Hello all.
I am not, in fact, dead - but I did want to drop in and say I'll probably be absent for a while longer due to medical reasons.
Not to go into any gross detail or alarm anyone, but it turns out that writing slump and low energy I've been having recently have been partially because I've been fighting an infection
the tldr is, I have benign tumor that needs to get removed with surgery. I'm not in any danger - any complications are being controlled with antibiotics right now. But we are looking at probably at least a month's worth of time in waiting.
I need to be in a lower-activity blog in the meantime if I want to get back into writing slowly so I'll be over at @light-and-lightning
sorry for the inconvenience !!
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@miraruinada ( Rachel Posts Valentine's stuff a week late let's go )
This had been difficult. Not in any earth-shattering or even life-risking way - that kind of stress would have been easier for Nobukatsu to manage than this. But it had required the archer to face the kind of crippling anxiety he was continuously burdened by; to ask for help and engage in conversation from his supposed allies in Chaldea.
He detested it. He'd much rather spite a foe than to beg to someone that he knew could deny him help. One was a simple acceptance of fate, the other a intolerable tension within him as he waited on a response.
Maybe it was because it was so unsual for him to interact with the other heroic spirits that Tamamo Cat and Boudica had accepted to help him, as they must have found his situation pitiable. While sister was incredible at so many things - cooking had never been one of them. It'd be impossible to guide him through this.
Admittedly, it's not as bad as he thought it would be. Though he does flinch when Cat runs a bit too quickly around the kitchen, and begins to cower when Boudica tries to pat his head, they both don't scold him in the way he feared. ( The worse he gets a few snide remarks from the cat, more commenting on his strange behavior than anything ).
"I'm still not very happy with the results" he admits. He can't keep from criticizing himself, even when he's just handed Xiang the box of simple, heart-shaped milk chocolates. They're not completely uniform, and there's often the remnants of a drizzle on pieces which represent his shaking hands at the time.
"But I really wanted to give this to you today."
-Was that all he could really come up with? How laughable.
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( You know I've been wondering why I've been so stressed coming back to work and unable to focus on writing lately )
Nearly 2 weeks later I realize its because I'm caught trying help two co-workers with declining mental health get back on track. And that's not to downplay what they're going through ( both very different problems ) or put the focus on only myself, but I never really understood how much anxiety you could get out of two people losing their ability to prioritize or stick to a productive routine
but its also kinda crappy to get pushed to the side when I'm the one asking for help or treated like an annoyance when I'm trying to politely hint they forgot to open their phone line for emergencies, ect.
I don't think they're doing it maliciously, but I also feel like I can't ignore it if its negatively impacting the function of the clinic ( and tbh my mental state as well ?? )
idk call me out if I'm being the asshole here but im starting to get exhausted
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This situation made him dreadfully nervous at first. It was, thankfully, a far cry from the amount of tension he'd used to build up in his body whenever his father ushered him into a separate room - the amount of fear back then being comparable to that of being locked in a room with a ticking time bomb. In contrast, he could be at least comforted by the fact if Xiang meant him harm, she'd had already voiced it.
"...that's very thoughtful. There was no need to go through that trouble." He replies to her first words in a formal, detached voice. It doesn't match the way his eyes glance over his shoulder, nor the way his hand grips hers a bit too tightly as he's dragged along.
He isn't scared, but he is uncomfortable. Not with her actions, but the separation from his sister at such a monumental event. It plagues both his jealousy and paranoia to see her around so many people. Or maybe he was just naturally this tense? It was so difficult to tell now.
A small part of that tension seems to drift away in an exhaled breath as he sees the decoration in the breakroom. Though they're not really festivities he grew up with, they'd started becoming part of his memories at Chaldea now; bringing with them a sense of comforting familiarity.
"I never knew a time without war. I don't think anyone back then could remember what times of peace were like to begin with."
Even as a child, he'd been raised on military tactics and strategies. Things he was always too stupid to really understand. Nowhere close to the level sister had for own amusement ( and against their father's will ). - But this isn't about him, is it?
"...It must be wonderful to have memories like that. It's amazing that you can take your mind away from the violent ones."
Unlike him. His is stuck on a loop, cemented in the fear of his childhood self.
"It doesn't surprise me that history remembers it that way, though. Context fades with time. A man can live for a hundred years - yet only have his worst moments immortalized far beyond his own time. Details and morality are always lost in the process."
He must be feeling more relaxed now - since he doesn't share his own opinions or interpretations so easily; Probably because the image of Xiang as a teacher rather than a warmonger was a comforting one. But it still feels strange to sit in a chair rather than be on his knees. His palms rest on his legs in a polite, but timid fashion as he continues to listen-
I want you to know me because I want to know you
-but, he feels his mind start to go blank after hearing that. He can hear she's talking - but it takes a while for the beating of his own heart in his ears to quiet down enough to make out the specifics. Eyes downcast towards his lap.
" But I'm...I'm really not that interesting...I'm just Nobunaga's little brother; nothing more ...."
It's no good. He really shouldn't be getting this worked up over such a simple statement. He must be looking like a real fool right now - and after she'd worked so hard over this too! He should be happy over this, shouldn't he?
"I'm just- a n-nobody.... " The ache in his throat he gets as he says those words is what brings his attention to the fact he's started crying. ( Again? When did he even start? ) Hands ball up into fists as he clutches the hair on his head.
"No, no - I know I shouldn't be saying that...." Teeth grind against each other, trying to fight decade-old instincts as he gets up from his seat. "I'm sorry. I'm messing this all up, aren't I? You did all of this for me, and here I am - not being able to accept it..."
He wasn't used to being treated like a human being, never mind someone worthy of someone else's time like this. He can't relax while all of this is going on, much less focus on the food.
It's an act of desperation to stumble over to her, practically throwing himself onto her. One hand grips and claws to hold onto the fabric at her back, the other attempts to cover his face as he lays it on her shoulder.
"Thank you - thank you so much for believing in me..."
Despite the tears, he'd also started to smile.
He couldn't quite pinpoint where that had started either.
@nobuverse (Merry Christmas, Katsu.)
"Of course, making that Zepacna Fried Chicken venture was out of me and nisakun's desire to join the festivities, but there was another reason why I wanted to do it."
Xiang had dragged Nobukatsu away from everyone else and to a now emptied breakroom. Before closing the door, she slapped an occupied sign. This occupied sign read, 'If anyone dares to open this door, you will be met with a hail of holy bullets'.
At least, in the breakroom, there was a more jolly atmosphere than the sign outside. It was decorated with wreaths, tinsel hanging everywhere, and the sole table and two chairs in the middle had been draped over with cloth that was very obviously made on the loom of her people's traditions, with various little designs of holiday figures like a large tree pattern dotted with twinkling stars, baubles, and everything that shouted Christmas cheer.
"Did you know only ten years of my life were spent in war? Even though everyone sees me as a bloodthirsty warmonger, I truly spent less time waging war than nisakun did. Nisakun's last half of life was almost fourteen years of war. Yet he's seen as the peaceful one. Legends are so silly that way, are they not? Most of my life, I was a schoolteacher and a farrier. My most vivid memories are actually grading the calligraphy of the Kiiche script my students wrote in and the times I'd heat up horseshoes and hammered them to the shape of the hoof I would nail them on. But history remembers me as the bloody subcommander during the Great Island War and though it was a defensive war to stop a collective invasion from the other Cemanahuac island kingdoms to stamp out our collective syndicate states, history remembers it as my opportunistic vie to conquer all the other islands and the Calusa Peninsula, yet most did not join the Grand Union until ten years after I retired once the war was finished."
She speaks as she's setting up plates and utensils on the table, a couple of earthenware cups that she filled with a sweet alcohol that was served in her village of youth, and a single incense tray to the side to symbolize Tohil's bountiful harvests and hunts.
"Of course, I tell you my life's story because I want you to know me... Still, I want you to know me because I want to know you. History generally remembers only the major events sprinkled in a life. I'm a schoolteacher to myself. I want to get to know who you are to yourself and not to history. That's why..."
She places a bucket of fried chicken in the center of the table and a set of earthenware bowls covered with earthenware lids around it. Opening them up revealed potato chips, peppers and onions pickled in brine, and a honey-habanero sauce for dipping. On the bucket of fried chicken was a highly stylized cap, modeled after Ignacio's, with ZFC in bold. Zepacna Fried Chicken.
"Ah, fried chicken came to us by way of Aberewa migrants, who used to fry meats in fats to give them a longer shelf life. We didn't fry with fats, the oil we had was so hard to extract that we mostly used it for soaps and for cooking by lighting it like a stove. There wasn't many animals with enough fat to dredge fry. The Aberewa migrants brought those animals to us, like beef tallow and such. We fried turkeys, mostly. Then the Motusa migrants brought the chicken. Well, they did long before, but it finally came to us from trade with southern Cemanahuac. Houtu brought us the wheat flour that we now fry them with, since before that we used corn flour. The potato chips came from the Tawantinsuyu in the south on our continent."
This detailed little diatribe was spoken as she set all the plates, including an earthenware plate with a pile of tortillas wrapped in cloth.
"Anyway, that's why I wanted to share Christmas dinner with you. I learned that in modern times, Fuso--I mean, Japan has the tradition of eating fried chicken for Christmas and that it's considered a romantic holiday in some sense, so..."
She served the fried chicken and sides on Nobukatsu's plate first, then on her own, she finally sat down on the chair across from the other, and rolled the sleeves of her robes before taking a stick and lighting the incense in the tray. An aromatic smell spread in the room, meant to set the mood.
"I want to get to know you better by way of sharing our commonalities, even if it's strictly from a period of time we never experienced. So--Oh! I almost forgot!" She then took out another earthenware bowl and placed it on the table right next to Nobukatsu's plate and opened the lid to show it full of fluffy white rice, steam rising from it.
"Not the biggest fan of it, but dig in. We wait for the guest to take the first bite."
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