medicative | (ic inbox)

Dear Emily,

It seems things never quite end for us survivors, doesn't it?
Despite it, I'm glad to have you here with us, your company has always a way of putting us at ease.
I hope you'll join us for dinner! The ramen shop is quite warm and filling, the four of us certainly should get together.
It isn't much, but I hope this will keep you warm during the colder weather.
Merry Christmas, may the Gods continue to smile upon you and keep you safe.

Sincerely,
Eli Clark.

[ Inside the package, Emily will find a light blue shawl that is large enough to wrap around her shoulders and cover most of her upper torso. Something to provide a little extra comfort against the chill! ]

[ The kimonos were elegant, the fabrics neatly folded and displayed, the sheen of silk reflecting beneath the light. Alex was in awe of it all, not having seen such fine clothes up close before. Was there really something wrong with the shop, she wondered as she reached out to touch one of the piles cloth. But just before her fingers can graze it, the pile flings up towards her face, giggles filling the air as all of the cloth falls down onto her and the floor. ]

Ah...so that’s what’s going on.

Got a favor t'ask.

Do you know how to alter clothes?

Couple kids fell in my memories. Saw some shit kids shouldn't see.

Whenever you have the moment, are you free for me to visit, Emily?
Unless you're currently out, in which I'd appreciate if you can stop by Naib and I's apartment when you have the time.

hey

uh this might sound dumb

but how do you feel about snacks

[At some point after she initially gave Vikenti the medicine, after the bloody rain began and the lake started crying out, there's...a knock on her door. A rap, really, purposeful and curt.

The man who she opens her door to is Vikenti, but not. The glasses are gone, tucked into a carrying case; his eyes are golden now, ears pointed, lines tracing down his face.]

Doctor Dyer?

[It's merely coincidence that he ends up near Emily's apartment. He hasn't held vigil there for a long time, not after he--they--attacked her, but he's making his way back from the store when the ribbon holding his braid in breaks.

Normally, he'd wait, shove it back, but...Bi'an hums in the back of his mind, even with the sips of the medicine he's been drinking. He...doesn't want to silence it completely.

So he takes a seat under an overhang, freeing it and starting to comb his hair out with his fingers. His braid is a mess, really--He's never been one to maintain it much. When he was alone, it was enough to keep it out of his eyes. When they were together, Bi'an would take the task upon himself with an almost greedy eagerness, and Wujiu would let him. In the Manor, they'd take turns.

His hands are meant for fighting, repairing umbrellas, mending slippers. Hair braiding isn't quite his forte.]

[When he'd woken up, for a moment he'd thought he was back under the Nantai bridge, water around him and water inside him, filling his stomach and lungs, his heart pounding in his ears.

There's the smell of dust instead of perfume, his own foul breath instead of osmanthus, rotting leaves instead of rain and sweat and spring air. Something rests across his tongue, his eyes, his neck. His throat works, but he can hardly even pull a hoarse croak out.

As always, it's his body that moves before his mind. His arms don't feel like his own, but they move nevertheless, and he feels, vaguely, thousands of little threads snapping. He gropes for his own face, finds more over it, claws them off, not caring that he's yanking some of his own hair (loose now, and ironically more white than black).

He lets out a rough little moan, realizing that he's no longer in China, no longer anywhere he should be...but then, no, he remembers his reality. For a moment he's caught between worlds, the dreams hanging onto him like the many threads.

It happens sometimes, especially in Hakagemachi (ah, yes, that's where he is--) and he always has to--

His hands scrabble, and he blinks once, twice, looking around, clawing more of the threads out of his eyes--

where is it

Where is it?!

Where are you??

Not again, not again, he can't lose him again! He only barely has what remains now, and now, and now--

He feels like he's drowning again as he crashes around the brush, his throat still working those agitated croaks out.]

mail/christmas gift. (12/25)

Eternal Style Quest

text; majima@

𝚜𝚒𝚡@𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒.𝚌𝚘

majima@hakagemachi.co

text;

probably a day or two before the june event??? text

no subject

IDK WHEN after all the other stuff