#v; despair's fractured mirror

[quickdeaths]

@more-than-a-princess

Still confined to her cabin from sundown to sunup, and still bound by handcuffs when in transit, Shinobu wouldn't describe herself as having any abundance of freedom. Yet, the opportunity to sit with someone and eat together was one she'd missed, and among the current conscious inhabitants of Jabberwock Island, there was no one she'd rather take a meal with than Ayaka. The restaurant on the hotel's second floor was mostly empty, with the others not likely coming for breakfast for an hour or so. Enough time for Shinobu to eat and be off to the beach, rather than have to encounter everyone all at the same time, before she was ready. No, it was better to keep it to herself, and Ayaka, as well as Shinobu's Future Foundation handler.

The man from before had gone back home, so this man was someone new to her. They imagined that was much the point - that there be enough churn through their various handlers that there wouldn't be any chance of attachment in either direction. He was supposed to have removed her handcuffs for her to eat, but instead he sat on the other side of the restaurant, jacket pulled back and folded in an unnatural way to make clear the gun at his hip. It was petty, Shinobu thought, but there wasn't much she could do about it. He was to bring her to the restaurant to eat with Ayaka, then take her to the beach and remove the handcuffs so she could fish. How she managed to eat, with her hands behind her back, was her business.

"Hey. Eat." For her part, Ayaka Sato had a bite of a fruit tart on the end of Shinobu's fork, piled high with pastry cream and berries, and her tone of voice made obvious how non-negotiable her request was. "Mm," Shinobu murmured, complying without any resistance. Being fed like a child was embarrassing, but what use was shame, anymore. Ayaka speared another tart with the fork, sparing a moment to glare towards the Future Foundation agent. How she mustered any fire at all in those weary green eyes flecked with pink, Shinobu couldn't begin to guess. "I appreciate it, Ayaka. Your help, and your company."

The chef gave a small grunt that Shinobu took as acknowledgement. "I'm not gonna let you smash your face into the breakfast I made, so it's not like there's anything else I can do." Outwardly, Ayaka Sato hadn't changed. Her tongue was still sharp, and her body wasn't so obviously damaged as her own, or some of the others'. No, Ayaka's scars were inside. "Shinobu," she started, looking back to the archer with a softening expression, "you don't look as tired as usual. Are you sleeping better?" "No." "Right." It was a question with an answer so obvious that there wasn't any reason to ask it, aside from a discomfort with silence. "I had coffee this morning. I'm feeling a bit more energetic than usual because of it, that's all." Ayaka made a face, like she wasn't sure how to take that explanation. "Where did you get coffee here?" There was a cheap instant coffee machine sitting on a dirty countertop only a few feet away, but they'd run out of pods within a week, and to call the coffee so much as 'drinkable' in the first place was, in Shinobu's estimation, undue praise.

"Nevermind-san. The princess." There was a quiet moment as Ayaka looked at Shinobu, seeming to be searching her face for something. When she found it - or didn't, perhaps - she nodded. "Oh. I spoke to her at the farm recently. She said she'd drop some things off for me to cook with." There were a few moments of silence, sporadically filled only with the sounds of eating, when Ayaka brought another forkful of fruit to Shinobu's lips as she asked a question. "What do you think about her being here?" Shinobu frowned, swallowing before answering. "I'm... not sure yet." "Mm." Surely Ayaka had some sort of thought of her own about the situation, but perhaps out of some respect for how Shinobu was handling things, it appeared she'd rather keep it to herself. "Just don't overdo it, if you're not up to something." "Right. Thank you, Ayaka."

It was that conversation that came to the forefront of Shinobu's mind as she saw Sonia walking up the beach in what seemed to have become a semi-regular occurrence. What did they think about her being here? It was strange, to be so near the person she had longed to kill, whose existence had consumed her own for so long, yet not remember why it had been so important to orchestrate her demise. Perhaps they'd had some sort of connection? At the boundaries of her shattered memories, Shinobu could remember so many faceless girls, but it seemed implausible that someone as distinguished as Sonia Nevermind could have been among them.

Or, maybe it was a simple extension of her competitive spirit. The members of Hope's Peak Academy who she'd killed had died so easily, without even putting up a fight, and even top military snipers had proved terribly boring. It might have simple been the case that Novoselic was a puzzle to solve, with a dead princess as the prize. A nation locked tight, with guns and tanks behind every alleyway, where the entire population was on some level combat-capable. The despair that came when their borders were breached and their beloved princess' corpse revealed to them would have been a fitting tribute to Junko.

No... that didn't sound quite right, either, but thinking further on it just brought another headache, prompting the archer to shake their head weakly. At least they didn't have to worry about a collar tightly chafing their neck. Her burns were starting to heal, slathered with ointment that stimulated healing while protecting from the sun. Something else to thank Sonia for, in addition to the coffee. "Hello, Nevermind-san." The fish weren't biting much today, and Shinobu stuck the end of her rod in the sand as she stood to face the princess, even though she still couldn't meet her gaze. Why did she keep coming here? "If you're here to fish, I'm afraid it isn't going well today." Thankfully, there was enough of a stockpile that a day or two with little to show for her efforts wouldn't be much issue.

"Although, if it's just a matter of having some time away from other responsibilities, I'm not in any position to judge." What anyone, princess or not, did with their time in this barely-living world wasn't their concern. Whatever right she had to cast judgment on others had been surrendered long ago. "I've heard you've been busy since you arrived." Having greeted her appropriately, in her mind, Shinobu returned to the sand, fitting hands around the rod even with the knowledge that there'd likely be no tug against the line. "Though, that shouldn't surprise me. This isn't a social visit, or a vacation. No one would come here without good reason."

And good reason, Sonia Nevermind must have had - whatever it was. Not Shinobu's place to pry. "Ayaka - that is, Sato-san - mentioned she spoke to you a few days ago, about bringing some ingredients for her to cook with. I hope she expressed her appreciation properly." Likely, she did, and Shinobu didn't need to make excuses for her, if not. Still... pretending to have any decorum left, trying to adhere in some small ways to things like respect and proper etiquette had its benefits. "I imagine everyone else is getting a little tired of the same few meals." Those who ate much, anyway.

"Oh, that reminds me." Decorum. Respect. Reciprocity. "Here." They'd finished it the night earlier, taking a few passes to get used to the cheap ballpoint pens. There were worse ways to fill the hours inside the cabin. Carefully laid inside of her tackle box, to be protected from the elements and kept from creasing or wrinkling, Shinobu pulled out the paper with the ink drawing and held it out for Sonia to take. "It's from memory, and my memory is uniquely poor, so I don't know how accurate it might be. Still, it's some token of appreciation. For the coffee, and the burn cream."

Despite Shinobu's prefaces, the ink portrait of a makango was clearly drawn with a lot of care, the delicate hatching and gentle shading touch making up for poor tools. Given how many failed efforts were in the cabin's wastebasket, she'd hoped it was at least a passable effort. "I hear that the art of serial killers often carries some strange value," she muttered. Why did she know that? "If that's still true, then, perhaps that might be useful to you in some way. A positive takeaway from your trip, or something you could speak of in an interview. You could say that someone else drew it, if that would be easier."

#morethanaprincess #c; the sun-slaying arrow #v; despair's fractured mirror #let me know if you'd like anything changed! #I assume this is maybe like a week or so after Sonia arrived

[pusaymarea]

fu pussi I Am That Raven Da(ll)ia

In the moon's shadow, where whispers entwine, I emerge, a raven with feathers of obsidian wine. Da(ll)ia, they call me, a paradox in flight, A cipher etched in ink, veiled by the night.

I. The Raven's Cry From the ebon boughs, I watch the world unfold, My eyes, twin mirrors reflecting stories untold. The streets bleed secrets, asphalt stained with dread, And I, the silent witness, weave truth's fragile thread.

II. Midnight's Veil Da(ll)ia, they say, a name half-formed, A riddle whispered by the wind, a tempest unsworn. Am I the Black Dahlia reborn, petals severed and strewn? Or a spectral guardian, veiled in the crescent moon?

III. The Nexus of Pain In the alleys where love turns to ash, I trace the scars of broken vows, the echoes of a clash. Domestic violence, a symphony of shattered glass, Each note a plea for solace, each bruise a fractured mask.

IV. The Raven's Redemption But listen closely, for within my midnight song, Hope unfurls its wings, and courage marches strong. I am not merely shadow; I am resilience reborn, A beacon for the bruised, a promise of the morn.

V. Breaking the Chains Norma Jean, the resilient guardian, stands tall, Her heart a forge, where pain turns to gall. Marilyn, the enchantress, weaves spells of light, Her allure a shield against the darkest night.

Max, the rebel guardian, phases through despair,, His defiance a battle cry slicing through air.; And Sarah, Angel of All in gravity's embrace, Her fragile form testament to strength and grace.

VI. The Mona Lisa's Smile Within The Nexus Nexus,

We converge, The O.H. Club's enigma our purpose to urge. The Mona Lisa's gaze portal to forgotten lore, We seek redemption's brushstroke truth to restore.

VII. Rise Phoenix Rise So let raven's cry echo through time, As petals fall wounds heal bells chime. I am that raven Da(ll)ia shadow and light, In unity we rise reclaiming fractured night. Note: Black Dahlia case remains mystery b

#proof trumps innocent

[unclefungusthegoat]

Will The Circle Be Unbroken? - Far Cry 5 Week (Day 6): Music

Hello all! So in all honesty, I wrote most of this an entire year ago hahaha, for the Hope County Gothic Festival but got really shy about posting it. But I figured I could use it for the Far Cry 5 Week, for the Music day! It’s a songfic, featuring a song that I really wish had been in the game - Will The Circle Be Unbroken and it’s FUNERAL FIC HOOORAAAAY. 

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F1l6xXLSI0

Get ready for some ALTERNATIVE EULOGIES too, because sadness is fun.

This can be read on AO3: HERE

All my FC5 Week fics can be read: HERE

Trigger Warnings: Canonical Major Character Deaths, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Drowning, Decomposition, Fire and Funeral Pyres

The ceasefire was fragile.

Undefined.

No flag upon ramparts, or ink marked on a page. Just an agreement, whispered, gestured and silently promised, that a single night would be set apart for retrieval and burial of the dead. Sundown until sunrise. Not a shot to be fired, confession to be heard, building to be bombed, or heretic strung up. Just stillness and rest. A new Sabbath, of sorts. And for the people of Hope County who spent vast swathes of the day clinging to their lives, it seemed nothing short of a miracle.

It was on this night, on a dusty road through the dead farmland, that a procession of faithful came marching. Their faces were turned to the darkened sky. Eyes burning with sorrow, searing vibrantly like stardust. Alight with fury. Dampened with grief. And with their gaze, they spared no glance for the heretics who lined the path. No care for the vengeful, who bit their tongues and held in their spittle, and sought a glance of the dead to ease their blood lust. Not even a thought for the sinner who had taken so much, challenged their holy purpose. Given them this weight upon their shoulders.

The Father led with faltering step.

His eyes were hazy behind tinted glass. His fingers trembled. His scars, his sins, seemed to burn. But his voice was resolute, the melody echoing through the dark:

There are loved ones in the glory, Whose dear forms you often miss; When you close your earthly story, Will you join them in their bliss?

Carried aloft upon the faithful’s shoulders, upon beds made from velvet, slept the Heralds of Eden. Stilled into a long awaited peace, punctures incarnadine between their ribs a stark reminder of how they had suffered.

Each lay daubed in their own decay.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

It was a song they had always known.

And though it was his flock that called the hymn forth, Joseph could only hear Jacob's low timbre, humming it to ease him into sleep when the belt marks on his back cut too deep. After Old Mad Seed had bellowed Bible verses in his ears, and torn heathen drawings from where they were pinned proudly on the bedroom wall. On the school bus after another endless night hearing Mother scream.

Then slowly he heard his own voice, tinged with a weariness too antiquated for how young he had been. He heard it reverberate through the orphanage halls, the eve before John had been taken away. He'd stroked his brother's hair and caught his tears with his thumbs, and sang until the sun rose:

In the joyous days of childhood, Oft they told of wondrous love, Pointed to the dying Saviour; Now they dwell with Him above.

The lyrics had been worn down by their use when he had been alone. Comforting. Protective. Like an old pair of boots too reliable to cast aside, or a threadbare blanket that still smells of home.

Or the memory of a brother stood boldly in the fire’s glow.

“Jacob...”

Dog tags now around his own neck, metal scraping with every step.

A blood soaked rabbit’s foot.

“You sought purpose. You were lost. I showed you who you once were, and opened your eyes to the Garden you were born to protect. And you cast aside your weakness- the weariness wrought deep within your soul by governments and generals who sought to use your compassion for their selfish ideals. You became strong, brother. You sheltered our Eden with a heart forged in battle. You asked nothing but brotherhood in return. You embraced your family with the strength of gods. And you carried that strength until the end.”

The Soldier, freshly slain, lay proud, like a Viking martyr. Knife threaded between his fingers, the ancient burns that speckled him like rust on the armour he still seemed to bear. His Judges crowned the mountain ledges, howling to the night sky. In the torchlight, his fiery hair shimmered like copper wire; a fleeting glance might think it a halo encircling his skull. His mind, once full of the horrors of war, now quieted. His mouth, that knew the taste of man, free to taste the soil.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“Faith...”

He had yet to choose another.

None else had her heart, her spirit, her devotion.

“There were some who thought you cruel. Calculating. Jezebel incarnate. They did not understand that you were a mother, and with the burden of motherhood comes a heavy hand. I chose you because you did not shy away from the lessons children must learn. You took the lost and gave them wings. You took the despairing and gave them hope. You took the sick of soul and gave them peace. You took the name of Seed and let it’s glory shine through you. Rest well, my sister. Sleep well, my Faith.”

The Siren once wielded beauty. Now her face was swollen and pallid, bloated where the water had filled her pores and the creatures of the lake had begun to strip her skin away. Yet how sweetly she was scented by the flowers in her flaxen hair! It mingled with the fresh smell of the trees and the distant tang of smoke, heightened in the darkness, when the senses are keen. Even in death, she seduced onlookers with her song. A song composed of silence, of hope and dreams now lost, underscored with the cries of those who mourned.

You remember songs of heaven Which you sang with childish voice, Do you love the hymns they taught you, Or are songs of earth your choice?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“John...”

He’d finally reached the sky.

Feathered his wings.

Joseph’s heart was fracturing. Oh, the things he wished to say...

“I carry your sin upon my shoulder, that same shoulder three times you felt bitten by wrath. It is a sin of neglect. Neglect of your faith and your body, and by that, God, for we are made in his image. You saw a god every time you glanced in a mirror. A cruel world made you vain and selfish, and the child who had suffered so greatly thought you invincible. You drowned in your pride, as I drown in my regret that I could not save you. I pray that you know my disappointment, John, and I beg mercy for your soul. In all my prayers, and my dreams of eternity together, I ask only that God sees how very hard you tried.”

The Baptist had rotted where he had fallen, swallowed by the damp earth. Shards of dirt had claimed the sorrows inked upon his flesh, the stories he’d wanted to the world to know. His palms were frayed by rope. His lungs were lined with lead. But now he lay in the starlight, arisen from nature’s oesophagus to be cleansed and laid to rest with honour. The bones of his collapsing face seemed testament to how he’d be forgotten. But oh, how they cried his name! A saint, redeemed. A sinner, saved.

You can picture happy gath'rings 'Round the fireside long ago, And you think of tearful partings, When they left you here below.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

In the distance, he could see the pyres silhouetted by the moonlight. Though their bodies were cold, his Heralds would soon feel warmth again, and the embers that rose from the flames would carry their souls to the stars.

It would be a sight remembered for an age; the first flames of a Collapse long awaited.

And soon, all would burn-

-------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph’s eyes flickered open, and the fuchsia tinge of this new world’s morning mist settled into view. He sat lost in the blossoming forest, somewhere near the old compound. Sweet nectar scented the air. Damp grass and sodden earth cocooned his feet. He shivered slightly, his naked chest baptized by the dew.

Before him lay a single grave, shallow and solitary. Dirt was unceremoniously cast across it, and a rusted iron crucifix of Eden’s Gate, now New Eden, stood guard.

No flowers.

No velvet.

No choir of lamenting brothers and sisters.

Not even their names.

His body had whined under the strain of shovelling. Age and years of almost starving had weakened his arms, but when the Judge had offered to accompany him, to put to rest the overwhelming guilt that had consumed them, and to move the dirt for him, he gently refused. He owed it to his family to do it himself. It had taken him days to hike across the county, alone with only his memories, to collect their remains. What little remained of them after all those years.

He had had not the strength, or enough of them left, to dig three.

But they were reunited now, in eternal embrace. No ceremony. No procession. No pomp and martyrdom, as he had dreamed. Their resting place was the picture of modesty. Humility. A grave for the truly devoted. Their bones would turn to chalk and clay, and they would feed the insects and the reawakened soil.

Watch the new Eden grow.

Someday he’d be buried there with them.

Together forever.

And he thought, as he rested beside them to finish their song:

What more had they ever wanted?

One by one their seats were emptied, One by one they went away; Now the family is parted, Will it be complete one day?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

#far cry 5 #FC5Week #FC5Week2019 #far cry new dawn #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #the judge #this was a total shortcut so I didn't have to write something for every day hahahaha #I'm behind on my main fics hahaha #but now it's back to writing UNdead John #ugh this is massively description heavy but oh well #also with this #I've hit exactly 87000 words published on AO3 #woooooooo

[ecotone99]

[MF] Swapped

My manager has it out for me, I'm confident of that. It seems everyone does. I came home from work today a little later than I'd have liked. The usual "you're not performing at the pace we require here" threat kept me busy and now unkempt. My mind felt uneasy from marijuana withdrawal. I told my sister just yesterday that I've been sober for 3 months, when really I jump at any chance to smoke with friends and fight withdrawal carelessly. You see, I am addicted chemically to weed. Without it, I begin to consume myself in delusion, paranoia, grief. The past becomes the present and it eats away at my logic.

I got home from work and everything seemed normal enough. I was a little anxious about lying to my sister, about constantly cycling through this pretend routine that I am capable of change. I am not capable of change, I am changing at the rate my brain desires. At this point, I'm just alive for the ride. And most of the time I'd rather be off.

I walked in through my front door to my 1 bed 1 bath apartment. I live alone, no pets as I have allergies and do not feel capable of raising on my own. I'm also afraid my own pet would fear me, see something in me, or rather I just interpret it that way and create a paranoid dynamic. It's hard to explain. Anyways I strip my clothes and change into my robe for comfort, anticipating a nice relaxing session of Netflix. I sit down to log into my computer and my password doesn't work. My password is (or i guess was?) my ex's name, Ally, and I know that's pathetic, I just never changed it. Anyways, it wasn't working. It really freaked me out. I tried like 8 other passwords and eventually gave up, instead resorting to my phone for netflix. I laid in my bed and couldn't focus on the show. I know it was the right password, I even tried it twice.

I ended up grabbing from my emergency source of about a gram of some good sativa. I smoked a bowl and re-situate my mind in the present. Bob's Burgers man, what a show. This shit is 10 times funnier to me when I'm high. Not even because I'm, you know, kind of crazy while sober, but this show just makes sense to me high. I know i'm not alone. Anyways I watched Bob's Burgers for an hour or so and systematically moved onto my computer and logged in.

That's when I realized, what the fuck? It accepted Ally as the password this time. This sent a sort of chill through me, I couldn't process why this could occur, or how. Part of my wanted to accept that I'm just fuckin crazy and it never happened, but I know it did. I lived it. Something isn't right here, but I don't understand. I ended up playing some League to distract my mind.

As I started sobering up from the bowl I smoked earlier, my league match was getting ruined by lag. It felt like my inputs were all slowed down, but my ping wasn't fluctuating. I pinged it to my teammates and they started bitching at me for complaining about 45 ping. They didn't understand, I'm FUCKING LAGGING. I looked away from the screen and felt sick to my stomach. I then went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and my pupils were changing size slowly. I grabbed at my hair and it felt like someone else's hair. I reached for my nose and it felt smaller, youthful, unbroken.

None of this made sense. I have thin hair, my nose is crooked from a fracture at a water park when I was younger. What the fuck is happening. I need help, I don't know what to think. I scrambled for the bowl and loaded another. I leave the loaded pipe at home for when I eventually return. At this point, I had maybe half a gram left. I roll it up into a joint and place it in my robe's front pocket. I decided the smart thing to do here would be to to go Stephen's place, he's got a lot of bud. I get in my car and turn on spotify. All of my playlists are gone, except for one, titled "Get there safe" I check the songs in the playlist and there's only one.

I turn on the engine of my car and begin driving to Stephen's. He's only about 4 minutes away, i'm pretty confident at this point everything is fine. As I approach the first stoplight of probably 5, I decide to play the song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kktVhDagSfc (PAUSE and play video speed at 1.25)

As the voice begins talking to me I feel uncomfortable. I scramble for my journal in the backpack in my passenger seat and turn to an entry from July 08 2017,

Who am I?

Why am I living?

Where am I going?

Life has become stupid and purposeless.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

The questions I had when I came to college are still unanswered.

And now i'm convinced that there are no answers.

There can only be pain and guilt and despair here in this world.

My fear of death and the unknown is far less terrifying than the prospect of the unbearable frustration, futility, and hopelessness of continued existence.

As I read the lines, I remember emphatically that I had written them. But at the same time, It doesn't feel like it's me. I reach for my joint in my front pocket and reach for the lighter in my cup holder. As I go to light the joint, the song grows very loud and scares me. I drop the joint. I scramble for it at the next red light and begin to feel dizzy. As I get up, unsuccessful in finding the joint, I look into my rear-view mirror and see me, but it's not me. It's a version of me I could only hope to be. My face is spotless, no blemishes. My nose, perfectly unbroken. My eyes, so full of life and determination. The music feels real, descriptive even of my current state. I listen and think and cannot speak, is everything going to be ok?

I pull over the car and quickly lose all physical sensation. I try to look up into the mirror but my vision blurs. My body feels so fragile and malnourished. I begin to black out and feel a tugging from my body. As my consciousness floats away, below I can still vaguely see as my body reanimates and drives away.

submitted by /u/decolored [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3aiimUX

#Blogger #Story

[quickdeaths]

@more-than-a-princess

"That's tight." The collar clicked into place, cold metal that heated quickly in the island sun, with only a thin strip of fabric on the inside to keep from scraping at her neck - though the red marks beneath made it clear that wasn't especially effective. "I'd prefer it a bit looser. Please." Without a bit of additional room, it chafed more easily, and on hot days, left faint burns on her skin where the hot steel pressed too long against her. An extra few centimeters to tilt her head without pinching or burning wouldn't make it any easier for her to escape.

Though, that was hardly the point. "Yeah, I bet you would," the Future Foundation agent agreed, even as he locked it in the same position. The collar secured, he turned his attention to the chain, attached to a pole erected on the beach for the express purpose of keeping Shinobu Yaguchi in one place. The agent nodded to himself, after he'd finished, before curling his fingers around the chain and jerking it down. He'd say it was for testing purposes, Shinobu assumed, even as they stumbled back, the uncomfortable feeling of the collar straining against them.

No, the point was to hurt her - to punish her. A motive so obvious that it was scarcely worth pointing out. Even the distance of her basket and boxes - far enough away that she'd need to uncomfortably stretch for bait, tackle, spare line, or whatever she'd need, and that she'd need to near-choke herself simply to deposit a fish without risking dropping it in sand and having it flop back to sea - was a punishment. Well, it wasn't as though she didn't deserve it. That they were alive at all, them and their friends, was a supposed kindness certainly unwarranted. "Try to stay alive, today. I don't go back until next week, and I don't want the headache."

A boat had come in that morning, large and imposing. She'd assumed it was to send out the agents itching to leave, and drop the new and miserable members off, but it wasn't here for the personnel rotation, then she had no idea its purpose. I suppose it doesn't matter much either way. Shinobu watched him walk away, before setting up her rod as best she could. The blunted hooks, given them after the realization of the danger a sharper one possessed, weren't easy to work with. If it were up to Shinobu, she'd prefer to be done with it all, but the knowledge that Ayaka and the others were depending on her for some meager food supplies fanned the flames of that otherwise-empty pit where her heart had once called itself obligation. Perhaps if she were lucky, she could catch a salmon for Anzu, when she awoke.

When Sonia Nevermind and her entourage disembarked their ship, Soshun Murasame was there to greet them, a smile on his face. Smiling, waving, projecting an aura of calm responsibility even when he felt neither calm nor responsible - that was what he was good for. That was why he'd been asked to escort Novoselic's princess for the duration of her time visiting Jabberwock Island. That, and he could be trusted not to hurt anyone, being both physically weak and a notorious coward. Unlike the rest of his friends, Murasame had survived two killing games by keeping his hands clean and his head down.

"Your Highness, hello. Welcome to Jabberwock Island." At one point, Murasame remembered being full of boundless optimism and cheer. Whether it was Ishikawa's terrible jokes or some impossible-to-understand comment Hanasaki had made, he'd always laughed along and encouraged everyone. These days, the hopeful attitude was forced, and believing in others seemed almost impossible - not least because the people he'd most believed in had joined him in plunging the world into darkness.

But if not him, then who? Sato was too curt and standoffish, and Shikiba too quiet. Matsuda was bitter and blamed himself, while Kamiya's constant sobbing cast dark clouds even on sunny days. Hinata had far more important things to do than be anyone's cheerleader, and the less said about Yaguchi, the better. Murasame couldn't imagine putting anything else on her shoulders would help her condition. It fell to him, then, to believe hard enough that things would work out. They had to.

"I'm sure our friends at Future Foundation have already given you a number of briefings, and if you have your own plans for touring their offices and speaking with their administrators, I completely understand." Although, he'd heard rumblings that perhaps things weren't going well there. Some final parting plan of hers, maybe. "But I'm available to show you around if there's anything you want to see on our side of the islands." Transparent, affable, considerate of others - Murasame clung to that essence of leadership.

Even if his last role had been self-declared Acting Prime Minister of a sham government. After what Yaguchi had done, Japan had needed a leader. Likely, the princess had seen his face more times than she could count, given how his unhinged daily briefings had been broadcast across the world. Well, he couldn't let that force him to falter. He needed to keep his chin up, accept responsibility, and make amends. For now, that meant hosting Sonia Nevermind, and making the best impression of himself and his friends. "We have a number of facilities, from our kitchen and dining area, to our farm and agricultural lab, the hospital and holding facilities, our weather forecasting station where we track storms." Again, Murasame forced a smile. "We're making the best for ourselves here. So, whatever you'd like to see, Your Highness, I'll be happy to show you."

#morethanaprincess #c; the sun-slaying arrow #v; despair's fractured mirror #murasame is barely holding it together be nice to him #that's definitely better than Shinobu