#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts.

[orchideae]

Where they might grate the nerves of those more ordinary; these distant, creaking sounds that resonated at every foot that this metal elevator further descended into Fontaine's depths, were ones she welcomed. They differed from the gossip of Liyue's hustle and bustle, and veered far from the howling ghosts of the Chasm that would never quite cease to echo in her ears. No, these sounds were man-made and authentic, the result of strenuous labor if fables were to be believed— and who was she now, if not a believer of almost unfathomable tales, at least in part? The Fortress of Meropide, a structure symbolical of humankind, and its perseverance and strength, and yet those were not the words she'd heard spoken in whispers above ground. Praise seemed rare enough, while fear of the unknown seemed ever more dominant among the nation's natives. Autonomous, and untouched by Fontainian jurisdiction entirely, its rarity tickled her curiosity to say the least; but a walking enigma to mystery is akin to a moth to flame after all, and so, albeit rather subtly so, satisfaction creeped and sat at the edges of her lips. Ningguang or other, a challenge would beckon her time and time again, especially if one of two Harbingers dangled as the victor's reward at the finishing line. That however, seemed to have proven a challenge for Liyue so far: Childe had been kept out of its reach. So perhaps she'd have her work cut out for her here— but she'd welcome that, too. She was owed a holiday after all, and Fontaine might not be the worst of destinations.

Her mantle was drawn closer when the descent had finally come to an end; ah, if only her welcome were anything different than this chill that caressed the bare of her back without much mercy. And yet, it matched the icy sting of heels to steel as she paced forward, a tilt of her chin leading her to certain memories of a not-so-distant past. She'd caught a glimpse of him above ground, this adversary of hers as designated by the Qixing's frustrations: the Duke of the Meropide himself. That alone had garnered some respect that pulled at her smile almost still too obviously now, all while only feet away from him. It mattered only little if he noticed, or perhaps she sought him to notice. All in all, anyone to rile both the Tianquan and Yuheng in tandem, deserved free rounds of tea on her. And if she couldn't bring the entirety of Yansheng Teahouse with her, she'd take at least part of it on her travels. And as her luck would have it, it seemed that this self-made man (to say the least) enjoyed his teas. Ah, a self-made man, it seemed almost too fitting for him to lead such a place, and rather ill-fitting for him to be here upon her arrival. Strange? Though, perhaps he would prove warmer than his surroundings. Though that would surely depend on just how thick the stack of Liyuen diplomatic requests got before her assistance had ever been requested in the first place. Tsk. "Your Grace." Borne in courtesy much like the slow, and graceful bow that accompanied it; her tone was warm and bore quite the authenticity.

If you know, you know. ;) // @delusionaid

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #delusionaid #[ we'd already decided that wriothesley had to be the first. he just had to be. ] #[ he couldn't not be. ]

[ilovelocust]

Mirror Mirror V.2 (Part 13)

Note: Part 14 is already done and I’ll post it tomorrow before I drive up to Oklahoma to visit my father.. I’m working on Part 15 today and it should be ready for posting on Saturday. Part 15 is the last of the rewrite chapter, after that will be all new content. That means those chapters are going to have to be written from scratch and will take longer to complete. I’m visiting my father, but when I have spare time I’ll work on Part 16 and hopefully it will be going up sometime next week. If I remember my outline right this fic is either 17 or 18 parts long, so we are very close to the end.

<< First < Prev.

Some sense of normalcy has finally returned to Shiro’s life. He can’t yet welcome Keith back to his bed, but outside the security of his room, he lets his lover in piece by piece. If things were to stay as they are, someday he might be able to go all the way. Bury the memories of his time in the alternate dimension in the deepest darkest corners of his mind, reserved for all things so much better forgotten, and build something new to cover it. Not a fresh start, but close enough. Of course, the tentative peace cannot last.

Keith is sparring with him. Hell or high water every day they meet for at least one round. Routine is so hard to find in the chaos of the Castle, he going to hold onto this one with everything he has. Keith’s flat to the floor, arms twisted in a hold he won’t be able to break. Now it’s just a matter of waiting out his struggles and eventual concession. There is a tell tale crackle of the Castle’s ancient speaker systems coming to life, “Shiro, please come to Slav’s laboratory immediately. Time is of the essence,” Allura’s tinny voice rings out.

Shiro let’s Keith go. Grabs his vest on the way out the door. He doesn’t take off his shirt outside his room, even before, even in front of Keith who has seen it all. The vest is the only concession to the heat he is willing to make, and he’ll put that on while he walks.

Keith materializes by his side, “Moral support,” Keith says with a smile. He must have keyed into Shiro’s, not very well hidden to be honest, distaste for being stuck in a conversation with Slav. Well, not like he was going to turn away any offered buffer between the eccentric alien and himself. His stress levels are high enough as it is.

The lab is one of many that lays abandoned in the Castle, only differentiating itself through the lack of dust and actively humming equipment from recent activity. Allura and Slav are both waiting when they enter, as is an oddly quiet Lance. Today is the Blue Paladin’s turn on the lab assistant schedule, one Shiro has been wisely exempt from since returning.

“Ah good you are here!” Slav rears up in front of Shiro, sending his heart into his throat and nearly ending in Slav losing his head. Not that that slows him even for a second, “Good, good, we may begin.” He scurries away to climb on top of a chair with far too many wires attached. It looks like something Haggar would cook up to pick through someones brain, “Sit down, we must hurry. Every tick we delay reduces our chances of success by .003 percent.”

Shiro looks to Allura, surely she knows what’s going on. He’d like some idea before sitting down in something that looks two seconds away from electrocuting someone, “Earlier Slav detected signals from what seemed to be another dimension,” Allura explains, gesturing towards a screen full of pictures and Altean symbols that clarifies absolutely nothing, “Upon further investigation he found that they originated from the dimension we rescued you from.” Ice trickles down his spine, “We think they might be searching for you,” Allura’s next words echo in his skull, “They may be trying to get you back.”

Get you back. There’s more, but he can’t hear it. His captor is searching for him. Reaching across the barrier between dimensions, to take him back. To lock him in his ice cold cell, run his fingers across his skin. He can’t, he can’t live through that again.

“Shiro!” Shiro opens his eyes. When did he close them? Keith is standing in front of him. Red jacket, not his captor. Pull it together, he can’t let the others see him like this, “Shiro you need to sit in the chair. You aren’t going back.” Keith says achingly soft, like Shiro might shatter with the wrong tone. Keith herds him, without touching, to the device Slav has rigged up. No restraints are activated, nothing is even attached to him, but his gut still churns. Machines, surrounding him, attached to his skin, there are always machines. Keith takes a step back.

“What does this do?” He asks, voice hoarse, trying to re-engage himself with the moment he’s in.

“It’s going to lock you into our dimension.” Keith says. His relief is hidden poorly. Shiro’s panic must make him feel helpless, Keith never did like feeling helpless, “Slav explained how it works, but it went over my head. All you need to know, is no one will be able to take you again after this is through.” The words aren’t just for him. Keith is reassuring himself as well.

Shiro nods his understanding. The machines hum, powering up, building energy. Keith is the only one with him. Everyone else has gathered around the controls, reading over Slav’s shoulder while he works. None of them can do anything but trust in the scientist’s many hands. They are all out of their depths.

Slav throws a lever and a low level buzzing emanates from the chair. There is a tingling in his toes and fingers. The machine must be doing something to him, “Hey guys,” Lance sounds worried, “Can we hurry this up. That signal from the other guys is getting really strong all of the sudden.” What does that mean?

The tingling starts to crawl up his arms and legs. Shiro chokes, breath stuck in his throat. The feeling. It’s not the machine. It’s the same as before, when he was rescued, when he was kidnapped. He’s going back. His captor is pulling him away again. He digs his fingers into the chair, metal bending under his right. Like he could somehow physically hold onto this dimension, force his rapidly disappearing sense of touch to stay. Keith will be so angry. He promised not to leave. He’s going to die in that cell.

Incoherent voices are shouting, his vision slowly whites out. Like someone is turning up the bloom on the world until he can’t make out what’s around him. His skin prickling like its covered in ants. Then…

Arms around him. Red jacket. Keith is hugging him. “You’re safe. We stopped them,” Keith words are muffled against his neck. Holding on for all he’s worth. No guards, no shock batons, the only purple in the room is Allura’s earrings. He’s, he’s still on the Castle of the Lions. His captor didn’t take him.

Keith lets him go, walks away. The set of his shoulders betraying his attempts to regain his composure.

“Dude, what was that about?” Every head swivels to look at Lance, “You’re awesome and all, but not that awesome. Why do these guys want you so bad?”

“It does seem exceedingly odd. In 97 percent of known universes kidnapping the Black Paladin from another universe is not worth the effort,” Slav adds. All eyes turn to Shiro, waiting. Things don’t add up, not from what he’s told them, they want an explanation.

“I-I don’t know why,” Shiro lies. He can’t tell them. They’d never look at him the same way again.

“Shiro,” Allura too, everyone pressing in demanding to know more, “I understand if you don’t wish to discuss all the grisly details, but trying to take you not once but twice, makes the interests of this other dimension important information. Slav and I, need to know at least.” They won’t stop, not until they have an explanation they believe.

“It was the Galra.” Truth “I was a gladiator, just like before.” Partial truth, “I don’t know why they want me back so badly,” Lie. He should be ashamed of how easily he looks the Princess in the eye and lies to her face, but knowing what his captor wants wouldn’t help her. Wouldn’t change the measures to prevent him from being taken again. Knowing what he had to do, would just make things worse for them all. Maybe she’ll accept this much. His memory problems are infamous. They could believe the arena took this time too.

Allura sighs, “Okay, I believe you.” She says, and the eyes finally stop looking. Turning back to their screens and data.

Shiro nods. Wobbles to his feet and leaves the room. Keith follows him out, but no one tries to stop him.

.

He wanders aimlessly through the Castle with Keith by his side. They don’t speak. He doesn’t have the words, but the tension is there every time Keith looks at him. Questions, emotions, building behind his eyes. A small storm brewing, “Why are you lying?” Keith asks, quieter than expected.

“I’m not,” Denial is automatic, thoughtless self-protection.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Keith says, and there is the expected frustration. Keith move in front of him. Physically bars Shiro from walking further, leaving this conversation behind. Forcing him to look into Keith’s upset eyes.

“You can lie to Allura and Lance and all the others, but don’t lie to me.” Hurt, Keith’s hurt. His eyes have the same almost wet look to them as when he confessed his nightmares.

“Why are you cutting me out? You used to be able to talk to me, or at least tell me when you couldn’t.” Because the truth would break him. Keith wasn’t like Shiro or his captor, he hadn’t committed any great sins worthy of punishment. He didn’t deserve to carry the guilt for things he never did, but he didn’t believe Shiro’s story. He wouldn’t accept the same line he’d given the others.

Half-truths, for Keith, he had to give more half-truths, “I was captured by the Galra, and they did make me fight. Not in the arena, but for their entertainment.” Keith’s eyes are still searching his face, watching him for more falsehoods.

“But that’s not why they want you back,” Keith prods.

Even a half truth is enough truth for Shiro to cut himself on, “No, that’s not why,” Shiro admits. He doesn’t want to say more, but he needs to.

“Takashi-” Shiro flinches, and Keith cuts off mid-sentence.

“Don’t call me that,” Shiro whispers, avoiding the concern in Keith eyes. Keith doesn’t try to touch him. He’d told him he didn’t like to be touched and he’d listened, because that’s what Keith does, he listens to Shiro. Doesn’t hurt him willingly, always tries to make sure he’s okay.

“My captor always called me that,” Shiro continues. No names, but he can share some. Just enough for Keith to understand, “I think that was the only name he knew,” Or maybe he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about anything else to do with who Shiro was.

“He…I think-I think there used to be another me in the other dimension, and he died.” Keith is quiet, listening to him speak at his own stumbling pace. The words come easier, “My captor, I think, he wanted me to replace him. To be his Shiro.” The remaking scars, the talk of old times that never happened, very little else make sense.

How can he say the next part. He barely wants to remember what happened, “I don’t know if his Shiro was his…” He can’t say the word, “But I wasn’t willing. To his-to the things he did…I didn’t want it.” Shiro squeezes his eyes shut. He needs Keith to understand without him having to say it.

“Who was it?” Shiro opens his eyes. Keith’s clenched fist are trembling, teeth gritted. Rage in the lines of his face, “I’ll kill him.” Keith promises in a harsh whisper. He would, if given half a chance. Keith would kill his captor for him, for everything he did.

He’s not you, “You’ll never meet him.” Shiro says instead.

Next >

#sheith #shiro #keith #voltron #Mirror Mirror #my fic

[orchideae]

Finally removed from the box that had contained it for too long a time and too far a distance, her gaze softened in her watch of him. Or perhaps, it warmed simply at the sight of his confusion at this unusual, yet surely oddly familiar shape before him, one that was now left wrapped in fabrics from exquisite silks to colorful linens. Even they were gifts, and yet none of them would be warmer than what they held concealed tightly within them. She could have spoken then, could have uttered words of wit or promise, but she had chosen silence instead as she often had and would again, and again in his presence. In truth, observing him was often all that she'd longed to do: seeing that curiosity unfold amidst the countenance that she'd see even at the close of her eyes at night when he was impossibly far from craving fingers, and seeing the confusion tickle the corner of his lips. Every twitch of muscle and every glint in those eyes were things that she had come to revel, and they were things that she had lost track of when they'd come to matter as much as they did now. Somehow, and somewhere, he had become the one thing that she didn't understand, and yet understood far better than anything else.

"No." Ah, the need to comment had arisen, and the chuckle that'd come before it had been much too warm in nature. "It's not your regular teapot, I think it's even a little ill-suited for tea brewing." She'd pulled some strings for this numerous moons ago, cashed in favors with the traveler and Liyue's adepti alike, and then owed a tenfold more to a certain renowned Madame Ping. But she would owe another dozen if that was what it had taken her, for no price would be too much anymore. "Don't worry," she whispered in jest, "I promise that there's plenty of tea inside of it." She truly reveled much too fondly in the sight of him still. And so as she fought all urge to lean into his side for now, a smile lingered on her lips to prevail over any confusion that he might feel in reassurance. "When you're ready, lay your hand to it, and close your eyes." If he cannot see Inazuma, Sumeru, Mondstadt or any other of Teyvat's nations, then she would bring them to him. And first, he would see Liyue. He would see the sun and moon take their turns above its shore and he'd see its mountains to his back, and he'd witness its harbor in the distance. But most importantly, he would see a place amidst it all that belonged to no one but him, a place crafted for his escape, a place she crafted for his peace. "I hope that it's to your liking, your Grace," No, he was Wriothesley. He'd become it long ago, sometime before she became his. "—Wriothesley."

A finger rose to move in a slow stroke across his jawline, right up to his chin, as a whisper formed ever quietly on her tongue. It was warm, and filled with promise. "Go, I'll be right behind you."

Happy rebirthday, Wriothesley 💙 // @delusionaid

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #delusionaid #[ delusionaid. ] take your eyes off of me so i can leave. #[ there was no way that he wasn't going to get his birthday present. ] #[ happy birthday; wriothesley. <3 ] #[ you were hands-down the best gift that hoyo could have ever given /her/-- and while nothing can quite beat that... ] #[ she's for sure going to try. ]

[orchideae]

As the final strains of frustrations and tire of drunken patrons slowly faded into the streets of Liyue, Yanshang was soon locked with the twist of a key that resonated with a soft click, sealing its secrets (or were they hers?), once again, behind closed doors. The room now belonged to her, the echoes of groans at every single loss that she witnessed that night that had tickled her spine perhaps a bit much; and him, the establishment's last 'patron' who had proven himself elusive to her for quite some time until tonight. But she remembered him well, he had made quite sure of that with his boyish cheek when they had parted last. Ah, Kaeya. It was that same smirk she'd seen then, that she anticipated to see greet her upon her approach to his table where victory, and some of Liyue's finest wine, had been his loyal accomplices all evening.

Wrapped in a knee-length halter dress of a deep, almost-black shade of blue, the attire whispered of sophistication befitting of Yanshang's mistress, the fabric embracing her form with understated allure. With bare shoulders accentuating the ever subtle curve of her neck, she leaned forward after claiming her seat opposite him, setting her cup down adjacent to his own, as a subtle curve of her lips formed into a smile. "How about you play me for a few rounds of liar's dice next, hm?" For a moment, she allowed the invitation to linger in the air, laden with a charm that, perhaps, disguised more than just a game. And despite that it was to his substantial earnings that her gaze strayed, the challenge of her words seemed to tempt him, quite possibly, beyond the realm of mere dice and currency. "To give me a chance to take those earnings... off you." And let's see if you're actually a talent at the ways of the dice.

A little (remade) starter was requested for one Kaeya Alberich. // @delusionaid

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #delusionaid #[ i guess. ;) ]

[orchideae]

There was almost no sign left of the patrons that Yanshang had hosted for hours on end throughout the evening. The remnants of cigarette smoke from one particular benefactor unfortunately being the last to go, and it was always this specific lingering scent that'd prompt the delicate wrinkling of her nose. But the fragrance of light spices of incense would overpower it soon enough; either that, or the smell of the freshly fried dew-dipped shrimp she'd only just brought to one of the seating areas, alongside the smallest bowl of jueyun chilis. A personal indulgence after, well, did anyone ever truly need a reason to indulge in what delights them most?

Tonight, in ever rare exception, the establishment would serve as an abode to her. Solitude, peace, and quiet— something that the sounds of stumbling footsteps and overbearing whispers right outside those doors were definitely not a part of. Whatever was at cause for the entirely out of character behavior and disturbance originating with the Fang and Halbert didn't truly matter, but it definitely was at cause for them to retire a little earlier tonight. But it was an enduring curiosity that beckoned her most to ease the door open and peek, and it was soon rewarded: the wood met the briefest of resistance (was that Halbert's ankle?), and amusement bubbled in her throat at the sight of him stumbling. "What is going on—?" She started amidst relative bemused gaiety, though the cause of the commotion soon became clear. The Yuheng.

Such a revelation prompted the door to continue its inching outward, a gesture of invitation from one to another. "Forgive me, Yuheng, I didn't realize that I had one of your greatest fans employed here." That too came served with a chuckle, though one of jest at the Halbert more than anything (and she was rather certain that she'd never seen him light up red before), before she continued. "Thank you, both of you can go home early tonight. I'll see you in the morning." It was not done in malice or reprimand, it was no more than a dismissal after a day's work. And once both had gone, one scrambling a little more messily than the other, the invitation came again, the door left open as she slipped back within the walls of Yanshang. "I wasn't expecting the company of a celebrity tonight." Yes, she was going to linger on this some time longer.

@starwardsword // A 'little' owed starter

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #starwardsword #[ you know-- i absolutely did not intend for this to be long. but then it just happened. and i considered removing the top paragraph. ] #[ but then i remembered you noted you're fine with multi-para so i decided <.< to leave it <.< ] #[ remember though; no need/obligation to match in length! ] #[ but also i hope that this works. ] #[ yelan will absolutely poke fun at the halbert for this. little 'hmph' man. ] #[

[orchideae]

The basket that had held them throughout her travels from one nation to another had been of considerable size, impractically so, but it had been with good purpose, and worth every ounce of struggle. Now to hope they made it in one piece. "Ah-ah," she chided gently, a playful glint lingering in her eyes as she did so, moving a hand to ward off any curious fingers. "Not quite yet." She had to check, first. And so leaning forward to lift the lid of the basket just enough to steal a peek inside, relief soon painted itself all across her features in spades when she caught the sight of the two delicate lanterns nestled carefully within. They were intact, they had survived two journeys, and were ready for their next and final one.

With a smile urging contentment as she lifted the lid to fully unveil its contents to him, she turned her attention to the knitted throw that was tucked in there as well, and carefully tugged it from between the lanterns and spread it over the grass, crafting a snug little haven for their time there. "They made it," she murmured softly as she settled onto the blanket, her fingers straying over the paper surface of one of the lanterns. "This one, is yours."

But they weren't the only things that the basket had held; for nestled within were about a dozen floral-shaped lights that too were ever traditional of Liyue's festival, burrowed carefully into corners and remnant spaces, along with some boxes containing snacks she had made to last them throughout the veil of night if they so wished it. "Did you bring the matches?"

@delusionaid // 'Surprise' starter! (I did promise a LR one, didn't I? Now's the time)

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #delusionaid #[ i literally started this with 'let's make this a little thing for once'. and then i did some setting up-- ] #[ and just knew it'd be longer. it was inevitable. ] #[ granted it's not /long/ by any means. it's just not one paragraph. ] #[ and i also know you'll likely add to this as well; so we should just accept we'll never write short things. ] #[ and also forgive me for throwing another thing over; but we spoke about this before. and it's lantern rite min 😭 ]

[orchideae]

It didn't matter whether she'd stood beneath a veil of endless layers to conceal her identity or not, hers was a face unlike any other in her memory, one left unmistakably recognizable after their years of familiarity with one another. The Lady Ningguang, the Tianquan, she was much too out of place, but, Ning. "Get inside," came as promptly as the doors into Yanshang were eased open further, as if to urge the one person many would barely even dare address, inside with certain urgency, though her tone bore no such gravity. For surely neither of them were unaware of the identities of shadows that strayed within the harbor in such dead of night, and yet she knew, whatever reason had brought her to her doorstep, that she could only do it then, when the stars hung far overhead in the hush of nighttide. It was as unprepared as she was for company of any kind, the tea house, close to retiring for the night and finding the lull of slumber (her attire surely enough proof of that) as she'd been. And yet she'd seemed so awake, almost as if she'd been resting for days, as one passed another. "Tea? And if you don't mind locking the door—"

@basbousah // A little starter that I owed!

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #basbousah #[ ALOE I CAN DO IT. I CAN WRITE SEMI-SHORTER THINGS. look!! I DID IT. ] #[ okay but also i owed you this for a while. and with that starter call-- it was time. ] #[ i hope that this works. 💙 ]

[orchideae]

@delusionaid sent: He's listening - of course he is; there's not a single unimportant thing that leaves her mouth whenever she speaks. Even the things she says to distract and mislead are full of information, albeit it not the kind he (or anyone) might be hoping for. And yet.. he's also letting himself get distracted. The way she moves while speaking, the tone of her voice, the quiet clinking of her accessories; it all captures his attention more than her words about the recent uproar in politics between the nations. He's not sure how they got here but somehow he also knows exactly.

Her clothes are different, her shoes, her perfume. It's as enticing as ever, already tempting Wriothesley to burn it into his memory and become desperate to smell it again next time she makes an appearance - only to find that there's a new scent clinging to her skin, one just as addicting as the last.

"Did you do something different with your hair?" the warden asks despite seeing every difference in her appearance as clear as day before him. For a moment he lowers his eyes to the cup of tea in his hands. He can barely notice the familiar herbs. "My apologies. Sometimes the endless back and forth in Fontaine's foreign affairs get a little dry." Of course they don't; of course she knows that. But if he didn't try to derail her a little bit, this wouldn't be much of a game, would it?

Control was an instrument always so firmly lodged in the palms of her hands, except within the Fortress of Meropide, a structure that was his domain, and his alone. Here it would falter, in part at least, dangling ever so closely to the tip of a string in a web. His attempts at unnerving her had been more fruitful than anyone's ever had, or perhaps, he'd simply managed a different kind of interest from her. Or at the very least, she was starting to enjoy the company of this one; quite thoroughly so, in fact. How many teas had she accepted in this visit alone? These papers, and letters that crinkled not long ago beneath the tips of her fingers hardly mattered, nor did the words that were drawn from her lips, nor was the clinking of the pacing that possessed every step of hers in something close to an obsession. No, these all mattered: Tartaglia's escape mattered. Not just to the Qixing, but to her. How did it happen, why did it happen, where was he now? A hunter had lost its prey, again—— and she was wasting time, wasn't she? No, not necessarily.

The resonance of her heels to the metal flooring of his office calmed as her steps seemed to slow, for he'd caught her off-guard, indeed. And in that, she'd wondered if he could spot the tug at one corner of her lips: it was borne in the satisfaction that he'd noticed such a thing, and the intrigue as to why it even mattered to either of them. He certainly held her curiosity, if one could even accurately give it such a name, that much was for certain. With a halt of her step to the side of his desk, and the tips of her fingers skimming the rim of her cup in the barest of tracings – the cup which had been emptied much too recently – the smile was permitted to grow, enough to birth a chuckle that was almost too silent. And when she finally glimpsed over her shoulder at him, it lingered still. "No." An obvious lie, and so, in that singular word and the smile that accompanied it for only a little glimpse longer, she'd extended her first invitation to him: Would you disagree? Does it matter? The last of her fingers lifted from the cup then, the sound from that now ceasing as well, a removal of her final distraction, before she turned and found her repose against his desk, the empty cup right beside her. It was invitation number two. "Oh? — Hm, and would another cup of tea not serve to remedy that better than talk of me?"

#[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #delusionaid #[ i can't believe he's spending so long noticing the tiniest of differences in her. her clothes. her hair. her perfume-- everything. ] #[ every tiny little thing. and then you add in this stupid line: 'He can barely notice the familiar herbs.' ] #[ to /really/ drive it home. ] #[ you're ridiculous and i love it. ] #[ never stop being you. ]

[orchideae]

Tag drop (1/2): General.

#[ ooc. ] don't try to make it logical or edit your soul according to the fashion. rather; follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. #[ ic. ] a word to the wise: do not try to lie to her. for falsehoods may last as long as fragile bubbles before meticulous thoughts. #[ answered: ooc. ] finding her is no easy task either. for it is always she who finds you when she wishes to; not the other way around. #[ answered: ic. ] oh? you'd like to know more about me? what will you give in exchange then? #[ psa. ] seeing isn't always believing. and if you can't trust your eyes; you certainly can't trust rumors. #[ saved. ] how can things ever be the same again: knowing your life was saved when others weren't? salvation can also be a burden. #[ prompts / memes. ] i so happen to be interested in some information you have. in other words; you scratch my back; i'll scratch yours. #[ crack. ] you nearly gave paimon a heart attack! / you look pretty alive to me. can't have spooked you that bad. #[ salt. ] that's the worst-case scenario. but all too often; the most pessimistic speculation turns out to be the closest to the truth. #[ post-it. ] she dances with danger; secrets and a strong sense of achievement. these are the vivid proof of her existence. #[ et cetera. ] every round of finger-guessing is a tiny adventure; and every roll of dice sends sporadic thrills down her spine. #[ self promotion. ] i'm heartbroken. i thought it might take you a little longer than this to forget all about me? #[ promotion. ] it does intrigue me: the way we all ended up here together. if this is fate; let's grab it in our hands and turn it around.