Painted in Time. [Tiw]

[Yūki]

OPEN TO TIW.

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

What were words, but a little tête-à-tête? Or perhaps, an airy soliloquy when one was abnormally disposed of. Though dark, spider ink crawled and ripped the page with quill-like fury, the bristles can only be traced with shatterable tenuity. Language was an inconvenience, melted in the furnace of promises and lies, amalgamated into fine splatters against the palette of Life. Like marionettes, they follow the lines of string, mimicking and mocking. Hypocritical, yet the inability to move from the natural mindset, they follow and follow. Into the forge - into the roaring abyss, with coiled ropes of flame and hissing fire.

Yūki did not know how long she had kept to herself - a few days, weeks, years. The measures seemed to mash their palms together, forming one, incorrigible corpse of dead, black days. Dreams deferred, melting with the snow. Or what was it, lay fine droplets smoothed against the pavement, stains as dreary as she could never recall, pitted against the hue of her shoes. What was life, but an empty misunderstanding and words. Of promises adjourned guiltily - and who was she, to call herself the victim of this play?

Such, as the likes of Oedipus, he who gouged his eyes out. Is it pride, that allows his legs to wander? Or is it perhaps, the love that bade him to continue his journey. The result is still that of blinded death - the Wounded King, from the top of his tower amongst the depleted wastelands. His Fisher's pond was dry, and so was much more of his soul. The Princess acted as neither, but as a myth of her own. She had decided, a while ago, to avoid Montuit, convincing herself that it was simply the lack of interest in the abstract. Fortunately, she could already disguise her dislike for songbirds and peacocks, but the cubic painters had held her captive more times than she would care to count.

Rosae Crucis was, unfortunately, a difficult place to maneuver. Yūki had heard of the spell-casters and necromancers who frequented this area, but so far, she was lucky. Shops, though, went unnoticed save for the odd glances up and down. She had little coinage to spare in her purse, suffice to say the 'jobs' she did was only enough to help her get through day-to-day expenses.

Instead, her eyes were once more, dissecting the notebook from a time long past. She distinctly remembered staring at a figure (whom she had certainly forgotten the name of), before jolting back into a doubtful, yet heightened sense of 'reality'. The notebook currently resting within her pale palm had not been forgotten, thankfully. Once having gotten used to the scrawls, and the letters buried beneath the curves, she could only conclude that the hand belonging to the writer most definitely had a few ulterior motives. Less thankfully, the pen was smudged in certain patches, making funny little symbols and shapes in which Yūki had no patience for.

Not for the first time, her mind wandered to that image. Of 'Perfection', crashing waves and sea-foam blues. The image she held responsible for these blobs and blurs, and the one liable for that most disastrous night... and had left for her to 'clean up', so to speak. Thank the stars no-one had seen her quickly hurrying from the Den... or thank the stars that none had approached her about it. Yūki quickly ended the scene, fading her motions to starless canvases. No more on the matter - there were many people, and she really didn't expect to see that face again.

Touchwood.

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

It was said “ashes to ashes,” but it is impossible for one to create from ashes as it is to reconstruct a body from the mixture of gritty gray dust and fragments of bone left to remain in the world. One would maintain that ash would be finer, that it would float to the earth in a much more graceful fashion of twirling snow… or one would bow their heads in the midst of the risen moon to hope for Grace. But hope was but a festering sore led to believe in its regeneration. All becomes ash, and to believe that one would not end in the same manner would be as pretentious as penning a codicil for another.

Such hubris had not laid its Tyrian purple on her off-white palette. It was better not to toy with heterodox ponderings and mind tricks when the sun was at the sky’s zenith – for it was much too early. The streets were alive with characters clothed with colorful cloth of rich purples, magentas, golds, and royal blues; their voices clambered into the air and unsheathed their linguistic rapiers, each battling with another for dominance in barter or banter. Tiw eavesdropped with ease, dared to call it observation, and listened with fascination at the various timbres of voices, each rising and falling on their own accord. And the warm discord was comforting.

After the intriguing chance encounter with a certain somber individual, Time eventually fell back into its mundane habit, each day tumbling onto the next, colliding with its faultless neighbor. A hand that was fully gloved the winter before, now naked, touched the once-tender spot absently. Though the lump inflicted on her skull that time had effectively excused itself, the “accident” had certainly left a blemish on her mind – like many things.

Thus was memory, a layered oil painting with each brush stroke engulfing the previous, never truly erased, yet never completely retaining its original form. What had begun to chafe away at the peeling leaflets of gloss, oil, and pigment? More than a few instances had her mind meandered back to that face, that scent, and those eyes… perhaps it was an inappropriate moment to allow that image to remain, so she allowed for the undulation of apprentices and had-beens and wish-to-bes, but optioned for a more “freeing” frolic.

The smell of potions returned her to reality yet something from a dream drew the turn of her head. A web of sepia and auburn shrouding those oddly recognizable ruby eyes. Yuuki? Ah, how long it has been. There were indeed many faces in the world, and expecting to see a certain one would be foolish. Though, one could hope, perhaps.

With her demeanor brightening even more so, she bounded towards the unfortunate figure – that brooding was almost unique to the poor dear. Trotting up besides the ever-so-somber figure (and who was she not to gift a greeting?), Tiw called out. “Good afternoon, sunshine!” The messenger bag patted gently at her side, matching her lively gait. “Do you remember me? ‘Cause I remember you.”

A brazen wink and a forward smile. “It’s too bad about last time. I didn’t get to pay you back properly!” And that was it, the postman failed to restrain a good-humored chuckle.

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[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

Was it the lithe dawns that frisked across the sea of clouds, or could it be the edge of dusk, waiting to push its blade through the Sun's chariot? Nature gave way to city, the sharp light in tangential motion, over the walls of brick and stone and gleaming across window panes and plastic glass. The dapples of bask did well to mimic the gaps of trees and waves of brush, but the superficiality of it all could never be hidden. With equal cause, there was just reason; city for life, civilization. However, any bestial mindsets were suited to that of the wilderness, perhaps the deserts with its mirages and hallucinations and desert scrubs.

Though Yūki was not of superstitious mind, it would not be a far stretch to call herself an escapist. But in a fairytale, once upon a time, she would have never regretted it; for even once in her life, it would have been exactly what she wanted. To be lost deep within the realms of her own mind, to hold steady her own arms and hands, and to continue with the social hubs of life. How she had wished to jump those castle walls, break from those perpetual chains and live as a girl who just had her life to live. For all those visions were worth, there was no gold to it. Just the simple fact that her consciousness had been tethered to luxury and silver spoons, whilst her dreams cried out for individuality.

Those were the people she was most wary of. Broken smiles later, the freedom of sight and movement first. Like one limb over the barbed fence, legs beneath the smoking sticks and hearts beating in anticipation at the shadowed entrance of hallowed houses. Passion for journey and risk was something Yūki was quite unfamiliar with, but who was she to pass up opportunities at every roar and sigh? Just like the ease of recalling snow-capped trunks, and Niflheim's lamps, she could not embrace the songs of Spring. Of birds that sang a top the wires, like everything really was alright.

To take the risk, to take the plunge. For yes, the moment the letters of hope tumbled over her lips, the almost-too-familiar mop of charcoal mess was caught by darkened eyes; and as similarities would have it, she could not resist the pull of recognition. It was almost tragic, she thought with sarcasm jabbing from every angle, that the look had almost become habitual. One day had certainly been enough to create the appearance of friendship, whereas reality called the jaws of deceit. What hypocrisy, Yūki had yet to convince herself of, but it was there. The sanguine assertion, marked by the tilt of a chin at the oncoming figure.

Maybe time had been too long for the other to remember, as she did seem like the kind of person to forget quite easily. The look of a memory recalled was just a coincidence, of course. But yet again, Fate was her cruel mistress as a blindingly cheery address met her ears; the sound of pit-pat-pat next to her was another piece of evidence. She could not avoid her senses. Her instinct told her to ignore this mischief, but the mechanics built into her nature told her to do no such thing. Yūki turned her head around, slowed her steps, and gave herself thrice a mental beating before trying a smile (which she hoped came out half-decent);

"A good afternoon for you, I hope." Ignoring the obnoxious name plastered onto the end of the other's statement, she was at least thankful her perfunctory custom didn't cause her to return such words. "I do remember you." Hold back a sigh, she also prayed. Then the next arrow, and the click of humor; Yūki was of a clear head now, and her face did maintain that hue of pallid ferocity.

Thank the stars.

"Oh, too bad indeed," she responded, her mouth returning to its normal shape of a rather gravitating curve, "but it's quite alright. I really don't wish to impose on your precious time any longer. You have... posts to deliver, I take it?"

It really was a rhetorical question.

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

What were those that were already painted in time? A marble statue of Aphrodite chiseled into meretricious perfection? A fresco painting of obsolete cathedrals with flying buttresses that made the Holy Sophia pale in comparison? A baroque composition dotted with an orthodox baseline as the counterpointed melody embellished the staff overhead? Surely they must be, for fragments of history should hold truth. And memories, perhaps, yet, they were not immutable; after tears and reality deferred, the entity of mindfulness sought to fill seams with the cement of self-lies and denial, to coax the cracked skin to coalesce into a single sinuate silk cloth.

The scabrous surface of the mind would not be left, not the small lacerations or the deep punctures. And such was unnatural to have such a skin impervious to blemishes. Naturalness or more so neutral-ness painted on the other’s perfect façade was indeed a true spectacle to behold as was the spectacle of muted ruby specs. A shard of the past had gifted her a painful throb of an organ forgotten and the image of curling aged parchment with scarlet specks mirroring a teal gaze – oh, it was so familiar, but spring rains had licked the edges of the once-pointed chin and suckled on the sharp lines of the inked neck that only red and bistre were fairly said “familiar.”

Yuuki? Ah, that’s right. Takishida, Yuuki. The familiar unfamiliarity of her sulking companion’s name took a place in the crevice of her mind after the addling smoke had seeped away. With a cloudless head, the postman had fleetingly pondered the coincidence, but dared to adduce that the chances of a frail princess, pampered, and coddled, could flee to Terre de Conte with limited resources. Though, the thought of asking for a surname had crossed her line of the thought, the question would not go undetected by an askance look.

Speaking of look, an odd quirking of Yuuki’s lips…(a grimace?) piqued her amusement; the woman’s lips seemed to have found comfort within the downturned curves of her countenance. But, Tiw was very aware, that she was highly capable of displaying mirth. That’s it! Cobalt lit with a twinkle of hope. As such a popular adage would have it, laughter was the best remedy for any ailment.

Determination burned from within, and Tiw ignored the sardonic edge in the forced reply. “Oh really! Do you remember my name,” Well, her schizophrenic companion named Hope had planted the seed in her brain, “I sure remember yours! Yuuki! I’m right, right?”

The enthusiasm was enough to create a dizzying effluvium to those standing nearby…

Nothing. The eminent droop of Yuuki’s lips and stoicism had Tiw’s omnipresent grin slowly wilt…what was with this woman? Tilting her head in a ruffle of gray, she pouted, “nope! I’m done today so I insist on making it up to you,” and upon even closer scrutiny she continued out of rambling habit, “are you sick or something? You don’t look too much like sunshine.” She giggled, unintimidated by the other’s self ostracism, and trotted merrily around her storm-followed companion; it didn’t take long for that simper to wander back onto her face.

“Oh, I know! I’ll take you somewhere fun. I promise I won’t mess up this time.” There might have been a dash too much sunlight in her eyes, but all was in good humor. Perhaps what Yuuki needed was a crack of a smile.

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[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

If, for purpose much unlike another's own, the tinctured walls shall fade to black, and red carpets coiled to its theatre storm, would the masquerade then be revealed? Or shall the actor's face, refulgent with transgression and misfit, suspend, eclipsed behind its truths and acts of indomitable calamity. Like a poison to the needle, it weaves its torrents of blight amongst chaotic, and almost foudroyant blazes of fury. Something canine, lupine, in the smoke-riddled gazes of the intelligentsia; the watchman's clock, strikes ne'er to the twelfth night. The subfuscous night, and its caressing mistress; a moonlit globe of intricate baseline and carousing stars amongst her fantasies.

Her hand moved up, almost to vellicate her neck with spasmodic convulsions. The other seemed to rhapsodize - her words moving from another mirror, the the next, which Yūki could no longer follow with a patient head. Instead of perhaps answering the question with much of the straight leveled response, she wondered if the poor girl was of a wandering thought - and with many of those people, if left to their own devices, they would best fly off into the sky and beyond the skies... never to return to peck and prune their feathers. To the best of her ability, the Princess practiced self-discipline and conducted a small tune in her head. Suffice to say, it was of no worth - her name, screeched out, exclamations to point and point, and a distressing determination to pull a word from her lips. The result was her eyebrows, drawn in to a further cantankerous message.

"Right." Was all she allowed herself to reply. If she could grind her teeth to fine powder... "I do remember your name." Another inward curse, directed at the section of her mind currently mocking the woman. The name... Who? Who is Who... but she doubted Who was the name. A number, perhaps, from the language she spoke now - ni - Two? Three is a crowd... but Two is none. Yūki, at this point, caught herself before the tangent was further fed into, ironically, her disposed mind. Nonetheless, it was a welcome change from the raven fissure she found herself constantly pulling through.

"I insist that you... do not." There was no other way to put it, but somewhere, she hoped that the other's attention had already been sought elsewhere. Indeed, the conversation was again, placed upon her moody countenance, the oozing aura. "I am most certainly not sick... but sunshine is." Her tongue continued to flap, while the knowledge that, by humoring this post-girl, she was almost insisting on the other's companionship. Not that she disliked such stabs at her social well being, but sometimes, she enjoyed the sound of her own shoes and thoughts - not of others, clonking away with a ferocious determination to impose on her sanctity.

Oblivious to the restless round-a-bout round her person, Yūki continued her attentions on the notebook (admittedly, her eyes were wandering). Whilst the splotches of ink constantly reminded her of the rather unwelcome horde, the red-head was insistent on pretense and denial of fact, reason and evidence. Mayhaps, if she tried hard enough, she could mislead herself into believe that she was, in fact, in a state of somnambulism. In this reality, she would have narcolepsy, and everything from smoke to ashes would be a lucid image.

"I, instead, placed the vial upon the cobbles, watching the liquid dance precariously amongst the greenest flames. Conjuring up, another vial of pink, I saw my hands (cursed! wicked!) stumble as the potions mixed and swirled with sudden--"

Another screech.

A twitch of the eye. Deep breaths. "No, no. Really. There is absolutely no need at all." It was polite enough, Yūki hoped, her eyes drawn once more from her novella (?). Was her attempt at a smile not enough? Did the other hope for a crow of enthusiasm, or a raven of good fortune? "I cannot take advantage of your... wonderful companionship. It was rather overwhelming the last moment of meeting."

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

Ocean falls, frothing foams, and wind-thrown mists, those existing in minds only curl at the edge of the horizon of reality and fill the waves with seething currents; lines depressing inwards and dilapidating into desiccation, the very skeleton of what was believed crumbled away. If she was brazen enough to desecrate the resting ashes in sea foam, mayhaps it was possible to reach into the lot of the deceased and curl her fists to crush the gritty material between her fingers – to allow the sea breeze to carry the finer gray into the atmosphere only leaving the white of bones to weigh on lacerated palms. And then, when chips of glossy white remain, perhaps she would place each piece into a new Masque, perhaps she could salvage this little game.

Amusement drew her lips upwards and smugness dallied behind in prolonging its stay upon her countenance. Watching the other leaf through memories and meander around half-invoked thoughts…Ah, if only she could break a fragment in time, save it in a trinket jar, tie a string around the neck, and have it dangle just below her breast… The sibilant rush of efforts released and denied sought to prove the woman poor of memory or perhaps just of a blinded mind – not that it mattered. It was best to leave the blind blinded, to allow them to their own cane and guide mutt; they may have a serendipitous tendency for life. Or even more so! To preserve hubris. It was best, to most; however, if Tiw had ever in the span of her own apocryphal life been a solicitous member of the latter, many inconsequential lives would be muchly liberated.

“Oh, so you don’t remember? That’s alright.” A light laugh. “It’s Tiw! Tiw Fenris, absolutely and completely not at your service.” Another pretentious bow. The curt reply shook her guard and, admittedly, disappointment blundered away in her consciousness, concealed by a wash of teal and a mechanical shrug. Collecting ooze in a jar was hardly a simple task and extrinsic in every nature. What was essential had drained away in a chasm of blood, and extemporaneous desire’s hegemony ate way the middle world. So Tiw tilted her chin, cocky and with tenfold the abandon of meretricious innuendos that a flower girl’s lips possessed, she replied, “Oh, so you are sick.”

A flutter of tattered pages inveigled her mind to wander. What was that? Those scrawling lines…thick, thin, indenting the page with each scratch. Fascinating. Slowing her round-about canter to a light lick beside her thought-immersed companion, she found her eyes drawn to the curling ends of each uncaring character and the abrupt stains where the quill had halted for a moment as its owning mind pondered on its following thought. Momentarily silenced by the literary wonder, her wandering mind bumbled upon her own attempt at such characters.

After the careening incident in a certain opium den, the incessant urge to pour an apology forth had overtaken her mind like poison. The possibility of meeting a certain “bedfellow” again was meager, but it was the miserable presence of the possibility that tortured her lost mind so. Unable to bear the callings of a wild thought, she sought the nearest parchment and inking establishment and purchased with what little coin she carried a scroll of paper and an old quill with assorted bibs. The collection of stationery was a first, albeit useless to her, but something to do to shoo the nights along.

Many attempts under the mixture of candlelight and moonlight brought about a single torn parchment, what was left of the long scroll of hand-made paper, with scrawls to mimic the penmanship of addresses on the letters and posts she delivered almost daily and a few curls over here and some sparse dots over there – oh, and perhaps a long scratch here. Signed “Tiw” or what was in heart, “Tiw.” And the apology was heartfelt…

Another rejection reeled her back to the glaring daylight of reality. It wasn’t in her nature to push a subject. But rather to shove it over a cliff. “Oh no! You wouldn’t be taking advantage of anything.” She rummaged through that old messenger back and pulled out that painstakingly penned parchment of gibberish all the while ignoring the sarcasm and annoyance in that voice. “But just say so, if you don’t want to – here you go.” She held out the thing. “A love letter for you.”

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[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

Different lights that clear the path, whistles and whittles of grass - cry for us - bent with crystallization, and the trees that weep with glassy amber. Depression upon the amaranthine shroud; crepuscule, or the expanse of deluge. It sank, below the bedrock and heavy Arcadia swam to hold it's breath beneath the torrent. The sea-borne behemoth swallows it whole, but the cackle of demons continue their superfluous gestures and stares with blighted fury. Atlantis was their promised land - their kingdom far below the exacerbated seraphs.

But even the slowest stare, murky in the intensity of peridot and coral hues, had a chaste galore of vestige and candle flies. The apparitions on the white powdered sands, the horses upon the surface swell, festivities aloud and merrymaking, all their continuous uproars and jovial dance - en avant. If there was no rupture between Heaven and Hell - nature, and industry between, can the night merge then with the seas? A misunderstanding of distance, of habitual, yet mutual disorientation of the sights. A dull luminescence from a house upon the Tuscan cliffs brought to blind vision, a lone figure basking within the brine. Whether specter or mortal, sunrise, sunset, it was doing nothing more than exist by conduct. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yūki, on the other hand, disliked existence. Or at the very least, the essence of such a being. To once, she looked upon the sharp bow of the moon; unfit to bloat but hung in transition in twilight's claws and fangs. But then upon the bask, it gorged itself on stars and galaxies, brighter shining and brighter burning with fitful wakes and haps. It was a concern then, if the orb burst from indulgence - there would be again, the stars that accompanied the celestial body. Though it meant the frail life on Earth had to chance another evolution path - or simply fade into the tomb.

For the Princess upon this thought, she wished she had that tomb - the female had insisted upon the reminder of her name. Which implied, as a fact, that Tiw wished to stay. "No, but are you?" She responded, injecting an innocent tone into her voice. By now, the frost that coated her tongue would have bitten the ears off of any conversational partner - whether thick or thin. But it seemed to do nothing to this snow wolf. Perhaps, now was the time to play the game and pry the grasp gently from her person. It was not to seek pleasure, or flattery - but simply, the refusal to get too caught up within her own cage and plans.

It should have been to her great pleasure, and note, when Tiw detached one metaphorical hand. But what came instead, she almost cringed with disappointment and chagrin. A quiet sense of grave malfeasance took her by surprise upon collision. It was the death of chirps, and sound of feeble flaps - like a bird that had lost its feathers, waiting to fly with skin and flesh alone. Yūki did not want to indulge in this fun her companion spoke of, but nor did she want to leave with this horrendous weight currently descending upon her brow.

"Well... I do apologize, but I- no, I didn't want to imply that..." A stumble here, a murmur here. It was not unlike that day (the day she had forgotten). But she had concluded long ago that the reality of Lady Luck was devoid. Though she speculated that perhaps, the Lady was lacking in her fortunes due to an unfortunate situation. Mayhaps, lashed upon the sands and rock beneath a lake, or something similarly vile and putrid. That would explain the unkind nature possessing her being - was it I? - and doubtful situations throughout her life. Hence, arrived the token.

"... a what letter?"

She stared at the offending papyrus, Yūki felt her cheeks burn with the force of a thousand suns. But she supposed snapping at the poor lady would be inelegant - after all, this was Tiw's occupation. "Th-thank you." Her fingers took the letter with great care, almost hoping that the wind would snap it from her grasp and throw it into the crushing barrage of the marshes. A small sigh only confirmed that Lady Luck was undoubtedly engaged at this moment in time.

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

The impudent chin of hubris tilted higher still – oh, if it would only humble itself! But the goddesses knew that if the flippant angle were to fall in return to even a quasi-modest incline, one would be able to enter the nexus of where the night sky met the black ocean. Enter the nexus and prance about in a colorful nebula of poppy-induced delirium. As Fortune’s sister, Fate, had dictated, Tiw had no predilection for the somnambulism begotten by an apothecary’s alchemy; she preferred the staid existence of the churning seas and impatient night.

Such was comfort – was it? – as the roar of currents hidden beneath a glass-like obsidian surface fall upon occluded, bleeding ears. And comfort, again, when the galaxies swirl in narcissistic desire to peer at a familiar spray of stars and to caress the quiet waves of black hoping, wishing, to feel a touch in return. Reality, the beauty, the harshness, the cold… When came the frost-bitten reply, Tiw only sought to return with a simmer of warmth from a fire-eaten personage. “Ah, how deep your rays penetrate, sunshine. Alas, I am sick,” she pulled an overly dramatic hand to clutch her chest only to peer from under sable locks to have a gander at the morose character before her, “sick with gaiety, that is.”

An unbidden chortle invited itself into the open as quixotic concern lined her voice. “But, perhaps you may re-diagnose your condition, sunshine. You appear to be afflicted…mayhaps there was too much lead your morning cup!” With that, she could less hold a cackle than she would desire to.

At the blunt-edged blade of words, the resolve of the poor woman seemed to have crumbled – nothing was more pleasing to the said snow wolf who only sought to playfully paw at the carefully constructed igloo. Paw at it, nudge it…perhaps if it was careful enough, it would be able to lick the thing without its tongue adhering to the frozen surface. Oh. It had nuzzled its walls much too harshly…

Observing the woman, the image of a similarly timid response reeled in her mind. That time – with swirls of sweetness and choked minds drowning in a sea of delusions. One would have felt pity for the bile-afflicted woman. And one did…but was more insistent in something else, something to dab a bit of sunshine onto a drab painting or perhaps it was just another linkage with denial. To give and not receive. So this time, perhaps just once, a genuine look of frozen innocence. “Then come.” The bafflement swimming in teal eyes was hardly tacit. Make up your mind.

When Yuuki had taken the effortful parchment from her hands and had questioned in rhetoric or peerless mortification, glee had returned to settle itself back onto Tiw’s visage. “A. Love. Letter.” Yes, she decided; scarlet was a wonderful color on Yuuki. Allowing the messenger bag to fall to her side, she openly stared at the woman for too many a tick of the minute hand – what was with that sigh? Was the thing really that offensive to the mind? Perhaps there was trouble in deciphering her “unique” penmanship. “What? Do you need help?”

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[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

Through the murky caves, amidst the rattled, shatter of brittle bones, lay a couchant beast gnawing with splintered canines upon bleached cartilage. The skulls adorned against the walls, sulky cackles with jaws ripped open wide. The fiend; he is right, so it believes. Those bipedal meddlers dared to venture into his territory, brandishing all flaming pitchfork and patched cloth. His den was not to be trifled with, and they were forced to recompense for it.

But does the human become the beast with this act, or does the beast lay with elbows and arms against the ground? Blood against his beating breast, but slower still does his eye droop with fickle prostration. He thought it now; his lair, his retreat... t'was no more but a slaughterhouse. Nothing but a sanatorium. Nothing more but a body, trapped in a heated snowstorm, waiting for the Last Judgment.

Upon the white horse, rode the prince. The prince of Conquest, ironically hell-bent by the sword and hilt. Pestilence stole across one's mind like an arrow from silver, breaking further into crowns and adornments of thorns. What with a lucid reply, Yūki ransacked her plagued thoughts to lead herself into an answer. With an eyebrow arched high at the informal dramatics, her lips merely parted, sounded, "I'm quite sorry to hear." Before the lesser thoughts flew to choke her throat, the unfamiliar scarlet blinked once, then a stretch of the mouth. Alas, a smile?

Alas, how unlikely it was to grace that broke sculpture.

"Perhaps I shall. Perhaps you may do the same?" Though if good health seemed to be the state of mind for Tiw, Yūki was thinking more than twice about finding the supposed lead within her life's liquid. "Mayhaps a War has afflicted the mind with crippled blades." This now, a depiction of a mare with a mane of flame galloped across her, tearing her cheeks with trails of heat once more. The statement that meant what it is, without any sort of implication, left her in a reel. Around the wheel, spokes studded and ever-seeing eyes upon the rim. Yūki had no response to it, so she simply brought the letter to light of attention.

"Yes, yes. Thank you very much." It needn't be repeated, but she supposed some couldn't comprehend rhetorical questions - as this little post lady had been - or not been - doing so. As if Tiw had glued a stare onto an open wound, Yūki felt very much self-conscious. Was there a reason why this messenger stayed? Or was it customary to watch one open private messages... nonetheless, a 'love letter' meant nothing to her, save for a world of embarrassment.

Peering at the wrinkled surface, she managed to decipher... something. To be fair, it looked as if a pot of ink had been spilled, whilst a bird had submerged the inky wet with its beak, before attacking the material. Dots here, lines there, scrawls underlining every bit. Perhaps it was foreign language, where creativity was encouraged more than coherent letters. However, to the offer of help, she politely declined it. If there was one thing she prided herself in, it was the lack of illiteracy in her.

Unfortunately, a few minutes into staring, without a glimpse of attention to companion or busy streets, Yūki felt her irritation grow. Her eyes had first squinted upon the page, further down; there was no courtesy in what she would say. The first line, which she had guessed was her name spelled in a way she had never seen before, was a mixture of... something brash. As she neared the end, Yūki called it a lost cause. There were letters she had never seen before, and the shapes even mimicked an assortment of creatures.

Finally, with a disgruntled sigh, she handed the parchment to Tiw. "In any case. Feel free." It was a voice of utmost sulk, her brow still slightly tense with a look of disappointment. "I leave it in your most capable hands."

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

A smile? “Terras Astraea advinio!” The goddess hath descended upon the earth once more as she took the arrow from Virgo’s lap, returning the silver-tipped chisel to its master; thou shalt seek no revenge. And Lavinia had salvaged her hands to once again embrace the earth so warm and restored her tongue to sing an aria so sweet. Tiw’s will-less smile returned. When the words so filled with darkened bile, she shrugged, vagueness tapping her shoulder. “Mayhaps.”

Oh, if only the anti-queen had been so kind to pardon the Andronici and let that freedom show; the fleeting expression fled from the other’s countenance – mayhaps to elope with Past. As the expression had done, the mind had not? Or had it abandoned all things sane as cheeks razed by flame took its place. It was but a flip of a fool’s coin to have the madam return a “yea;” something might have been worth an eye of a silver arrow and a huff of disappointment.

But no matter, if the woman were to agree to an excursion, would be in semblance of a pawn taking a king. Amusement lingered in pools of sea water; the curls at the edges and the brazen work of a “name” and lines here – dabs also – and spilt ink from a broken bib… all were nothing but meaning without identity. Tiw only sought to stare as Yuuki’s increasing ire. It simmered and stirred as the paper fed the flames and as the characters poured into the brew.

The pot was completed with a ruffle of worn parchment and a disgruntled woman before her. With bubbling gusto, Tiw took the scrawling words into her hands. “As you will, sunshine!” A deep breath, and she begun… vociferously;

Yuuki,

Dearest, thou art like sunshine through the worn
And mildewed windows, sunshine that would rouse
Mine eyelids with a needles sharpness. But
No matter, as my blindness is eschewed.
Thou art warm like hot tea in flesh on cold
Winter morns, warmth from an Arctic sunlight,
That freezes my limbs with the coldness. But
No matter, as my numbness is eschewed.

And so, dearest with an ice-queen’s cool,
I tell thee, I’m in strong liketh with you.”

“Sincerely, Tiw!” A gleeful flutter of the tongue was too much to hold back as it gained an audience throughout the monologue. “Oh, you can keep this.” She held out the note once again, though this time expecting something in line of a slap to the face.

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

The poison; the bittersweet scent of a snowberry, clung in solitude against the pavement. Horizontal to the ground, yet vertical to the sky. The scent of clustered, broken flowers, frosted to the petals and stem with ice and crystal. The price, perhaps, of natural society, and grains glazed with sleet, slanted against the mortar. Hark! the raven, with his petulant screech, lay not to waste this barren glorification - heaven's ring, prismatic; blue from envy, masques of red. It stared, into Earth's Sun, and to Sun's Earth. It was pivotal, amongst the stars; oh! how bright the North Star burns! But from here, t'was the world's word untouched. Beyond the pressure, a nimbus of gray hung, like a pendulum in - stop motion - lapse, shadowed upon the castle's spire, like the touch of a God's spiteful paw.

With a flick of a word, a twitch of bone, and the deed was sealed. Yūki felt, upon her visage, the relaxation of muscle and cheek. Though gravity pulled her lips, she maintained a fairly neutral expression after the quiet slip. Had the puppet master been more meticulous, it would be unascertained to the light - yet the shadows had recoiled with spitting fear, at the unwanted bright that was so much like a stray - curled lip, and a sly, protruding canine. Had an apology escaped error, and caressed her lips with fragile touch, perhaps all would be forgiven. But the sound, misfortune, blundered across her ears like an unkempt dishcloth after a play in gloomy weather. So Yūki kept her throat closed, heart crossed, and hoped for the redemption that would never prosper.

Instead, she would rather have focused on the parchment, so irritating in its innocent wraps. Her eyes had now taken possession of the dastard, now held in Tiw's expert hands. Though she did manage to entertain the awareness that the other's hands seemed rather... well, smaller. What the thought encompassed, however, came and went like a Summer's breeze in Autumn's terrain. What was it now? Spring... t'was no breeze, but sweetened dew as the minutes ticked onwards without her.

Tiw drew what seemed to be her last inhalation of oxygen; what demon bade her to speak such bawdy syllables, Yūki cringed to know. From the postwoman, she heard naught but obnoxious spouts, and as the final string was snapped, the final bell rung, the Princess felt the cool sang of, melt in the fire. Like bark off a tree, she felt her inhibitions peel, and as her hand came up to crush her face within her palm (almost to avoid the looks of bewilderment). The parchment certainly had no such... such words, painted like the canvases in Montnuit, except with very little aggravation involved.

Without nary a worry or care about this society and their particular thoughts, she responded with a muffled, "Actually..." A crimson, livid eye, which one could scarcely tell from the scarlet her cheeks were drowned in, peeked over an index, which then attempted to pierce, burn and drown the letter with all the force she could muster. Though the hatred was not words, or the manipulation of language, it was the assemblage that had occurred from such a salacious discourse. "You may keep it." A breath, to cool her aching thoughts; violence was a rare venture on her part, but it would have been a lie to say she did not consider a small section of an act which enveloped thus.

Seconds flew onwards, and Yūki removed her hand, pressed it against her book, book to chest tightly, "Many thanks for your most honest display," was it a confession? Was it a letter, proclaiming platonic affection? Curse these feminine thoughts; though neutrality towards the situation helped her case none, she still felt it necessary to respond as was appropriate - something Tiw obviously did not take into account. "Perhaps an equally honest response shall make its way to your doorstep - penned to perfection." It would be best if she stalked along the pavement now, and to avoid the crowd slowly gathering in what seemed like anticipation for this oh-so humorous exposition.

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

Words and phrases – the un-grammatical structure in iambic pentameter – poured forth with luscious abandon. Which should have been ineffable cried out to the deities in recklessness as the disquiet of vibrating currents sent waves of the churning sea upon once glassy surfaces. It really wasn’t her fault; Lady Fortuna was not preoccupied, bound into submission by the Moirae Three – but rather, the keeper of the Wheel had unbound her ghost-veiled eyes and wiped away budding tears with an eternal cloth. With sight so pure, she sought to spin the wheel – spin the wheel just so to land the obsidian needle onto one so refined, a princess?

The intrinsic flow of rhythmic syllables slipped from a flapping tongue, though eyes digressed from frayed manila to rest upon a pale complexion burned with latent heat, flushed into existence by a vociferous timbre of voice. There were no words on the parchment frilled with fraying edges and bits of crumbling yellow, only thoughts so misconstrued and so veiled by an inhibition to only say the chivalrous “I apologize for that night, miss.” No words, only thought. Thoughts so thrown together in the tumultuous buffet of sharp quips and quick wit to impress? But what was to impress? Or moreso, who was to be impressed? A confession of sorts that amounted to but a moment’s thought but unbound to the secular and divine.

A pleasant sensation left its imprint upon her visage in the manifestation of a smirk so filled with waggish mirth as the other made an impressive move to grip her face with fervent incredulousness. Ghostly fingers contrasted with the fire spread about her delicate cheeks. It would require more than Yuuki’s high-strung moodiness to drench the day with gloom. The winds carried near the pompous snickers of those who have put a life’s set into meddling, hearty cheers of potion-struck masters, and even some whispers of those mindless herb tasters.

But that rejection from Yuuki’s expertly deadpan lips and subdued tongue was all that reached the heart of her ears. It was too bad, really. And why should it have mattered anyhow? It mattered as much as an arctic bird to a white bear for one was ever destined to meet the other. But was it rejection of her person? It was in all in friendly jest. There it was, the final rejection taken with more humor than insult. “Ah, but sunshine! All of the perfect penmanship of calligraphers with all of the flawless language of poets could not compare to your spoken prose.”

In between hysteric whoops and laughter, Tiw took a bow; an inadvertent arm whipping the handle of a candle, tipping the open, persimmon glow into a bubbling cauldron – double, double toil and trouble. And trouble is what the brew regurgitated as an explosion resonated within Rosae Crucis. Teal peeked from beneath tousled sable with mild guilt. “Oh…wups.” As Fortuna would have it, the needle had spun and struck the postman with misadventure; the keeper of the brew with a face red with the river from the Seventh Hell turned to fume at her. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your stuff in the middle of the street.” An innocent smirk received with none but fire ball.

Instinct injected the familiar adrenaline into her tendons and veins to string her limbs out of the flaming path. She rubbed her nose swearing to Odin that some skin might have been taken off. Another blast. A cart of herbs lit aflame. Lightning laced with a stream of curses struck at the previous offender, the keeper of flames. The nine Hells broke lose within Rosae Crucis. A nervous laugh wavered from her lips. “Yuuki…I think it best we run!” A bracer-clad hand reached for the other’s frail ones to tow the poor woman along.

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

Waves of blood ripple in sanguine pools; not too harsh, yet so jagged were the rims, it pulled the ducts and closed the blinds to the monstrosity. Twice, it was snapped, the raging jaws of a heathen. Thrice, it snarled, a threat to bite the throats of those who crossed its path. Tooth of a lion, talon of an eagle, claw of a bear. All tinged with a virulent plague, and upon being bitten... look now, and seek the apothecary. For when one is touched by the cannibalistic terror, does it not then turn into hatred for the very being you once called 'kin'? But to break this very convention, one must play the game, and kowtow towards the beast. Humor it, coddle it, lest it bite you upon your thumb, and to the very bone.

How can it be that, even as Yūki tended to her thoughts like a sweet newborn, nourishing it with liquids from a bottle, its mouth was still ever open in tears and rage. Was this ungrateful child really her own, or was it simply a nightmare? There was no pride, no apologetic sigh as the female simply shrugged the situation away from her shoulder. It meant nothing to her, in the end. Every word, every slip of the tongue, she paid no attention. Simply told her mind to ignore and to hold the heavy breath between her lips again and again. Not a word seeped from her throat, a lack of vibration against her vocal chords strung taut; just a small, tip of the head; a blink of acknowledgment. Just like before, she found while everything was okay, nothing ever really was. But who was she to decide what was there, and what was not.

Yūki's hand tightened upon the object against her chest, as the seeping smile upon Tiw's countenance matched the pace of scarlet. It took much of her strength to hold the book back. However, her expression contorted slightly; her words did not intend to pierce; her teeth did not grind against each other, after all. Tiw seemed to be far too oblivious to notice even if she herself had heard and almost cringed at the disillusion of unwanted company. All that was complicated now was the mass of bodies around, crowding, peeping, trying to get a better look. Some had left, but more had taken their place. Like following a herd of sheep, there were more lost than found. Tiw was as bright as ever, seeming to ignore what seemed to be the whole of Terre de Conte around their conversation. Yūki on the other hand, cared muchly.

"A letter can be kept as proof of my spoken prose, yes?" Her response was a tread on the ice; thinly spread, one foot in front. While Yūki was not bothered by individuals, she still made the effort to avoid any misconceptions surrounding herself. After all, what were habits but a trait one intends to keep for the better part of their unfortunate life. Thankfully, the nickname had been ignored; habits may have otherwise caused her jaws to snap. There may have been a simmer, but fate called the situation to curve its path to the left. As the vocal humor made itself clear, Tiw demonstrated what seemed to be the most obnoxious action Yūki had ever seen her do. It would have been graceful, in fact, if not for the tipping of the candle... and the burst of fire and smoke that followed thereafter.

While her companion continued her presumptuous act, the Princess could only stare in mild shock. She didn't want her day to turn out like this. She didn't want any day to turn with such a bang. As the heat reached her skin with burning claws, Yūki felt her eyes burn from the smell of smoke, her face turning away from the flames with subconscious thoughts. When the fire burned last, she had been sitting... standing? When the wild tongues licked her ankles; when was that? It was hard to say when (asleep?) or why (awake?) -- only that if she tarried a moment longer, she would find herself either in the after-world, or upon the most unhygienic streets.

When the exclamation burst to her ears, Yūki gave a start, almost throwing her reading material straight into the air. There was running, and yelling, and all the sound converged into one; the smell seemingly endless into the pores of her skin, her brain. "What... did you do...!?" Was all her throat could assemble coherently. However, even as the last word dissipated into seemingly unheard ears, something solid and unnatural grabbed her own, and Yūki found herself being dragged along in the most unusual fashion, through the roads of Rosae Crucis.

[Tiw Fenris]

like flecks of SUNLiGHT

[/size]in your eyes;[/color]

fall was always left in your eyes,
like the twilight. [/center]

The wind cut across her skin and swept her sable locks from her forehead – the sound of thunder, freedom, at her heels. And that was it: freedom – it had nipped the skin of Achilles’ heel so tentatively that he stumbled. Upon tasting untouched flesh, the dog of greed opened its jaws to snap at the un-anointed tendon, to sink its teeth into the fragile surface that the divine collapsed and cracked his skull upon the jagged obsidian protrusion. Yet what was freedom but an innocent pup? Only content to leap at its owner’s feet in gaiety to shuffle between his limbs and have him inadvertently trip to fall. Fall and break. Break-fall…

Confused cries and outraged shouts intermingled and clashed to form a different melodious cacophony. Explosions of orange and yellow flecks sent Rosae Crucis into festive frenzy of terror and bloodlust as the drumming of fire balls meeting potion carts resonated through the earth and the crack of lightning through spellbook shops rang through the air. And Tiw never had felt such inexplicable glee in her meager life to feel the singe fire at her cheeks. Cobblestones began to crackle with blue electricity – such wonderment was something to behold as fine hair stood to attention in the wake of the lightning’s keeper.

Tiw gripped Yuuki’s fragile hand with the most ardent and insistent grip – and none so delicately – tanned fingers coiling around paler flesh to pull its owner in tow. Slash the angle; cut it just so sharply. A haughty grin and a snort of arrogance – child’s play. Stay with lightning before the thunder comes. She spun on the balls of her feet to stray a harsh perpendicular angle in a burst of speed without grace yet also with absence of clumsiness. Lady Fortuna had not been blind after all in her sadistic pleasure; fire balls changed the rhythm of air and her body halted in all poise to shoot another angle.

Hard movements and harder breaths. She was aware enough – and in of sound mind – of her passenger to throw an exuberant laugh back into the wind – to taunt? or to play? – as she bolted in another direction. “I didn’t do anything,” her breathing still even, “some are just too hot ‘n bothered.” Such arrogance was hardly a wolf waiting for its next meal. Moreso was it a small pup, well-fed and satiated that its only concern was play.

But danger was starved, unsated in its taste for wounds, organs, and blood. The rabid beast breathed down the innocent arrogance’s neck – its mouth watering at the ripe flesh of a newborn. When shall such a demarcation be erased and the feral wolf able to stretch its paws across the line to shred away at tender flesh? She was aware, and took care to keep herself and her handful of sunshine in tandem. Bolts and comets streaked this and that way as if frenzied by a drop of carnage bossed by a coat of libido – fixation on the nonexistent. Anger of an overflowed aquifer that bursts out from once pathetically moist wells…

Speed dictated her destination as the alleyway between a bookstore and a glassware shop. She slipped into the slight space after her companion. “Alleyway” was too loose of a term to be plastered with such a meager passage. The warmth of bodies pressed together had erased and shot the concept of the personal bubble to oblivion. And a missing organ began a rapid “thump, thump” – louder than when blood rushed to her limbs in a fevered escapade. If a streak of crimson had usurped a place on her cheeks, Tiw wouldn’t have to know.

Though…how was she not to let the excitable cheer go to waste? “Well, Sunshine, looks like we can’t keep apart!” Tiw kept her voice to a giddy whisper as she brought her face just noticeably closer. “And though written prose is dear, its meaning is lost without your inflection and melody!”

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Yūki]

SUN BURNT&BENT IN THE FIELDS

{ keep the maple tree carved with the name of my love }
we'll be silent as the grave;
Painted in Time.

Stranded in golden plains, the empty-eyed cub continues to gambole with a bone. Its conclusive meal had been too long ago, and its own ribcage too pronounced. The flesh it had consumed has since been ambled off, and all that was left was rusty skin, stretched with nary a wrinkle. It was free, but it had nothing. No warthogs, no meerkats. No kings and queens to guide it; no stars to tell it where it should exist. Nothing, but itself and the piece of skeleton. Even that would be snatched away by hyenas, and then it would truly be nothing. Why? It had done nothing. You get what you give, and all it had given was slobber and fur. So it was left to die, amongst the ambrosial reeds and tawny fields. Prey for the vultures, circling overhead. Over its head, it continues to play.

Yūki did not compare herself to such a pitiful creature, but at this moment, it felt like it. She had done nothing to stop the rampage, and so... what? She was given a breath of smoke, and singed hair? Bolts that shot from the burning carriage lit everything it could touch aflame, and the female took care to take steps back. But the situation was chaotic - she knew not where things began, and ended. She heard everything but herself, and even as the ground below her feet shook and grumbled with jolts and sparks, Yūki feared to move; before the other had decided to drag her away, of course. She felt blind - following this... this person, essentially putting her whole life quite literally into the other's palm. Nonetheless, there was nothing more she could do.

But running was not something she was so accustomed to. Before long, she felt herself tripping over steps that should have been easy to walk. The only reason she kept moving was the explosions behind her, and the flames that heated itself against her back and ankles. The grasp on her own clutch was tight, and didn't seem to want to let go anytime soon. Yūki couldn't afford to speak with temper, deciding to keep her precious oxygen in reserves. Even as the obnoxious sound of mirth collided with her ears, her eyebrows merely met in the middle to agree on silence. As they continued to travel the stone, Yūki kept her eyes against the back of the other; turning as the limbs did, yet looking away whenever fire met ice.

The rolling inferno was left behind; she felt the cool air behind her airs, but her cheeks remained hot from the explosion and... that letter. Which she hoped had died in the flames. A sharp corner was thus turned, and so, the corner smacked against what was previously known as her own private space. The hiding spot which Tiw had so tastefully chosen could have been described as a mere cubby hole, speaking horizontally. She felt the heart beneath her cage flutter, attempting to break free with fearsome beats; oh woe! Yūki, the poor girl, felt just about ready to collapse. The thought that she would have fallen even closer to her companion kept her body up and alert. For now, that is.

The Princess' lips parted finally to let out a small cough. "Unfortunately." Her own expression was sullen, possessed by a dark cloud which seemed just about ready to break. The female tried craning her neck back, away from that... that. It was the brick wall that stopped her plans quite easily. Ignoring the other's final comment, she went on to strike the main matter quite clearly. "Why is this necessary? You're the one at fault, not I." She would have tried to sidle out, but Tiw's figure pressing against hers made it all the more difficult... like a wedge.