What's the saying? [ more airily than one might give someone like him credit for: ] What goes around comes around?
[ he'd know a thing or two about that, irony aside. ]
Anyway — I agree. I feel it too. But if this is our brief chance at respite, I'd rather you have your knife before you need it. Can you make it here alright?
[ That earns him the sensation of a grin. Subaru is what comes around—at least when it comes to Seishirou. ]
Yeah, not a problem. It shouldn't take me too long on B, either. [ in their horse form, that is. ] See you soon.
[ True to her word, the trip doesn't take long with Belladonna carrying her. The moment Sharon steps down, her Nightmare dissolves into a wisp of dark, fog-like smoke, thinning out until it vanishes into the air. She skips a step on her way up to the familiar red door, then raps her knuckles against it in an almost melodic, chipper knock. ]
[ Thankfully, his nightmare isn't fancying herself the bouncer of W 22nd St today. Usually brooding atop his residence like a stunningly beautiful gargoyle since assuming bird form, Hana's likely off harassing other, less welcome guests. There is still an ample amount of runic birdsong around, however.
And Subaru answers shortly after, a lit cigarette half-smoked dangling from his lower lip; he pulls the door open and stands aside for her to enter. One brow arches, the ghost of amusement now mirrored in person. ]
I mean... [ She trails off, biting back a smile as she steps inside, the expression turning faintly sheepish instead. ] Everything feels weird right now, but I'm getting my knife back, so I'm choosing to appreciate the good parts while they last. It's probably only a matter of time before our entire world flips upside down and we're all fighting for our lives again.
[ She's trying, deliberately, not to drown in the anxiety clawing at the edges of her thoughts. Trying to keep her focus on the few bright spots she can still reach. She points lazily toward the cigarette between his fingers. ] Those things'll kill you, you know. [ The comment comes lightly, threaded with just enough teasing to soften it. She is hilarious. ]
[ Her first observation is, ironically, one of the few things they can predict by now. They wake and nothing feels right, but nothing overt attacks straight away. A full moon's calm flush greets them at the "beginning" of the month. By its light, they gather their bearings, mingle and smile in ways that almost seem a little normal. While there's time, while they can.
So it's the second comment that makes his brows draw upwards slightly, expression warm but faroff, difficult to read. Something between If only, Not quickly enough, and I'd like to see them try. He inhales as if in discreet challenge and shuts the door quietly behind her. ]
If it bothers you, I'll put it out. If it doesn't, I'll offer you one.
[ He moves into the tiny, well-loved kitchen area where the knife of the hour sits atop a bed of talismans on the table. ]
It doesn't bother me. [ That isn't entirely true. She hates the smell when it's tangled up with bleach and cleaning chemicals. But a cigarette on its own? Every now and then, she enjoys one—more often these days than she ever used to.
She follows close behind as they wander into the kitchen, hands tucked loosely at her sides. ] I'll take a cigarette and something to drink. Tea, maybe?
[ Her attention drifts almost immediately to the knife laid out nearby. She steps closer, studying the talismans arranged beneath it, her gaze tracing their placement. ] Did it take a lot to... purify it this time? [ Did Seishirou put it through its paces? ]
[ Where else but the end of the world would a small vice feel as warranted? As it is, the smoke curls about the place in slow, warm curls that betray how stagnant his apartment felt the last month. He'd willingly emptied it of its usual lively occupants, knowing how fast things could turn with tethers warping and misfiring. But slowly, it's regaining some color. ]
Tea it is. [ First, he fishes the pack of cigarettes out from his shirt pocket and places it on the table with a lighter as an invitation to take a seat. ] And no, it's not so bad. Though I was the last one to use it, rather than Seishirou-san.
[ Sharon drops into a seat and slips a cigarette from the pack, lighting it with practiced ease. The first drag settles warm in her lungs, and she leans back as she exhales, letting the smoke drift loose into the air. Her eyes follow Subaru as he moves to put the kettle on, quiet for a moment as she studies him. ]
Glad to know she came in handy. [ What a good little knife. ]
She's a good knife. [ He agrees, picking out a packet of chamomile tea. ] And a well-traveled one. I suppose that's the nature of community here at the edge of the world.
[ Something old, something new, something borrowed... so on, in a place where rite reigns. He slips another box of something out from a cabinet shelf, flipping the lid to display a bunch of little vacuum sealed honey sticks of varying colors. And subsequently, flavors. There's even a blue one. (Please thank Caelus for being his supplier.)
He brings over the mug, the tea bag, and the flavored honey for sweetener. ]
Knives can be used to cut metaphysical obstacles. I set wards over the vet clinic, the same as the ones I'd use for the safe rooms, [ he explains as he retrieves the kettle and pours her a glass. ] but I needed to cut the spells quickly when a host attacked it. That's how I got it back so easily.
[ Some of the talismans it's sitting on are charred and torn, but still recognizable as raccoon post-its. ]
It's almost enough to make me less sour at Seishirou. [ Truthfully, whatever sourness she claims to feel is mostly an act. She likes him far too much to hold any real grudge, and whatever irritation lingers is little more than something playful and pointed, the sort of childish sulking she knows isn't entirely fair. It's not as if she's been left defenseless. It's not as if she doesn't have more knives tucked away—even if none of them are quite as beautiful as her favorite.
She drops the teabag into the cup, adds some of the honey, and lets it steep. Chamomile is a good choice. She can always use a little calm. ]
You cut the spells...? [ Her brow furrows slightly as she glances up at him. She'll never fully understand the way Subaru's magic works. Still, the curiosity is impossible to suppress. ] I think I'd like to see you in action someday.
He complains, [ Subaru says without hesitation. ] but he enjoys it too. [ He said what he said. ] Having someone to pace him and trade blows with.
[ Even petty and sulking and temperamental. It's a realization come too late and a world away, but one he's certain of now that he's prone to the bigger picture — and as much as Sakurazuka Seishirou enjoys anything, the splinters and pulp of feeling pushed through the teeth of genealogically corporate occultism and famous last words. This? This is a game. Subaru expects that her favorite will end up spirited away from either of their hands again.
A faint upturn at the corners of his mouth disappears behind the flex of his fingers over his cigarette. He inhales, sparkling ember orange eating up to the filter, and stubs the remainder out in a chipped glass ashtray. ]
I hope you don't have to. But that's also wishful thinking, I know.
[ He picks up the knife and flips it open, the shape it somehow wrong in his slender hands despite the certainty of his movement. ]
[ She snorts quietly at that. Truthfully, she has no idea what kinds of things Seishirou enjoys doing—if he enjoys anything at all. Some days, she catches herself wondering if there's anything inside him beyond the surface.
Her eyes follow Subaru's every movement, attentive in a way she doesn't bother to hide. There's something elegant about him, as if each motion is born from pure intention. Her expression tightens thoughtfully at his question, brows pinching as she considers it. ] As much as I have to be. [ Her gaze flicks back to him, curious despite herself. ] Are you?
[ Subaru looks like a man shaped for magic, for the swift, graceful swish of his fingers as he works through a spell, not for the weight and edge of a blade. ]
[ Which seems like a stupid thing to say, something anyone sane would respond to with Who does? — but he figures he doesn't have to lean so explicit. Her answer reflects clearly enough, his interest in the soul of it balancing out her catching on its physicality, light shattered by so many facets. Rust and fire, memory, love. ]
And, as you can see, I'm not of much use swinging a sword or throwing a punch. [ He sets the knife down on a talisman and positions it in millimeter increments until he seems satisfied; the blade points cardinal west. ] But I can fight. I spent my life learning.
[ The dry rasp of the paper sounds softly, its inky fulu script darkening and bleeding the magnetized garnet of his spellwork. ]
[ Sharon knows plenty of people who enjoy a fight, people she's watched disappear into the heat of it like they were born for it. She's seen the way violence can become something intoxicating. But she'd known what kind of person Subaru was long before he'd answered. He could fight, but he took no pleasure in it. She couldn't say the same for herself.
He sets the blade down, adjusting it with deliberate precision until it's angled exactly the way he wants it. By now, she's learned enough to know none of his movements are thoughtless. There's reason behind every small action, some quiet meaning woven into each choice, even if she can't begin to unravel what it is.
Her gaze lingers on the careful placement before drifting back to him, thoughtful, curious. ] Why'd you have to learn? Because of what you can do? [ His magic? ]
It's my job. [ He answers with so little fanfare in the soft sweep if his voice it almost sounds like a joke. ] And I'm paid well to do it.
[ Leaning back in his seat, he folds his arms loosely and glimpses upwards from the blade and the ink reverberating on the table to meet her eyes. There's almost something like an apology in the set of his expression, in the half-light of his right eye blinded, the same as Seishirou. ]
That's likely a less interesting answer than you'd hoped for, but it's the truth.
A job that pays well to fight...? Where I come from, that's pretty interesting. [ In her world, fighting monsters or demons or preserving some fragile balance belonged more to fantasy stories. She leans forward slightly, blue eyes fixed on him over the rim of her steaming mug, both hands wrapped around the warmth of it. ] Tell me about it. Is the pay the only reason you do it?
[ Hesitation briefly crosses his brow, but he doesn't avert his gaze when squared against the calm intensity of hers. It'll be a while before the blade's energy runs clean... ]
Before, when I told you about onmyoudo — it's my professional trade. It's an art that's been used to protect Japan for thousands of years, and the one my family found its legacy in. I was just the next in line.
[ In a word: the pay aligns with the clout. He doesn't look especially gratified by this. ]
Combat is part of the training. It began when I was eight.
[ He says it pays well—it's a job. Does that make it worth it? ]
Was it what you wanted? [ Sharon knows all too well what families with legacies can be like. She'd, as Alessa, had grown up aware of the expectations, if only because her mother was the family failure. The pressure—and for him to start training so young. ]
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Wait, wait—really? [ She feels a touch silly to be so excited over a knife, but somehow it's become important to her. ] He leave it down again?
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Want me to stop by to get it? I'm not in any rush, though. The city is feeling a bit weird. [ and she's on edge ]
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[ he'd know a thing or two about that, irony aside. ]
Anyway — I agree. I feel it too. But if this is our brief chance at respite, I'd rather you have your knife before you need it. Can you make it here alright?
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Yeah, not a problem. It shouldn't take me too long on B, either. [ in their horse form, that is. ] See you soon.
[ True to her word, the trip doesn't take long with Belladonna carrying her. The moment Sharon steps down, her Nightmare dissolves into a wisp of dark, fog-like smoke, thinning out until it vanishes into the air. She skips a step on her way up to the familiar red door, then raps her knuckles against it in an almost melodic, chipper knock. ]
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And Subaru answers shortly after, a lit cigarette half-smoked dangling from his lower lip; he pulls the door open and stands aside for her to enter. One brow arches, the ghost of amusement now mirrored in person. ]
In a good mood?
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[ She's trying, deliberately, not to drown in the anxiety clawing at the edges of her thoughts. Trying to keep her focus on the few bright spots she can still reach. She points lazily toward the cigarette between his fingers. ] Those things'll kill you, you know. [ The comment comes lightly, threaded with just enough teasing to soften it. She is hilarious. ]
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So it's the second comment that makes his brows draw upwards slightly, expression warm but faroff, difficult to read. Something between If only, Not quickly enough, and I'd like to see them try. He inhales as if in discreet challenge and shuts the door quietly behind her. ]
If it bothers you, I'll put it out. If it doesn't, I'll offer you one.
[ He moves into the tiny, well-loved kitchen area where the knife of the hour sits atop a bed of talismans on the table. ]
Are you thirsty?
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She follows close behind as they wander into the kitchen, hands tucked loosely at her sides. ] I'll take a cigarette and something to drink. Tea, maybe?
[ Her attention drifts almost immediately to the knife laid out nearby. She steps closer, studying the talismans arranged beneath it, her gaze tracing their placement. ] Did it take a lot to... purify it this time? [ Did Seishirou put it through its paces? ]
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Tea it is. [ First, he fishes the pack of cigarettes out from his shirt pocket and places it on the table with a lighter as an invitation to take a seat. ] And no, it's not so bad. Though I was the last one to use it, rather than Seishirou-san.
[ He puts the kettle on. ]
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Glad to know she came in handy. [ What a good little knife. ]
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[ Something old, something new, something borrowed... so on, in a place where rite reigns. He slips another box of something out from a cabinet shelf, flipping the lid to display a bunch of little vacuum sealed honey sticks of varying colors. And subsequently, flavors. There's even a blue one. (Please thank Caelus for being his supplier.)
He brings over the mug, the tea bag, and the flavored honey for sweetener. ]
Knives can be used to cut metaphysical obstacles. I set wards over the vet clinic, the same as the ones I'd use for the safe rooms, [ he explains as he retrieves the kettle and pours her a glass. ] but I needed to cut the spells quickly when a host attacked it. That's how I got it back so easily.
[ Some of the talismans it's sitting on are charred and torn, but still recognizable as raccoon post-its. ]
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She drops the teabag into the cup, adds some of the honey, and lets it steep. Chamomile is a good choice. She can always use a little calm. ]
You cut the spells...? [ Her brow furrows slightly as she glances up at him. She'll never fully understand the way Subaru's magic works. Still, the curiosity is impossible to suppress. ] I think I'd like to see you in action someday.
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[ Even petty and sulking and temperamental. It's a realization come too late and a world away, but one he's certain of now that he's prone to the bigger picture — and as much as Sakurazuka Seishirou enjoys anything, the splinters and pulp of feeling pushed through the teeth of genealogically corporate occultism and famous last words. This? This is a game. Subaru expects that her favorite will end up spirited away from either of their hands again.
A faint upturn at the corners of his mouth disappears behind the flex of his fingers over his cigarette. He inhales, sparkling ember orange eating up to the filter, and stubs the remainder out in a chipped glass ashtray. ]
I hope you don't have to. But that's also wishful thinking, I know.
[ He picks up the knife and flips it open, the shape it somehow wrong in his slender hands despite the certainty of his movement. ]
Are you much of a fighter?
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Her eyes follow Subaru's every movement, attentive in a way she doesn't bother to hide. There's something elegant about him, as if each motion is born from pure intention. Her expression tightens thoughtfully at his question, brows pinching as she considers it. ] As much as I have to be. [ Her gaze flicks back to him, curious despite herself. ] Are you?
[ Subaru looks like a man shaped for magic, for the swift, graceful swish of his fingers as he works through a spell, not for the weight and edge of a blade. ]
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[ Which seems like a stupid thing to say, something anyone sane would respond to with Who does? — but he figures he doesn't have to lean so explicit. Her answer reflects clearly enough, his interest in the soul of it balancing out her catching on its physicality, light shattered by so many facets. Rust and fire, memory, love. ]
And, as you can see, I'm not of much use swinging a sword or throwing a punch. [ He sets the knife down on a talisman and positions it in millimeter increments until he seems satisfied; the blade points cardinal west. ] But I can fight. I spent my life learning.
[ The dry rasp of the paper sounds softly, its inky fulu script darkening and bleeding the magnetized garnet of his spellwork. ]
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He sets the blade down, adjusting it with deliberate precision until it's angled exactly the way he wants it. By now, she's learned enough to know none of his movements are thoughtless. There's reason behind every small action, some quiet meaning woven into each choice, even if she can't begin to unravel what it is.
Her gaze lingers on the careful placement before drifting back to him, thoughtful, curious. ] Why'd you have to learn? Because of what you can do? [ His magic? ]
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[ Leaning back in his seat, he folds his arms loosely and glimpses upwards from the blade and the ink reverberating on the table to meet her eyes. There's almost something like an apology in the set of his expression, in the half-light of his right eye blinded, the same as Seishirou. ]
That's likely a less interesting answer than you'd hoped for, but it's the truth.
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[ She's already assumed it's not. ]
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Before, when I told you about onmyoudo — it's my professional trade. It's an art that's been used to protect Japan for thousands of years, and the one my family found its legacy in. I was just the next in line.
[ In a word: the pay aligns with the clout. He doesn't look especially gratified by this. ]
Combat is part of the training. It began when I was eight.
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Was it what you wanted? [ Sharon knows all too well what families with legacies can be like. She'd, as Alessa, had grown up aware of the expectations, if only because her mother was the family failure. The pressure—and for him to start training so young. ]