#// the fact the name means COUNTRY DESTROYER absolutely throwing Niwa for a loop

[monogatcri]

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁THIS ANSWER GRANTS NIWA A momentary reprieve from the tension ; it's scarce, almost like a spring's breeze on a still day, yet it's enough to allow a chuckle to flutter by, a noise that surprises himself completely. How long had it been since he felt his body hiccup in a way that isn't breathless noise to fill the space? It's...odd ; it's unfamiliar, which is something that his past self wouldn't have ever thought of as a possibility, seeing as most of his days were capable of such noises manifesting. Having his old friend back and feeling this fragile step upon a lake of sheet ice...he's afraid for when it breaks but he's far too tempted to turn back. Without anyone else breathing down their spines or reminding them that they're on duty, the duo can...exist ; such a situation isn't common when it comes to living in this space -- perhaps he's assuming something of the Harbingers with these thoughts, but he knows how it is for himself. Wandering these halls, watching over his shoulder, fearfully ducking away from footsteps to avoid detection even though he wouldn't be seen as suspicious ; he feels himself smile faintly, though it vanishes in some form of habit.

        It's as the other had stated, though... Oxygen and sugar -- neither necessary for existence. Funny, though, how such has changed for the duo ; now it seems that Niwa hardly needs either to sustain himself in his current form. His body had become something revolting to him, something he doesn't dare glance upon in the mirror, the sword he can yank from that painful abnormality in his chest nothing but a hindrance on his most normal of days. Even now, he feels its presence screaming at him, though he chooses to bury it down deep, afraid to usher in something that could take away this momentary happiness. Instead, he bends down beside his bed and reaches beneath it, proving point about his need for it as a large bag of sugar is revealed. One scoop off a spoon and he's wandering back over to the tea kettle to drop his spoonful into cup beside it.

        ❝ Kunikuzushi... ❞ His tongue recited the name, though it pauses at the implications it has, eyebrows furrowing heavily. He discarded the name previous, but...he chooses this one? The lore behind it feels heavy, horrific, enough to cause him to halt his process of pouring himself a cup of his own tea. Why this name? Had the potential betrayal of Niwa really driven him to such an action? Hand squeezed cup, then loosened grip, exhaling briefly ; the meaning behind it didn't matter anymore -- what mattered was that they had each other now, right?

        Slowly does he pour his cup of tea and turn to face him, eyes falling to his own cup. He knew nothing about what transpired after the fact ; he only knew the sensations felt up until the point of collapse -- the unbearable cold, the function of his thoughts drifting, and the stopping of his heart... ❝ I see, the heart wasn't what you really wanted, was it? ❞ Was it? Where was it? A firm smack to that thought, spiraling it away from the conversation at hand ; he wouldn't dig talons into old wounds. The heart being gone didn't matter ; they were once more speaking and he would live with this reality in peace...for as long as it's allowed to him. ❝ Since we last saw each other, you've grown ; I still remember...when you were learning how to BLINK! Now you're...practically one of the strongest beings in a nation. ❞ A place he wouldn't dare touch with his own hands, but he digresses ; they couldn't dwell upon what's happening right now, could they? Eventually, they'd discard this area and...and they'd go home, right...? ❝ ...I've missed you so much -- I know...I've only had my memory back for such a short time, but it reminds me of how much time we lost. ❞

his  expression  is  (  deliberately  )  unreadable;  a  MASK  carefully  refined  over  the  years,  decades,  centuries  spent  trying  to  crush  down  the  horrid  emotions  responsible  for  his  life’s  first  downfall.  instead  of  replying  right  away,  the  balladeer’s  gaze  merely  drifts  —  away  from  the  man  he  thought  dead,  away  from  the  tea  he  may  or  may  not  be  using  as  a  SMOKESCREEN  to  justify  his  presence.  you  can  learn  an  awful  lot  about  someone  from  the  quarters  they  keep.  his  own  office  is  one  such  example;  clean  and  meticulously  organized.  his  desk  and  chair  serving  as  its  veritable  focal  point.  notably,  it’s  the  only  place  to  sit  in  the  entire  room,  and  purposefully  so;  he’s  come to enjoy  inflicting  tiny  discomforts  on  the  people  around  him  —  for  his  own  cruel  amusement,  if  nothing  else.  forcing  his  underlings  to  stand  at  attention  while  they  give  their  reports  is  one  such  way  the  balladeer  endeavors  to  make  every  interaction  with  him  a  uniquely  unpleasant  experience.  he  hates  humans.  even  now,  even  in  light  of  everything  he’s  learned,  the  COMPULSION  to  compare  them  to  short-lived  vermin  still  burns  in  the  back  of  his  skull.

niwa’s  lodgings  are  strange.  at  least  to  kunikuzushi  —  is  this  the  kind  of  living  space  the  ordinary  rank  and  file  are  given?  cold,  sparse  and  almost  deliberately  lacking  in  comfort?  the  balladeer  doesn’t  know;  he  has  no  frame  of  reference  to  go  off  of  —  he’s  always  been  treated  like  the  ANOMALY  he  is.  to  his  recollection,  he  doesn’t  believe  this  is  the  aesthetic  niwa  would  prefer  if  he  were  given  much  of  a  say  in  the  matter …  although,  these  days,  his  perception  of  reality  is  infuriatingly  questionable.  (  yet  he  would  sooner  perish  than  admit  to  being  HAUNTED  by  such  insecurities.  )

attention  turns  back  to  the  human.  he  (  somewhat  carelessly  )  tosses  the  letter;  it  flutters  across  the  room,  landing  smoothly  on  his  bed.  kunikuzushi  has  no  use  for  it;  keeping  such  a  thing  around  is  more  LIABILITY  than  anything  else.  ❝  is  that  a  joke?  ❞  the  harbinger  asks,  nose  wrinkling  in  overt  disgust.  ❝  you  were  always  the  one  who  inhaled  sugar  like  it’s  oxygen  —  i  could  do  without  either.  ❞  and  no  sooner  do  the  words  leave  his  mouth  than  a  strange  wave  of  emotion  washes  over  him.  self-consciousness.  nostalgia.  some  odd  mixture  of  the  two  that  has  him  feeling  just  a  bit  NAUSEATED  —  because  it’s  so,  so  easy  to  fall  back  into  this  familiar  sort  of  banter,  and  the  balladeer  isn’t  sure  whether  he  wants  that  or  not.  he  isn’t  sure  whether  he  can  trust  it.

thankfully,  the  tea  serves  as  a  welcome  distraction, and deft  hands  snatch  up  the  cup.  In  lieu  of  answering  the  question  right  away,  smooth  strides  take  him  to  the  bed  —  wherein  he  sinks  to  a  seat.  his  PRESENTATION is  a  bit  like  a  pendulum;  swinging  wildly  between  the  authoritative  harbinger,  and  the  warped  echo  of  long  dead  innocence.  ❝  …  ❞  he  gazes  down  at  his  reflection  in  the  drink,  as  if  trying  to  recognize  which  version  of  himself  stares  back.  a  useless  endeavor.

❝  kunikuzushi.  ❞  the  word  feels  heavy  on  his  tongue  for  all  the  IMPLICATION  that  it  holds.  ❝  i  discarded  that  other  name  alongside  any  desire  i  had  to  be  human ...  a  very  long  time  ago.  ❞