want to get his hands dirty, and that he'd try to walk right through that gate. No, Elijah's modus operandi was to crawl under the fence down by the river on the north side, and make his way around and out of Romero.

Dodging zombies was a lot easier than people made it out to be. Elijah rarely had trouble with them. He was far from a professional raider--if you could call them 'professional'-- but he'd learned where it was most likely to find goods. Today he'd had a decent haul, seeds from a general store for his garden, some of those junk-food snack cakes that would probably last through a nuclear apocalypse. Typical.

Undead were starting to get restless. Probably meant there were a bunch of raiders out today. Elijah ducked into a nearby alley, back pressed to the wall, and began to work out his path back into the city. Rooftops were probably his best bet, it wasn't like zombies could go up stairs, anyway--





▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄☠▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄


•·.·´¯`·.·•→ｔｈｅ ｓ ｔ ａ ｒ ｗｉｌｌ ｓ ｈ ｉ ｎ ｅ ; ａｎｄ ｔｈｅｎ ｉｔ ｗｉｌｌ ｆ ａ ｌ ｌ
ａｎｄ ｙｏｕ ｗｉｌｌ ＦＯＲＧＥＴ ｉｔ ＡＬＬ← •·.·´¯`·.·•

[lingua sounda]

S W I N G the heartache, feel it inside out
when the wind cries, I'll say G O O D B Y E

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄♛ нxxyxxuxxnxx-xxкxxιxxxx ρxxαxxяxxк

WORDS HAPPEN HERE



▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄♛▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
C R U C I F YxxM YxxL O V E
if it should be the way

[lingua sounda]

底は雨降り　一人蝙蝠　逆さ吊りの堕天使
彼が出会った水玉模様　愛しの君アンブレラ← •·.·´¯`·.·•

cxxнxxιxxαxxкxxιxxxx ιxxмxxαxxι
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Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

In films, it always seemed that the ticking of a clock was dramatically intensified to suit the hopelessness of a moment. Chiaki was, in a numb sort of way, surprised to find that in this moment the second hand's motion really was just that loud. Almost painfully it filled his eardrums, but at the same time he didn't really mind it so much. The noise gave him something to focus on other than the surroundings.

From an early age Chiaki had hated hospitals. It was nothing unusual, he wasn't sure he knew anyone who liked them. However this was too much, seated quietly between his crying mother and solemn father. At this moment, he just wanted to run. It would have been bad enough just being in the hospital itself, but no... he had to be here with grieving parents, waiting to see if his sister was going to die.

Tick-tock.

It didn't make any sense. One moment they'd been driving home from school, Kirie scolding him about a poor grade on a test that he'd hidden from their parents. The next... god, he wasn't even sure what was next. Everything was a blur, the next thing he remembered was his mother bursting into the emergency room.

Tick-tock.

Somehow, Chiaki had managed to come out relatively unscathed. Perhaps a concussion, a few bruises, but other than that fine. Kirie... Chiaki hadn't gotten a good look at her. All he'd seen was blood. Nobody could lose that much blood and live, could they? It was all over him. All over her. Chiaki buried his head in his hands.

His parents were seated beside him, but not immediately so. Chiaki wondered if they would have preferred it be Kirie sitting here. She was always the favourite, the perfect child, the favored child. Chiaki couldn't blame them; not because he thought he was a failure but because he knew just how perfect Kirie really was. He'd loved her just as much as they had, if not more. If only he hadn't missed the bus today. Then she wouldn't have had to come and get him.

Tick-tock.

This was... he couldn't take it. Shakily, Chiaki got to his feet. "I... I gotta.... I gotta go outside." His mother reached up to grab his arm, but his father stopped her. Chiaki was grateful for that. Surely his father knew that he couldn't take it any longer. The look the man gave him was one of understanding. "... just... my phone, you know..." Chiaki stammered, before stuffing his hands into his pockets and stumbling out the doors.

The sun was setting. How long had they been here? Though that stupid clock had been right there, pounding into his brain, Chiaki hadn't thought to look at it. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. The only time that mattered now was how long before they'd call him. Chiaki was dreading it. This was easily the worst feeling he'd ever experienced, even worse than any form of physical pain.

There was a garden outside the hospital. A pretty thing, flowers in bloom, a fountain, but the boy wasn't really looking at it. It was probably there for the exact reason Chiaki was dragging himself toward it--to be a peaceful place for people to wait for horrible news. He dropped himself onto a bench and promptly buried his face in his hands again, elbows resting on his knees.

"Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm sorry. Don't punish Kirie for it..." Chiaki mumbled, voice quavering. Tears were for the weak. Boys didn't cry. "I'll do anything, just... take it back."

As if it were something that could just be revoked. How stupid. Chiaki was finding it harder and harder to breathe, these tears wanted to force themselves out of him at any cost. "Please."





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•·.·´¯`·.·•→黒いフリルさ　一人蝙蝠　雨上がりの堕天使
夕陽に映える影の移動は　宙返りのアンブレラ