Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Carpe Diem
"my journey may be short and sweet"
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2020
- Location
- Hongyuan
I n t r o
Hello! I come to you with this all-new thread that I made out of a sudden craving of mine. I'm looking for something very specific and I hope I can catch one of you's interest with it!
A b o u t M e
I've already written this out on my other thread, but I figure I'll just copy it here for brevity's sake!
- What I Expect/You can Expect of Me
- Kinks
- Character preferences
P l o t
And finally, the actual plot! It's definitely not a rigid idea and we can change it as we like, so feel free to come to me with any ideas you have!
- A G̵̘̼̝̀l̷̝̀i̶̡͍̾t̸̰̾͋c̶̤͐̏́͜ḩ̸̏̈́ in the System
And finally, some writing samples so you can check out my writing style!
"Before we begin, I must once again reiterate to you that this operation will be perilous..."
"Again, sire?"
A crowd of armored soldiers and armed citizens chuckled as they all stood in the middle of a courtyard, facing a calm, cool-headed man with both of his hands behind his back. While they all laughed and patted each other on the shoulders and back, the man, known more colloquially as Casimir the Grim, shook his head and sighed, unamused by how nonchalant they all were.
How could they not be? This would be no different than heading off to battle with one of the most accomplished men of their generation. A man who had singlehandedly beheaded an orc king, a monster three times his size, all while carrying an injured soldier on his back. A man who had succeeded to take back a castle from fireball-slinging and icicle-throwing elves in a botched attempt to conquer the human kingdom with only a hundred men. Not to say anything of the casualties, as more than half of those men had died in the charge and the rest had all but been mauled. Even so, he was famous for how prodigious he was as a leader. There was not a commoner in the capital who hadn't heard his name and didn't seek to serve under him. To the people, he was a hero.
To himself, Casimir Dubois was nothing more than a selfish monster obsessed with his dreams. It was one thing to feel nothing as one directed others to their deaths for one's own glory, to be numbed to the sacrifice of others. There were unfeeling monsters, and then there was him, a man who still held onto his conscience and tried to justify the deaths of the people under him all while holding dearly to his own life. To feel and yet to still sin was a greater transgression in his eyes.
All the men and women in front of him... they could very well die tonight. Each and every one of them had a family and yet they left it all to come to his aid. For what? To save a single man. A man that may as well be dead by now. He didn't even know.
"This is not a game. We are not going for a walk out in the field. Only those whose resolve is like steel should come. Many of you may be branded criminals if things go awry."
"We may as well be criminals in the eyes of the higher-ups, sire." A young knight that could be no older than him spoke up. Marcus Denis, an upstart knight who'd been inspired by him and had fought under Casimir. He was the first to gather under his banner when it came to saving Aimeric Linville, Casimir's childhood friend and one of the only other nobles professing equality within their kingdom. He was quite a talented young man, if not a naive and foolhardy one.
"Marcus. While it may be true that commoners are treated as scum--"
"Enough, sire. Look to the people if you need any confirmation. You are the only hope to our country now. There is not a person here who doubts that." He swung his arm toward the crowd. Though they stood under the moonlight, only torches to light their way, each and every person present wore the same determined visage.
Casimir sighed. He'd hoped to dissuade at least a fistful of them to go back to their families. Maybe then he'd feel like a better person, though he knew deep down that he was still on a fast track to Hell regardless.
"... Very well. I believe I don't need to debrief you once again. We march on." The men and women all cheered boisterously, their bravado at an all-time high. He wondered how long it would last.
The plan was simple. About a month ago, Aimeric Linville had disappeared. Casimir realized this when their usual, secret correspondence had been interrupted. The two nobles had told each other that if one were to be late with their letter by a week, it meant something had gone awry for them. As soon as the clock hit midnight, the nobleman began his investigation, using as many of his resources as he could to get down to the truth. It wasn't easy. Aimeric was a socialite unlike him, coming and going to many different social gatherings to save face while he worked behind the scenes to capture as many slavers as he could. In the end, Casimir pinned it down to a female merchant, known infamously for providing sex slaves to those who were willing to part with a generous lump of gold. After catching her and relieving her of some of her digits to encourage her tongue to move, Casimir found out that Aimeric had been targeted by another noble. He'd been drugged while trying to bust the merchant and taken to his estate, but was never seen thereafter. he followed the bread crumbs, as few as they were until he finally discovered a strange blank in the capital's underground map. Somewhere within the sewers, there was a spot that lead to nowhere.
Casimir wasn't foolish. He knew that if he were to go alone, he'd likely only be captured too. The next few weeks were spent recruiting help, leading up to a total of seventy men and women, assorted from commoners and knights, joining in to follow him in his rescue mission.
They marched out of his estate, scattering to avoid suspicion. Casimir walked alone, shadowed by a group of bodyguards. He was dressed in his usual suit and coat, a flintlock pistol hidden within the breast and a sword on his hip. He avoided the gaze of the knights he passed by as they made their patrols. While commoners might be stopped after a certain time of the night, no one would dare to stop a noble. It was one of the advantages of being one, he supposed. It made reaching his appointed entry point easy enough, at least.
Once in the sewers, it was simply a matter of following his memory. At one point, the flowing waters stopped and only dark corridors were to be found. The odd torch lit the way, but there were many dead ends and, in some cases, false corridors littered with traps. About an hour after they had all left his estate, Casimir reunited with a small force.
"And the rest?" He questioned. Half of the force was meant to stay outside to keep a lookout for anyone entering or leaving, but even with that in mind, there were only about twenty soldiers left.
"Pitfalls, arrow traps... the works, sire. Returning the bodies to the families..." Marcus shook his head with a sigh.
"Out of the question. They knew the risks." What a waste of life. Truly. Casimir couldn't even let himself mourn for a moment, however. He touched the door that he'd only seen from afar up until now.It was made out of mythril, clearly meant to stop something from forcing its way in. Even the castle wasn't equipped so thoroughly. Mythril was worth triple its weight in gold, after all. "The skeleton key?"
Marcus fiddled with it in his hand. A priceless artifact, this skeleton key could be used to open any lock once. Using it for a jailbreak was, according to some wizards, a sin. There were only a handful in the world, after all. But Casimir didn't care. He nodded to the door, directing the knight to open it. Then, as he pulled it open, the soldiers all gathered around. As soon as it was fully open, they stormed in.
What they saw inside was nothing like what they expected. A dank, dark dungeon was what they thought they'd encounter, but this place was... pristine. There was the lingering scent of blood and... something else. Something foreign. They stared at the gray, spotless walls, only hearing the rushing footsteps a moment too late. An arrow flew right by Casimir's ear, catching a man by the throat as he fell with a grunt. Casimir's eyes grew wide as blood splattered on his cheek, momentary shock giving him pause before he drew his blade and rushed the soldier with a crossbow. Before the man, covered in spotless armor, could reload his weapon, his head flew right off his neck with a swift flick of Casimir's wrist. His blade was as quick as it was merciful; the soldier would feel no pain before he was dead, the cut clean across his bloody stump of a neck.
Casimir's soldiers were rallied by the lightning flash of their leader and roared as they rushed the oncoming crowd of guards. What ensued was bloodshed. Only the knights under Marcus were able to hold their own, the commoners doing little more than be meatshields in the battle as Casimir cut down soldier after soldier singlehandedly. By the time the guards had stopped coming, there were only about seven soldiers left. But at least now they'd be able to walk around freely.
"Casi-- Sire...! Come take a look." They spread out to cover as much ground as possible, and after a few minutes, Marcus came back to him, apparently having found something of interest. What it was... it was hard to describe. It seemed like little more than a lump of disfigured meat, cancerous growths all over its... body, if it could even be called that. "Why would they keep this in a cage?"
Casimir wondered too, but then, as if stimulated by the sound of Marcus' voice, the thing... shifted. It was only then that Casimir noticed an eye, looking right at him. Then, he slowly began to notice more features. Dark tufts of hair, a mangled tail. "Beastkin." He sharply surmised with the limited information he had. "It's still alive." If it could even be called living. Casimir drew his blade.
"Sire, what are you doing--?"
"The only thing I can do. Grant it... them, mercy. Tell the others to do the same. Even if it's not moving." The order was concise, giving no space for objections as the noble turned on his boot, his pace that much quicker now that he had a bigger picture. What had they done? What was this place? A glimpse of the Hell he was going to fall into? Or something much worse?
Casimir's mind raced as he walked through cages and cells, cutting down lump after lump of meat, stolen from their identities by something he couldn't even comprehend. There were some that resembled humanoids a little more, but all they could do was groan in pain as Casimir attempted to question them, only to give up and kill them too. Some were aggressive, others cowered, begging to be spared. But living like this was no way of living. He would not claim to be doing them a favor as his blade darkened with blood, his pristine coat becoming soaked in blood.
By the time he came to the very last cell, his countenance was one more fitting of his epithet, his green gaze piercing as he turned to the cell in front of him. The last one. If Aimeric wasn't here...
He wasn't. Instead, he saw white. Words couldn't do justice to the sight in front of him. "You..." His voice left him before he could stop it, breathless and low.
"You're still alive, aren't you...?" A strange question, but after all he'd seen, it seemed to make sense. White tufts of hair, crowned by a pair of round ears. A fluffy white tail and steely blue eyes. "What... happened here?" The next question came out of desperation. He needed answers, anything to make sense of what had occurred here. He grabbed the bars of the cell in an aggressive manner, unbecoming of his usual aloof self.
Then he caught himself, his eyes wide with shock at his behavior. No, she was a victim here. Chances were even she couldn't make sense of anything. "What did they do to you?" And then... pain. Something in him broke momentarily, his cold eyes softening, warming as he looked upon the beautiful being in front of him. So out of place in this hellish place.
"Again, sire?"
A crowd of armored soldiers and armed citizens chuckled as they all stood in the middle of a courtyard, facing a calm, cool-headed man with both of his hands behind his back. While they all laughed and patted each other on the shoulders and back, the man, known more colloquially as Casimir the Grim, shook his head and sighed, unamused by how nonchalant they all were.
How could they not be? This would be no different than heading off to battle with one of the most accomplished men of their generation. A man who had singlehandedly beheaded an orc king, a monster three times his size, all while carrying an injured soldier on his back. A man who had succeeded to take back a castle from fireball-slinging and icicle-throwing elves in a botched attempt to conquer the human kingdom with only a hundred men. Not to say anything of the casualties, as more than half of those men had died in the charge and the rest had all but been mauled. Even so, he was famous for how prodigious he was as a leader. There was not a commoner in the capital who hadn't heard his name and didn't seek to serve under him. To the people, he was a hero.
To himself, Casimir Dubois was nothing more than a selfish monster obsessed with his dreams. It was one thing to feel nothing as one directed others to their deaths for one's own glory, to be numbed to the sacrifice of others. There were unfeeling monsters, and then there was him, a man who still held onto his conscience and tried to justify the deaths of the people under him all while holding dearly to his own life. To feel and yet to still sin was a greater transgression in his eyes.
All the men and women in front of him... they could very well die tonight. Each and every one of them had a family and yet they left it all to come to his aid. For what? To save a single man. A man that may as well be dead by now. He didn't even know.
"This is not a game. We are not going for a walk out in the field. Only those whose resolve is like steel should come. Many of you may be branded criminals if things go awry."
"We may as well be criminals in the eyes of the higher-ups, sire." A young knight that could be no older than him spoke up. Marcus Denis, an upstart knight who'd been inspired by him and had fought under Casimir. He was the first to gather under his banner when it came to saving Aimeric Linville, Casimir's childhood friend and one of the only other nobles professing equality within their kingdom. He was quite a talented young man, if not a naive and foolhardy one.
"Marcus. While it may be true that commoners are treated as scum--"
"Enough, sire. Look to the people if you need any confirmation. You are the only hope to our country now. There is not a person here who doubts that." He swung his arm toward the crowd. Though they stood under the moonlight, only torches to light their way, each and every person present wore the same determined visage.
Casimir sighed. He'd hoped to dissuade at least a fistful of them to go back to their families. Maybe then he'd feel like a better person, though he knew deep down that he was still on a fast track to Hell regardless.
"... Very well. I believe I don't need to debrief you once again. We march on." The men and women all cheered boisterously, their bravado at an all-time high. He wondered how long it would last.
The plan was simple. About a month ago, Aimeric Linville had disappeared. Casimir realized this when their usual, secret correspondence had been interrupted. The two nobles had told each other that if one were to be late with their letter by a week, it meant something had gone awry for them. As soon as the clock hit midnight, the nobleman began his investigation, using as many of his resources as he could to get down to the truth. It wasn't easy. Aimeric was a socialite unlike him, coming and going to many different social gatherings to save face while he worked behind the scenes to capture as many slavers as he could. In the end, Casimir pinned it down to a female merchant, known infamously for providing sex slaves to those who were willing to part with a generous lump of gold. After catching her and relieving her of some of her digits to encourage her tongue to move, Casimir found out that Aimeric had been targeted by another noble. He'd been drugged while trying to bust the merchant and taken to his estate, but was never seen thereafter. he followed the bread crumbs, as few as they were until he finally discovered a strange blank in the capital's underground map. Somewhere within the sewers, there was a spot that lead to nowhere.
Casimir wasn't foolish. He knew that if he were to go alone, he'd likely only be captured too. The next few weeks were spent recruiting help, leading up to a total of seventy men and women, assorted from commoners and knights, joining in to follow him in his rescue mission.
They marched out of his estate, scattering to avoid suspicion. Casimir walked alone, shadowed by a group of bodyguards. He was dressed in his usual suit and coat, a flintlock pistol hidden within the breast and a sword on his hip. He avoided the gaze of the knights he passed by as they made their patrols. While commoners might be stopped after a certain time of the night, no one would dare to stop a noble. It was one of the advantages of being one, he supposed. It made reaching his appointed entry point easy enough, at least.
Once in the sewers, it was simply a matter of following his memory. At one point, the flowing waters stopped and only dark corridors were to be found. The odd torch lit the way, but there were many dead ends and, in some cases, false corridors littered with traps. About an hour after they had all left his estate, Casimir reunited with a small force.
"And the rest?" He questioned. Half of the force was meant to stay outside to keep a lookout for anyone entering or leaving, but even with that in mind, there were only about twenty soldiers left.
"Pitfalls, arrow traps... the works, sire. Returning the bodies to the families..." Marcus shook his head with a sigh.
"Out of the question. They knew the risks." What a waste of life. Truly. Casimir couldn't even let himself mourn for a moment, however. He touched the door that he'd only seen from afar up until now.It was made out of mythril, clearly meant to stop something from forcing its way in. Even the castle wasn't equipped so thoroughly. Mythril was worth triple its weight in gold, after all. "The skeleton key?"
Marcus fiddled with it in his hand. A priceless artifact, this skeleton key could be used to open any lock once. Using it for a jailbreak was, according to some wizards, a sin. There were only a handful in the world, after all. But Casimir didn't care. He nodded to the door, directing the knight to open it. Then, as he pulled it open, the soldiers all gathered around. As soon as it was fully open, they stormed in.
What they saw inside was nothing like what they expected. A dank, dark dungeon was what they thought they'd encounter, but this place was... pristine. There was the lingering scent of blood and... something else. Something foreign. They stared at the gray, spotless walls, only hearing the rushing footsteps a moment too late. An arrow flew right by Casimir's ear, catching a man by the throat as he fell with a grunt. Casimir's eyes grew wide as blood splattered on his cheek, momentary shock giving him pause before he drew his blade and rushed the soldier with a crossbow. Before the man, covered in spotless armor, could reload his weapon, his head flew right off his neck with a swift flick of Casimir's wrist. His blade was as quick as it was merciful; the soldier would feel no pain before he was dead, the cut clean across his bloody stump of a neck.
Casimir's soldiers were rallied by the lightning flash of their leader and roared as they rushed the oncoming crowd of guards. What ensued was bloodshed. Only the knights under Marcus were able to hold their own, the commoners doing little more than be meatshields in the battle as Casimir cut down soldier after soldier singlehandedly. By the time the guards had stopped coming, there were only about seven soldiers left. But at least now they'd be able to walk around freely.
"Casi-- Sire...! Come take a look." They spread out to cover as much ground as possible, and after a few minutes, Marcus came back to him, apparently having found something of interest. What it was... it was hard to describe. It seemed like little more than a lump of disfigured meat, cancerous growths all over its... body, if it could even be called that. "Why would they keep this in a cage?"
Casimir wondered too, but then, as if stimulated by the sound of Marcus' voice, the thing... shifted. It was only then that Casimir noticed an eye, looking right at him. Then, he slowly began to notice more features. Dark tufts of hair, a mangled tail. "Beastkin." He sharply surmised with the limited information he had. "It's still alive." If it could even be called living. Casimir drew his blade.
"Sire, what are you doing--?"
"The only thing I can do. Grant it... them, mercy. Tell the others to do the same. Even if it's not moving." The order was concise, giving no space for objections as the noble turned on his boot, his pace that much quicker now that he had a bigger picture. What had they done? What was this place? A glimpse of the Hell he was going to fall into? Or something much worse?
Casimir's mind raced as he walked through cages and cells, cutting down lump after lump of meat, stolen from their identities by something he couldn't even comprehend. There were some that resembled humanoids a little more, but all they could do was groan in pain as Casimir attempted to question them, only to give up and kill them too. Some were aggressive, others cowered, begging to be spared. But living like this was no way of living. He would not claim to be doing them a favor as his blade darkened with blood, his pristine coat becoming soaked in blood.
By the time he came to the very last cell, his countenance was one more fitting of his epithet, his green gaze piercing as he turned to the cell in front of him. The last one. If Aimeric wasn't here...
He wasn't. Instead, he saw white. Words couldn't do justice to the sight in front of him. "You..." His voice left him before he could stop it, breathless and low.
"You're still alive, aren't you...?" A strange question, but after all he'd seen, it seemed to make sense. White tufts of hair, crowned by a pair of round ears. A fluffy white tail and steely blue eyes. "What... happened here?" The next question came out of desperation. He needed answers, anything to make sense of what had occurred here. He grabbed the bars of the cell in an aggressive manner, unbecoming of his usual aloof self.
Then he caught himself, his eyes wide with shock at his behavior. No, she was a victim here. Chances were even she couldn't make sense of anything. "What did they do to you?" And then... pain. Something in him broke momentarily, his cold eyes softening, warming as he looked upon the beautiful being in front of him. So out of place in this hellish place.
"That one seems healthy, does she not?"
Among the piles of trash and rubble, the sight of a bright, silken kimono stood out like rays of sunlight on a cloudy day, yet she had somehow missed it while scrounging through trash bags for food. The rumbling of her stomach kept her focused, steady, even as her fingertips trembled from the lack of energy. Her nails were rough, jagged, the skin under them bloody from fighting other kids over scraps. Her lower lip was busted and swollen and there was a scar a centimeter or two under her right eye from when one of the burlier kids had tried to gouge her eye out. Her jet black hair was matted and uneven from having been pulled viciously. In a word, she must've looked feral to any outsiders, yet she paid little mind to her appearance. Why would she, when she could barely scrape by enough to survive on any given day? When she was moments away from death and every breath could be the last?
"Her? But Master..."
She didn't even hear them at first even though they were talking over her, watching her as she scavenged. It was only in retrospect that she remembered the look of disdain the man gave her. His hair was graying, a thick moustache practically covering up his mouth and a five o'clock shadow painting over the lower half of his face, as if he'd forgotten to shave this morning. Steely blue eyes stared down at her, looking down upon her like she was less than human. And to him, she may as well have been.
But she didn't care, grabbing his leg and pushing when she saw a potato chip bag under his boot. He, of course, swung his foot to get her off him, sending her flying several meters back and reeling into a pile of cardboard boxes.
"Yes, her. That look in her eyes. She doesn't have any reason to live for, don't you see? If we gave her one..."
Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!
Violet eyes shot open, a hand reflexively shooting towards the source of the noise and grabbing it. A phone, buzzing with the time. Her alarm, set to 5 AM, never failed to awaken her. Unlike most people who dreaded the sound and some even had a guttural reaction to it, she'd never once wished to press the snooze button. But today, for some reason, she simply grabbed the phone and shut off the alarm and stopped to stare up at the ceiling.
A dream... She rarely had those, though the times she did have them were often laden with images of her mistress's face. That was, after all, what she looked at the most every day. But today, she had a dream of that day. A day she'd mostly forgotten about, for it had been but a blur in her life. How ironic that the day her life had changed completely was the day she had most trouble remembering. According to some psychology books she'd read, it was due to the brain shutting off traumatic memories in order to protect itself. For Tsubaki, that had been most of her early life.
She didn't remember the faces of her parents, nor the sound of their voices. According to some of the other family members, they had gotten in with the wrong crowd. Her father, an alcoholic and a gambling addict. Her mother, a drug addict. Both had racked up so much debt that they had no choice but to run away, but they couldn't do so with a child. So they tossed her in the first orphanage they could find and disappeared. Chances were they didn't get very far, but she never found out. She never cared to learn about their fates either.
The orphanage hadn't been kind to her either. Before she was six, there were so many children they could not keep track of them, let alone feed them. One day, she simply wandered off in search of food and never found her way back. They never bothered to look for her. By some miracle, the Kuroiwa clan's head had come out one day to look for something and found her. Satisfied, they grabbed her (and by accounts, she kicked and scratched to the best of her ability) and cleaned her up, fed her and gave her a name. Because her eyes mirrored its color, she was named Tsubaki after the Japanese camellia. For her purpose, Kotone. A small knife, made to protect.
"Ah well..." She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh before rolling over to the edge of the bed, her feet hitting the floor as she sat up straight. She raised both of her arms and pushed out her chest, letting out a soft groan as she stretched them behind her head. There was a soft pop as the air between her joints popped like bubbles and a satisfied grunt escaped from between her lips. With a glance towards the mirror across her bed, she got up and walked past it to her closet, throwing it open to decide on her outfit for the day.
It wasn't like she had that much of a selection, really. She began to unbutton her pyjama shirt, peeling it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as she went to grab a sarashi. While she didn't have the largest bust in the world, it still got in the way when it came to fighting, so she preferred to keep it under wraps (literally too) in the case something came up. She wrapped it around her chest several times, enough that she was sure it was secure, before moving on. Next, she grabbed a gray shirt and threw it on. Her pants and panties came off, changing them out for a pair of black panties and gray sport sweatpants. Finally, she grabbed a navy blue hoodie that she wore open. Slipping on a pair of black running shoes, her outfit was done. While nothing fancy, she preferred comfortable clothes so that she could always be ready in case something happened. Practicality over style, in her case always.
To that same extent, Tsubaki's hair was always worn in a ponytail. While she never kept it long, it hung around neck-length right now. "Maybe I should go get it cut sometime..." she muttered to herself pensively. She just hadn't had time to go lately since she was always so busy taking care of her mistress. And she always felt guilty asking to have something done for herself, so she usually just took the opportunity whenever the mistress went to cut her own hair, but that hadn't happened as of late. Not that she needed the haircut, unlike Tsubaki. Maybe she ought to cut it herself so that she didn't have to annoy her...
"Ah, it's getting a bit late..." With a glance at her phone, she decided to stop daydreaming. As a last thing, Tsubaki pulled the top drawer of her nightstand open and grabbed a pair of brass knuckles, stuffing them into her hoodie pockets. With that extra weight on her shoulders, she felt whole again, the faintest hint of a smile as she pumped herself up for the day and stepped out of her room.
The clan estate was large enough to house several dozens of people at once, but Tsubaki's room was in the far east wing, away from the communal areas. It was small, but had the necessary amenities. A bathroom and a small kitchen were provided for her so that she didn't have to go to the main area. Luckily, the mistress's room was also on the east side, though her room was on the northern side like most of the other children of the head. If she jogged, it was about five minutes. And she always did jog there. Most days, she woke up early to have a run around the neighborhood before picking her up, but today she'd wasted a lot of time in her ruminations. For some reason, she'd found herself thinking a lot.
Hopefully it wasn't a bad omen, because Tsubaki had never been good at thinking. Even with the education provided by the family, she was still more of an act first, think later kind of person.
Thankfully, jogging didn't require thinking, and before she had any time to ponder, she was at her mistress's door. A hand rose up, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door a couple of times, loud enough that it was audible, but not too hard as too be disruptive. Other members of the family got angry if she made too much noise, after all.
"Milady? Are you awake yet? I'll be coming in!" She called out, waiting a moment for an answer before she went to grab the knob and twisted it, pushing forward to step inside and shutting the door behind her before she turned to regard the inside.
"Good morning, Milady. I hope you had a good night's sleep. You'll need it, given that we have our midterm exams today."
Among the piles of trash and rubble, the sight of a bright, silken kimono stood out like rays of sunlight on a cloudy day, yet she had somehow missed it while scrounging through trash bags for food. The rumbling of her stomach kept her focused, steady, even as her fingertips trembled from the lack of energy. Her nails were rough, jagged, the skin under them bloody from fighting other kids over scraps. Her lower lip was busted and swollen and there was a scar a centimeter or two under her right eye from when one of the burlier kids had tried to gouge her eye out. Her jet black hair was matted and uneven from having been pulled viciously. In a word, she must've looked feral to any outsiders, yet she paid little mind to her appearance. Why would she, when she could barely scrape by enough to survive on any given day? When she was moments away from death and every breath could be the last?
"Her? But Master..."
She didn't even hear them at first even though they were talking over her, watching her as she scavenged. It was only in retrospect that she remembered the look of disdain the man gave her. His hair was graying, a thick moustache practically covering up his mouth and a five o'clock shadow painting over the lower half of his face, as if he'd forgotten to shave this morning. Steely blue eyes stared down at her, looking down upon her like she was less than human. And to him, she may as well have been.
But she didn't care, grabbing his leg and pushing when she saw a potato chip bag under his boot. He, of course, swung his foot to get her off him, sending her flying several meters back and reeling into a pile of cardboard boxes.
"Yes, her. That look in her eyes. She doesn't have any reason to live for, don't you see? If we gave her one..."
Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!
Violet eyes shot open, a hand reflexively shooting towards the source of the noise and grabbing it. A phone, buzzing with the time. Her alarm, set to 5 AM, never failed to awaken her. Unlike most people who dreaded the sound and some even had a guttural reaction to it, she'd never once wished to press the snooze button. But today, for some reason, she simply grabbed the phone and shut off the alarm and stopped to stare up at the ceiling.
A dream... She rarely had those, though the times she did have them were often laden with images of her mistress's face. That was, after all, what she looked at the most every day. But today, she had a dream of that day. A day she'd mostly forgotten about, for it had been but a blur in her life. How ironic that the day her life had changed completely was the day she had most trouble remembering. According to some psychology books she'd read, it was due to the brain shutting off traumatic memories in order to protect itself. For Tsubaki, that had been most of her early life.
She didn't remember the faces of her parents, nor the sound of their voices. According to some of the other family members, they had gotten in with the wrong crowd. Her father, an alcoholic and a gambling addict. Her mother, a drug addict. Both had racked up so much debt that they had no choice but to run away, but they couldn't do so with a child. So they tossed her in the first orphanage they could find and disappeared. Chances were they didn't get very far, but she never found out. She never cared to learn about their fates either.
The orphanage hadn't been kind to her either. Before she was six, there were so many children they could not keep track of them, let alone feed them. One day, she simply wandered off in search of food and never found her way back. They never bothered to look for her. By some miracle, the Kuroiwa clan's head had come out one day to look for something and found her. Satisfied, they grabbed her (and by accounts, she kicked and scratched to the best of her ability) and cleaned her up, fed her and gave her a name. Because her eyes mirrored its color, she was named Tsubaki after the Japanese camellia. For her purpose, Kotone. A small knife, made to protect.
"Ah well..." She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh before rolling over to the edge of the bed, her feet hitting the floor as she sat up straight. She raised both of her arms and pushed out her chest, letting out a soft groan as she stretched them behind her head. There was a soft pop as the air between her joints popped like bubbles and a satisfied grunt escaped from between her lips. With a glance towards the mirror across her bed, she got up and walked past it to her closet, throwing it open to decide on her outfit for the day.
It wasn't like she had that much of a selection, really. She began to unbutton her pyjama shirt, peeling it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as she went to grab a sarashi. While she didn't have the largest bust in the world, it still got in the way when it came to fighting, so she preferred to keep it under wraps (literally too) in the case something came up. She wrapped it around her chest several times, enough that she was sure it was secure, before moving on. Next, she grabbed a gray shirt and threw it on. Her pants and panties came off, changing them out for a pair of black panties and gray sport sweatpants. Finally, she grabbed a navy blue hoodie that she wore open. Slipping on a pair of black running shoes, her outfit was done. While nothing fancy, she preferred comfortable clothes so that she could always be ready in case something happened. Practicality over style, in her case always.
To that same extent, Tsubaki's hair was always worn in a ponytail. While she never kept it long, it hung around neck-length right now. "Maybe I should go get it cut sometime..." she muttered to herself pensively. She just hadn't had time to go lately since she was always so busy taking care of her mistress. And she always felt guilty asking to have something done for herself, so she usually just took the opportunity whenever the mistress went to cut her own hair, but that hadn't happened as of late. Not that she needed the haircut, unlike Tsubaki. Maybe she ought to cut it herself so that she didn't have to annoy her...
"Ah, it's getting a bit late..." With a glance at her phone, she decided to stop daydreaming. As a last thing, Tsubaki pulled the top drawer of her nightstand open and grabbed a pair of brass knuckles, stuffing them into her hoodie pockets. With that extra weight on her shoulders, she felt whole again, the faintest hint of a smile as she pumped herself up for the day and stepped out of her room.
The clan estate was large enough to house several dozens of people at once, but Tsubaki's room was in the far east wing, away from the communal areas. It was small, but had the necessary amenities. A bathroom and a small kitchen were provided for her so that she didn't have to go to the main area. Luckily, the mistress's room was also on the east side, though her room was on the northern side like most of the other children of the head. If she jogged, it was about five minutes. And she always did jog there. Most days, she woke up early to have a run around the neighborhood before picking her up, but today she'd wasted a lot of time in her ruminations. For some reason, she'd found herself thinking a lot.
Hopefully it wasn't a bad omen, because Tsubaki had never been good at thinking. Even with the education provided by the family, she was still more of an act first, think later kind of person.
Thankfully, jogging didn't require thinking, and before she had any time to ponder, she was at her mistress's door. A hand rose up, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door a couple of times, loud enough that it was audible, but not too hard as too be disruptive. Other members of the family got angry if she made too much noise, after all.
"Milady? Are you awake yet? I'll be coming in!" She called out, waiting a moment for an answer before she went to grab the knob and twisted it, pushing forward to step inside and shutting the door behind her before she turned to regard the inside.
"Good morning, Milady. I hope you had a good night's sleep. You'll need it, given that we have our midterm exams today."
"So that's why... I think you should... You see, the higher-ups think... It's a bit too much..."
'Ughhh... it's the same shit every day, just different coating.'
Once again, he found himself getting his ear talked off by his so-called "boss". His manager, who had personally headhunted him from some seedy bar down in Shinjuku, in the middle of a red-light district. Had it been an izakaya, or just some run-of-the-mill bar? He'd forgotten at this point. They all smelled the same, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. At the time, he had promised full creative freedom, letting him speak the words that he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, in the ways that he wanted to. He'd pretty much grown tired of dealing with all the drunks back then, so he pretty much jumped at the opportunity and signed.
In his culture, he had inadvertently made a deal with the devil and 'sold out'. His diehard fans were pissed that their little underground idol was moving on up in the world and he was openly sent hate during his debut. Despite his manager advising him that he 'weather the storm', Haru had never been one to hold his tongue when he had something he wanted to say and had pretty much gone on a tirade from day one, waging a single-manned war against his haters.[/FONT][/FONT]
If it had been anybody else, such a rocky start might've spelled doom for a budding artist, but somehow, by some twist of fate, his lack of a filter had actually sold his punk persona on social media. He'd even achieved meme status, with his aforementioned schweet on Y becoming a copypasta for irreverent teenagers to copy and paste whenever they got into an internet argument. Looking back, it was pretty embarrassing, but his manager sent a gift champagne bottle to celebrate the successful debut. It was a shame Haru was straight edge, because the bottle actually looked pretty nice and expensive. He preferred his soda pop, sour and spicy candy and the odd peach yoghurt on a Saturday night while playing Confederation of Myths. Or CoM, for the l33t gamers.
Yeah, he was old-fashioned like that.
"... So if you could lay back on the swearing during live performances, it'd really help us out, Haru. We're one letter from an angry parent away from bankruptcy. Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah sure whatever the fuck you say. Can I go now?"
"Haru..."
"I got you, alright? I won't say shit or fuck in front of the kids anymore. Seriously though, I'm like late to rehearsal already."
"Alright, fine, but I'm serious. Don't say I didn't warn y--"
And he was gone. Before the manager had a chance to finish, the door had shut loudly, the force of it producing a bit of wind to hit his face from all the way to his desk.
"Bossman tore you a new one, huh? What was it this time?"
Apparently, they'd had an audience, because Haru's other bandmates were all sitting around in the hallway waiting. Haru slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a cherry-flavored lollipop that he promptly stuffed into his mouth. "Same old bullshit. Do they want a punk or some canned excuse for one? I didn't sign up to be told what to do..."
"Whatever dude. We get to look at babes as much as we want. Isn't that reward enough?"
"Ugh, not everyone's a perv like you."
Between all the banter, they managed to make it to the rehearsal room. Haru's small hand wrapped around the knob, twisting and pushing forward to step inside...
... And see that someone had been eating into their rehearsal time. How convenient for them.
"Speaking of babes, bro..."
Hana Hidaka. Even Haru would turn his head at the sound of that name. She was fresh talent that had been recruited much in the same way as him, from what he'd heard. Haru had a bit of a disdain for idols in particular, what with the infamous idol industry being what it was and how woefully canned most of the talent was, but Hana was one of the golden exceptions. And that just annoyed him more. He only hated one thing more than he hated artificial talent; and that was being proven wrong. Even though he wanted to denounce idols as all the same with different packaging, Hana was living, breathing evidence that he was wrong.
He'd heard a few of her songs just to properly hate on her, but he ended up liking her music. He'd never broken a phone faster. And growing up rich, he wasn't afraid of breaking his phones, so that was saying something.
"Uh-huh..." When she bumped into him and turned around, he didn't give much of a response, staring at her in the same deadpan fashion that he'd been staring at her before. He didn't give any indication of his annoyance, nor his acceptance of her apology. "Yeah, we're behind schedule already." He answered bluntly, the implication hanging in the air. Get out already. "It's coming." To be frank, he thought the album was turning out like shit. His manager had pressured him into giving it a metal feel despite Haru enjoying pop-punk inspirations more, and his voice was really not meshing with the instrumentals. He really wanted to scrap it all and start over, but they had already released a key single and people were expecting something soon.
"Dude, you got like... no game."
With Hana practically running away, the band was left to practice freely, though the atmosphere was pretty dreary.
"Aghhh, stop, stop. It sounds like shit. Let's take a break..." A few hours later and multiple failed attempts at getting the songs right, Haru finally put a stop to the frustrating practice session. 'Let's take a break' was code for 'you're free to ditch', after all. He couldn't stop the practice early since his manager would ask questions, but if someone just ditched they couldn't just keep going with the practice, so it was easier to just pin the blame on one person. At worst, they'd just get replaced by someone else next session. They were all contracted by the agency and Haru had gone through about six different band members in the time he'd been signed, so it was pretty par for the course.
While the others mingled for a bit, Haru went straight for the door, hoping that a bit of fresh air might help him get his mind in order.
Tokyo nights were their own beast. There was nothing quite like it as far as he was concerned. The air was cold yet buzzing with energy. The footsteps were like a heartbeat, erratic yet melodious. There was a pungent smell of cigarette smoke and fried food hanging in the air. Haru was both disgusted and amazed by it in varying degrees.
Thump. Thump.
Speaking of footsteps, he was pretty sure he could hear something approaching. It sounded equal amounts of far and nearby. And there was... shouting? Screaming?
Haru followed the strange sounds, hand in the pocket of his hoodie and his converse shoes tapping against the pavement as the sound lead him to an alleyway. Except... it looked different. Haru could make out the outline of something. And the energy... it was thrumming. It was beckoning. He walked forward, minding his step as he walked "through" whatever it was.
"Wha--" And he was greeted with... a faceful of ass right in front of him. For some reason, Hana Hidaka was bent over her knees on the floor. While far from an unpleasant sight, his brow furrowed in concern as he walked over, pausing as the ground began to shake.
Thump. Thump. "Uh... why is no one, like, reacting to that...?" He pointed up at the creature towering over the buildings. It was like something out of a Rodzilla movie. In fact, he was pretty sure it was out of a movie. He'd seen it. Maybe.
And yet no one was reacting to it. No one other than him... and Hana. And all Hana was doing was scream. Not helpful at all. "STOP SCREAMING! I CAN'T THINK!! Hmmm...?"
Haru's eyes fell on the glimmering pendants on the floor. There was something about them that was... calling him. He stepped forward, bending down at the knees to grab the yin pendant. The moment he touched it, he could feel a warm glow spreading through his body. "Wh-What's... going on...?" A thousand thoughts rushed into him. Memories, ideas, flashes of moments past, present and future.
But above them all, the words were the only thing that were clear within the confusing mess of information.
The energy took form, wrapping around Haru's body and hugging her. A strange uniform took shape, hugging her body.
And as her feet hit the ground, the first thing she felt was... a breeze? "Wait... huh? What..." She looked down at herself, her eyes falling on the skirt... skirt? Why was she wearing a skirt?!
"H-Huh...? Huh?? Huhhhh?!?! Wh-What? Why does my voice sound like that?" Though still somewhat deep, her voice had taken a feminine sound to it, which disoriented her. It sounded like her, but it wasn't her. What...?
"Hey...!" Haru called out to Hana. "What just happened?! What's wrong with me?!" In truth, she doubted Hana would know more than her, but she'd take any explanation at this point.
Thump. Thump. Oh right, and there was that thing still coming. In fact, that whole lightshow had caught its attention, and it was now making a direct beeline for them. But Haru didn't care right now. There were more important issues!
'Ughhh... it's the same shit every day, just different coating.'
Once again, he found himself getting his ear talked off by his so-called "boss". His manager, who had personally headhunted him from some seedy bar down in Shinjuku, in the middle of a red-light district. Had it been an izakaya, or just some run-of-the-mill bar? He'd forgotten at this point. They all smelled the same, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. At the time, he had promised full creative freedom, letting him speak the words that he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, in the ways that he wanted to. He'd pretty much grown tired of dealing with all the drunks back then, so he pretty much jumped at the opportunity and signed.
In his culture, he had inadvertently made a deal with the devil and 'sold out'. His diehard fans were pissed that their little underground idol was moving on up in the world and he was openly sent hate during his debut. Despite his manager advising him that he 'weather the storm', Haru had never been one to hold his tongue when he had something he wanted to say and had pretty much gone on a tirade from day one, waging a single-manned war against his haters.[/FONT][/FONT]
If it had been anybody else, such a rocky start might've spelled doom for a budding artist, but somehow, by some twist of fate, his lack of a filter had actually sold his punk persona on social media. He'd even achieved meme status, with his aforementioned schweet on Y becoming a copypasta for irreverent teenagers to copy and paste whenever they got into an internet argument. Looking back, it was pretty embarrassing, but his manager sent a gift champagne bottle to celebrate the successful debut. It was a shame Haru was straight edge, because the bottle actually looked pretty nice and expensive. He preferred his soda pop, sour and spicy candy and the odd peach yoghurt on a Saturday night while playing Confederation of Myths. Or CoM, for the l33t gamers.
Yeah, he was old-fashioned like that.
"... So if you could lay back on the swearing during live performances, it'd really help us out, Haru. We're one letter from an angry parent away from bankruptcy. Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah sure whatever the fuck you say. Can I go now?"
"Haru..."
"I got you, alright? I won't say shit or fuck in front of the kids anymore. Seriously though, I'm like late to rehearsal already."
"Alright, fine, but I'm serious. Don't say I didn't warn y--"
And he was gone. Before the manager had a chance to finish, the door had shut loudly, the force of it producing a bit of wind to hit his face from all the way to his desk.
"Bossman tore you a new one, huh? What was it this time?"
Apparently, they'd had an audience, because Haru's other bandmates were all sitting around in the hallway waiting. Haru slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a cherry-flavored lollipop that he promptly stuffed into his mouth. "Same old bullshit. Do they want a punk or some canned excuse for one? I didn't sign up to be told what to do..."
"Whatever dude. We get to look at babes as much as we want. Isn't that reward enough?"
"Ugh, not everyone's a perv like you."
Between all the banter, they managed to make it to the rehearsal room. Haru's small hand wrapped around the knob, twisting and pushing forward to step inside...
... And see that someone had been eating into their rehearsal time. How convenient for them.
"Speaking of babes, bro..."
Hana Hidaka. Even Haru would turn his head at the sound of that name. She was fresh talent that had been recruited much in the same way as him, from what he'd heard. Haru had a bit of a disdain for idols in particular, what with the infamous idol industry being what it was and how woefully canned most of the talent was, but Hana was one of the golden exceptions. And that just annoyed him more. He only hated one thing more than he hated artificial talent; and that was being proven wrong. Even though he wanted to denounce idols as all the same with different packaging, Hana was living, breathing evidence that he was wrong.
He'd heard a few of her songs just to properly hate on her, but he ended up liking her music. He'd never broken a phone faster. And growing up rich, he wasn't afraid of breaking his phones, so that was saying something.
"Uh-huh..." When she bumped into him and turned around, he didn't give much of a response, staring at her in the same deadpan fashion that he'd been staring at her before. He didn't give any indication of his annoyance, nor his acceptance of her apology. "Yeah, we're behind schedule already." He answered bluntly, the implication hanging in the air. Get out already. "It's coming." To be frank, he thought the album was turning out like shit. His manager had pressured him into giving it a metal feel despite Haru enjoying pop-punk inspirations more, and his voice was really not meshing with the instrumentals. He really wanted to scrap it all and start over, but they had already released a key single and people were expecting something soon.
"Dude, you got like... no game."
With Hana practically running away, the band was left to practice freely, though the atmosphere was pretty dreary.
The battle with anxiety
boils up out of the darkness of my closed eyes...
boils up out of the darkness of my closed eyes...
... Why would you? Why would I?
The answer is clear
We'll stand up to something bigger than us
That's right...
The answer is clear
We'll stand up to something bigger than us
That's right...
"Aghhh, stop, stop. It sounds like shit. Let's take a break..." A few hours later and multiple failed attempts at getting the songs right, Haru finally put a stop to the frustrating practice session. 'Let's take a break' was code for 'you're free to ditch', after all. He couldn't stop the practice early since his manager would ask questions, but if someone just ditched they couldn't just keep going with the practice, so it was easier to just pin the blame on one person. At worst, they'd just get replaced by someone else next session. They were all contracted by the agency and Haru had gone through about six different band members in the time he'd been signed, so it was pretty par for the course.
While the others mingled for a bit, Haru went straight for the door, hoping that a bit of fresh air might help him get his mind in order.
Tokyo nights were their own beast. There was nothing quite like it as far as he was concerned. The air was cold yet buzzing with energy. The footsteps were like a heartbeat, erratic yet melodious. There was a pungent smell of cigarette smoke and fried food hanging in the air. Haru was both disgusted and amazed by it in varying degrees.
Thump. Thump.
Speaking of footsteps, he was pretty sure he could hear something approaching. It sounded equal amounts of far and nearby. And there was... shouting? Screaming?
Haru followed the strange sounds, hand in the pocket of his hoodie and his converse shoes tapping against the pavement as the sound lead him to an alleyway. Except... it looked different. Haru could make out the outline of something. And the energy... it was thrumming. It was beckoning. He walked forward, minding his step as he walked "through" whatever it was.
"Wha--" And he was greeted with... a faceful of ass right in front of him. For some reason, Hana Hidaka was bent over her knees on the floor. While far from an unpleasant sight, his brow furrowed in concern as he walked over, pausing as the ground began to shake.
Thump. Thump. "Uh... why is no one, like, reacting to that...?" He pointed up at the creature towering over the buildings. It was like something out of a Rodzilla movie. In fact, he was pretty sure it was out of a movie. He'd seen it. Maybe.
And yet no one was reacting to it. No one other than him... and Hana. And all Hana was doing was scream. Not helpful at all. "STOP SCREAMING! I CAN'T THINK!! Hmmm...?"
Haru's eyes fell on the glimmering pendants on the floor. There was something about them that was... calling him. He stepped forward, bending down at the knees to grab the yin pendant. The moment he touched it, he could feel a warm glow spreading through his body. "Wh-What's... going on...?" A thousand thoughts rushed into him. Memories, ideas, flashes of moments past, present and future.
But above them all, the words were the only thing that were clear within the confusing mess of information.
"In darkness, there is light...
In light, there is darkness...
Harmony and chaos...
Destruction before creation..."
Energy coursed through him with each word that he spoke, a purple, iridescent light enveloping him. It lifted him from the floor and he simply allowed it to wrap around him like a blanket, his eyes closing as he let the chant flow from his lips.In light, there is darkness...
Harmony and chaos...
Destruction before creation..."
"Truth is my justice, and justice is my truth...
Let my soul resonate...
And my name be known to all evildoers...
Sparkle... ☆Melody!"
Though the last line was a bit too embarrassing, he (now she) cried it out, the sound of her voice ringing out for the world to hear!Let my soul resonate...
And my name be known to all evildoers...
Sparkle... ☆Melody!"
The energy took form, wrapping around Haru's body and hugging her. A strange uniform took shape, hugging her body.
And as her feet hit the ground, the first thing she felt was... a breeze? "Wait... huh? What..." She looked down at herself, her eyes falling on the skirt... skirt? Why was she wearing a skirt?!
"H-Huh...? Huh?? Huhhhh?!?! Wh-What? Why does my voice sound like that?" Though still somewhat deep, her voice had taken a feminine sound to it, which disoriented her. It sounded like her, but it wasn't her. What...?
"Hey...!" Haru called out to Hana. "What just happened?! What's wrong with me?!" In truth, she doubted Hana would know more than her, but she'd take any explanation at this point.
Thump. Thump. Oh right, and there was that thing still coming. In fact, that whole lightshow had caught its attention, and it was now making a direct beeline for them. But Haru didn't care right now. There were more important issues!
I dunno how to fix the spoiler thing on that last one so I just won't! That said, I hope to hear back from one or two of you at least!
Last edited: