#( verse: taken by a stranger | BSD )

[madamhatter]

Send 🎼 for a song that reminds me of our muses. - Chu

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING - send a prompt/symbol and I will answer... | accepting

Send 🎼 for a song that reminds me of our muses.

"The Medic" by Foxing

She says, "You always smell like cigarettes / And there's always whiskey on your breath / But you're the best that I can do And I think I love you."

"union" by Gang of Youths

And if they found me face down and dead in the chuck / 'Least they'd know that I loved you this much / I was happy I caved upon your insistence / 'Cause now it all means something

"Best Bad Habit" by Danny Worsnop

I hear you knocking, I said: "Oh, not again" / I tell you to go, but the next thing I know I'll be letting you back in / 'Cause when you're rocking me, rolling me, loving me, holding me, oh, what can I do? / I get a rush coming over me, baby, I'm totally at the mercy of you

You Ain't No Saint By Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties

Well, I'm drunk again and you're guilty / Like you're Irish Catholic. / But you ain't no saint, / And I ain't one either. / Guess that's why I'm lying here.

"Skeletons" by Trails and Ways

Yeah you look good in that black light / Clothes gold like a mirror / Wanna see my reflection / Your hands up like a question / Wanna get close / Whisper something awful

[altered-aegis-archived]

Tagged by: @goldsaintleoregulus

Tagging: [ Steal if you want to. uwu ]

Angst meme:

Kohaku Otomugi (Specter Verse)

been cheated on |  been bullied  | told a horrible lie  |  stolen something of value |  overdosed on drugs  | been drunk |  cheated  |  bullied |  punched someone in the face |been beaten up | broken a bone  | been admitted to a hospital |  had a near-death experience |  been drugged  |  done drugs  |  smoked  | kissed someone you weren’t attracted to  | bled severely | killed someone |  had an attempt on your life |  made an attempt on your own life  | lost someone  | loved someone | gone without food for over three days  |  gone without sleep for over three days |  been tortured  |  been slapped by a parent or higher up |  been abused by someone who should have loved / appreciated / valued you |  had a panic attack |  been in a car accident  |  had sex  |  had sex with a stranger | passed out from pain |  cried yourself to sleep |  spent a whole day in bed |  hurt yourself | taken your anger out on yourself |  taken your anger out on someone you love | been used | felt used  |  used  |  been terrified | played a cruel game on someone  | been dominant  |been submissive |  been forced to smile  | felt too many things at once | laughed when you felt like crying

Kohaku Otomugi (Modern Verse; BSD)

been cheated on |  been bullied  | told a horrible lie  |  stolen something of value |  overdosed on drugs  | been drunk |  cheated  |  bullied |  punched someone in the face | been beaten up | broken a bone  | been admitted to a hospital |  had a near-death experience |  been drugged  |  done drugs  |  smoked  | kissed someone you weren’t attracted to  | bled severely | killed someone |  had an attempt on your life |  made an attempt on your own life  | lost someone  | loved someone | gone without food for over three days  |  gone without sleep for over three days |  been tortured  |  been slapped by a parent or higher up |  been abused by someone who should have loved / appreciated / valued you |  had a panic attack |  been in a car accident  |  had sex  |  had sex with a stranger | passed out from pain |  cried yourself to sleep |  spent a whole day in bed |  hurt yourself | taken your anger out on yourself |  taken your anger out on someone you love | been used | felt used  |  used  |  been terrified | played a cruel game on someone  | been dominant  | been submissive |  been forced to smile  | felt too many things at once | laughed when you felt like crying

[diverse-hearts-a]

“ Is that cat yours? It run towards me earlier and you seem to search something. It’s a really cute cat ! “ for Rika in her BSD verse

“Cat?”.The blonde gazed down at the small cat that now sat beside her feet, a soft smile forming as she knelt down in order to give the creature a few pets to its head. Was this a stray? It looked pretty well groomed and clean - well taken care of. Perhaps someone had left a door open nearby? “Oh this isn’t mine but I can only guess that their owner must be nearby…”, she gazed around the area, trying to spot anyone else who might seem as though they were searching for something. “I’ve actually been looking for my son. I heard this was the last place he’d been spotted”, she gently lifted the bundle of purring fur into her arms as she walked over to the stranger and handed over a leaflet with Saeran’s face printed on its surface, a rather large reward being offered in return for information. “Have you see him anywhere? He’s proving hard to find easily” @kopiertrxumend

[coquettishcrown]

BSD AU —– whats the verse tag?? stay tuned fuck.

the child of an american businessman and a japanese woman, Fukuyo Touya was raised very briefly by a woman he has long since forgotten the name for. he remembers her face, her voice, but the name comes silent on his tongue – one he doesn’t need to utter, he feels, when she left him on the streets of yokohama as a child. ( he blames her bitterness towards his father who left out of the blue without a care, but it doesn’t matter anyway. )

did she wish for him to die? to survive? he doesn’t know, but he did survive ; he was picked up by one of the many criminal organizations lingering within the darkness of the city. learning how to steal, con, and destroy became second nature to him. With his new life, he tossed away his name given by a family he didn’t associate with, choosing a completely different one instead he felt unique to himself – blair.

when he was 10 years old, he learned of his ability. taken alongside some of the other organization members, he got caught by a security guard while following the others to kidnap a politician’s daughter at a gathering. lying, he said he was the son of one of the attending patron’s to the gathering. despite his clothes, despite how poor he looked, the man believed him. his disposition changed instantly, and let blair go free. stunned, blair left, and practiced it more later. on his fellow members, on his leader, on strangers – it worked every time. he was able to get things from others, to make people believe he was someone else, to be on their way as if they hadn’t seen him at all.

but he’s not lucky. he was born unlucky, he’d continue to be. years passed this way in comfort until he was 15, however, the organization that took him in ended up in a war with other organizations, and the formidable and powerful PORT MAFIA. for the sake of money left by an ability user, many people were lost —– his group were ultimately destroyed, a consequence of their arrogance and weakness. it was only thanks to his ability blair saved himself, and in turn, spared. mafia members who found him fell under the spell of his ability.  ( “YOU DIDN’T SEE ME. YOU SAW A DEAD BODY AND KEPT GOING.” )

he thought he was free, that no one was watching, but he was wrong. a man who came to survey the damage and what could be salvaged was passing by, he saw it all, EXPLOITED IT.

blair was coerced into joining the port mafia, lest he was to be killed on the spot. he was put into a place where he and his ability could be put to use —– to deal with people, negotiations, interrogations, infiltration missions.

Ability name:  IDEALISM’S FOLLY

Anything Blair says to people will be taken as the truth to whoever hears it. Any lie he spills will be believed, and people will act accordingly to it. If worded correctly, his lies can be taken as orders and people will follow his demands. (due to this loophole, blair has grown to be quite the linguist.)

However, it only has a range of 2 METERS – if they are farther away than this, then his ability will have no effect on them whatsoever.

The effects of his ability only last for 5 - 10 minutes. After this, they will wake up from the effects of his ability. They will remember the conversation, but assume it to be the truth.

The effect of people believing it to be the truth after he’s gone will be dispelled in the case of the moment being recorded and re-watched/re-listened to by the victim.

His ability can work in written form, but the range rule still applies. however, it does not work on deaf people.

because of his ability, people keep their distance because they don’t want to be manipulated since they don’t know when he’s telling the truth or using his ability to make them believe him. he’s not particularly close with anyone, but he feels it doesn’t matter anyway. he indulges in having his fun in other ways – sex, alcohol, manipulating others. life is still as comforting as ever, somehow.

[madamhatter]

diverse-hearts inquired: ❛ can’t you see, what you’re doing to me? ❜ - chu angst  for  ships  sentence  prompts | accepting | @diverse-hearts​ continued from this prompt/spin-off plot written by mira. 

A/N: Reader’s discretion is advised. Sophie’s inner thoughts (and subject matters in BSD + plot points in HMC) will allude to human experimentation). 

Nicotine plastered her palate for the past two months. Suspiration for the young woman, partially, resulted in a cloud of smog choking out from her throat. However, having a cigarette dangling from her gritted teeth wasn’t ever her fashion. The taste and scent of someone else’s regretful, nerve-ticking smoking clung to her clothing and respiratory system. 

As kindly as the habit-holder was in opening windows and turning his head at every opportune moment, the frequency spiked upon the most recent and inopportune news. A hard grit of a cigarette against his teeth, blazing azure eyes obscure and chill in the moment when together they shared solitude. 

Distraught struck his chords whenever their initials conversations referenced their “arrangement.” As lightly as it could be put, the heiress didn’t shed her bluntness for those moments. Yet, hesitance overwhelmed her as she bit down her tongue, only speaking of two things, amicability and tolerance, towards the shared future. 

Perhaps it was the recoil of what little she comprehended in his reactions. Was he not infuriated, if not more, about his freedom being stripped? For any affiliates within the organization or friends outside of the Port Mafia’s association, the executive hadn’t shied from his own moral weakness to his hubris, wealth, and dalliances. 

Was fidelity to the Port Mafia that blinding to these sacrifices? Was there nothing wrong with these arrangements as she saw it? Was there not a better option to be stuck with, of all people? ...Or was she too presumptuous to think this upcoming commitment would impede any of his bad habits? 

Why was she hung up over it when she expressed it differently? She should’ve swallowed her pride and be thankful for these conditions. It could be utterly worse. 

He has a name, Sophie. Consciousness reminds her, refusing to drag herself longer into the dissociative state of her memories. He didn’t do anything to be referred to so loosely and detached. This wasn’t any of his doing. 

Chuuya Nakahara.

A slow glance over her shoulder, shadows swallowed the entire penthouse. The slim figure of the Port Mafia executive not too far from her, shiny expensive black shoes moving and advancing towards her. The conversation before led down the steep slope of unanswerables and undesirables Sophie and Chuuya never wanted to know. Argument imploded and she refused his questions, preferring cold, soaked clothes rather than her raw, bleeding heart exposed. 

As for how they ended up once again here, it was simple.

The day now was drenched in the heavy afternoon rain. All seemed lost when the storm clouds gathered, but her plans were cut short by fate itself when Chuuya rushed her out from the incoming downpour and into his abode.

They only exchanged a momentarily glance across the street, walking down paralleling sideways with vastly different companies. Businessmen versus accomplices, loud, coordinated conversation versus discretely ominous orders, legal prowl versus illegal jurisdiction. Practically night and day.

His posey was escorting him back to his penthouse while her associates were planning for a midday celebration. Plain-faced, the heiress held herself back and prevented herself from frowning. Yet, a spark came when she finally saw him. A smile couldn’t be produced, but for once, she was lively to be in someone’s acknowledgment -- even if so far away. 

Their faces were going to pull away, keeping to their lanes. Alas, once a droplet traced the rim of his fedora, and their eyes continued to connect, something moved in him--. Had the men around him commented about her? Had they been aware? Or was she simply that pathetic looking for him to intervene? 

She wasn’t sure if the men around him alluded to their current situation, or if Chuuya would’ve mentioned it. Fiancée and fiancé had never left their lips, but she could only imagine how strange and unreal it would’ve sounded from someone else’s. Yet, it didn’t change the fact his presence parted the sea of men around her and he escorted her elsewhere.

In the gallant gesture, only the chilling stillness of reality sank for them as they entered his penthouse. It was now only two hours into this abrupt and extensively maddening clash that she placed her foot down.

He had questions, demands, just like her, but some could be answered with theories. Like how was it them, of all people, and not the mafia boss’s son? Sophie’s own conclusions were drawn immediately if only based on her little understanding of what Chuuya possessed underneath his regal facade. 

An experiment, that is what all of this is. A volatile cocktail boiling and pooling in a cauldron of uncertainty, brewing something unexpected and unknown that could spell for disaster. Her thin sharp white nail tips prick against her thumb, brows lowered as she grimaces in her thoughts. Seeking out an umbrella to take out, she bites down her tongue. Two abilities with no limits, one so desirable and in the spotlight, while the other went barely noticed for years...until the right people wanted it. 

What more can they want? It’s only a sick experiment. It isn’t like they haven’t wanted to perfect ability users before. I remember it. I remember how she tore apart multiple men and stitched them together like dolls, trying to find the most powerful and most manipulable creation. And then there was me, both the obstacle and main ingredient to her damn slaughterhouse she called an experiment. 

For all that she thought of, memories blurred in crimson and cold blades pressed against her neck, her body violently shivers. But, she catches herself as she holds onto her arms, bowing her head. Inhaling deeply, keeping her thoughts together, it was only then that Chuuya caught up, still unwavering to stop what had now dissolved into an argument. 

“Mister Nakahara, enough!” Sophie pinches the bridge of her nose, snapping her head back. Both of her brows raised with her facade having a crack. Ferocity and turmoil twisted in her stomach, yet it had been long dormant since her teenage years. However, at this rate, it wouldn’t be long until she completely reawoke. 

“I understand that the entirety of what is going on is beyond bewildering as it is irksome! There are plentiful and reasonable doubts about why this arrangement exists when there is no precedence for it to exist.” Her nostrils flare.

“I just don’t see why you’re reacting the way you are reacting the way you are!” Her hands finally drop, balling into fists. Out of every damn person in the world, why did it bother him--? Her eyes fix to the ground, blinking. The issue itself already was that it was her, of all people, he had to be with... But, he didn’t-- he never responded with offense until I spoke.

Every precaution to veil her emotion vanishes, her eyes, first sharp and defensive, now growing wide and clueless. Her lips part but, nothing comes out. All that she fixes on, besides his face, was the familiar heat and touch of his lips from encounters before. 

Several instances of conversation during formal hours didn’t compare to the off-hours. All this started with her near devotion in dragging his intoxicated body to safety. Their encounters grew more from that besides her constant worry -- it was a back-and-forth of small discoveries and exploration about what normal life could’ve been.

The shenanigans outside of their duties -- their relationship branched off the moment she recognized him as Chuuya, not Chuuya Nakahara of the Port Mafia. To her, it broke away the mundane and harshness of their lives, when they were just two young adults who wanted more to experience, to live on the brighter side of a life they couldn’t have. 

A slowly stirred pot of friendship that might’ve meant..

No, no! That’s not right. So what if we-- and ..No! Stubbornness would always refuse to negotiate with the truth.

❛ can’t you see, what you’re doing to me? ❜ The question of the hour, Chuuya finally asks. And what a fitting question that could’ve been redirected to him.

Swallowing her doubts, the young woman finally exhales and stares at the redhead. Her hand slowly reaches for the doorknob. For a moment, her eyes look to the ground and she frowns, before returning to face him. 

Forwardly, and pushing all emotions aside, she finally spoke. 

“No, I can’t,” she lied.

Intent on leaving, she unlocked the door, throwing in her final words. “It was a pleasure to be in your company today, Mister Nakahara. I do need to get used to it. Take care of yourself.” 

At this rate, she wasn’t going to stop and look back. Her mind was flooded with the reality of her emotions, something she would never dare accept. If she did, she might’ve finally broken her facade.

[madamhatter]

continued from here / @breathless-darkness​

Calmly shuffling the index cards in her hold, her gaze locks with the stranger’s -- skeptical auburn versus peculiar chestnut irises. Neutral expression and lackadaisical energy aside, the seamstress was already taking note. How this ridiculous topic came to be wasn’t any of her business, but he seems to be a magnet for oddities -- that much she could tell. Thick brows quirk and quickly relax from the man’s short and sudden laughter. 

Tired, that what it was. However, the stranger takes a step closer, and yet, she remains, curiosity peaked at unfolding the strangeness of what Yokohama had in store. Surely, back home in Yorkshire, there were certain predicaments she found herself labored with or dragged into. However, none could compare to how casual conversation could be made over a typical taboo like cannibalism. 

Yet, she barely flinches at the thought. Maybe her own line of work and experiences desensitized her by now. That must be it. Or, it was just that dark humor was in season in the city. 

“Of course,” Sophie merely replies. What else can you be seen as? Why must you find it so necessary to assert yourself as not a chicken nugget? Have you been through the gutter while trying to defend your identity as a human?  Her thoughts, while well-collected and out of the box, were kept behind sealed lips. 

I don’t believe I’m qualified to grade your meat. Besides that, you’re far too slim to have that much meat on you to provide an entree bigger than four pieces of chicken nuggets. 

“..Uhuh.” A slow nod was given as she slowly looks back at her index cards. Front and back on each index card carried well over twenty phrases, one-offs, and jokes in the smallest printable handwriting she could’ve produced. On second thought, she shouldn’t have poked her nose into something that wasn’t her business. -- And she shouldn’t have wasted such good material either.

“Pardon--?” One brow raised and her hand slowly slides behind to her apron’s pocket, putting away the index cards. “...Well, I wouldn’t have anything,” she looks him up and down.  As you said, you aren’t some pieces of chicken nuggets, nor should I assume then that you’re some kind of Michelin star recipe. Asides from that, the topic at hand is frowned upon in more than 150 countries.”

“I would tolerate you,” she nods confidently with a soft smile. 

[madamhatter]

diverse-hearts inquired: ❛ i’m not jealous, just curious. ❜ - higuchi angst  for  ships  sentence  prompts | accepting | @diverse-hearts​

What sharp articulation from the Port Mafia affiliate. As the silver-haired heiress crosses her ankles, hands resting on her lap, copper irises dart and momentarily acknowledge the black-suit woman beside her. A harsher-than-intended whisper was delivered, licks of fire hidden underneath large earthly irises. Sophie’s hand slowly curl outward, fingers wishing to linger and connect with Higuchi’s. However, she remains with her head bowed, glancing once in a while at the mafioso. 

Early afternoon meetings in Yokohama weren’t ever too eventful for Sophie. Perhaps there was a surprise or two for those who weren’t all too familiar with her position as a CEO. Some had already been flabbergasted to spot her in a crowd, surrounded by far older-and-intimidating bodies, most double or triple her age. Keeping pace with unduly prideful figureheads was a continuous to-and-fro of infantilization and invalidation for someone from her age. Considering her mother’s own carelessness in shoving her to the madness so young, the exchanges were benumbed.

However, there was far too much stacked against -- especially with serial prowlers kept on her heels, even when she was a teenager. Teeth gritted and blood running cold, the heiress had the unpleasant reintroduction to Kazui Mayeda, a man in his mid-30s whose father was acquainted with her late father -- and who simply couldn’t brush the opportunity to soil her mood with his chauvinism and paper-thin amicable lies. His track-record was consistent with the younger women he’d come across, her situation kinder compared to the others who had live hours away from him.

Formal bows and forced polite greeting on her end, her body morphs like petrified wood, shoulders rigid and upright, face never once lowering. For her to lower her face and unease, it only meant larger opportunities and misdirection from a man who saw any shift in change as a vulnerable angle to creep ahead.

Tightening knot in her chest, the British woman sighs and adjusts herself in her seat.  A stray silver lock is tucked behind her ear, and it was when she recalls the now. Higuchi had been spotted from across the cafe, mayhaps a chance meeting on her day off. From how her face distorted from glee to puzzlement, Sophie had some right to convince herself that her own methods of steeling herself weren’t as impressive as they used to be -- or, even worse, the blonde had taken quite a sight and understanding to how she worked.

An impromptu greeting between the two and the insistent plead from Sophie for her to join them, they were seated side-by-side at a booth. Quick exchanges and introductions meditated by Sophie, a white lie or two slipped about Higuchi’s affiliation, and it seemed that Kazui found himself blessed in the company of the two women. 

As the older man turns away, greeting the waitress as she returns, Sophie’s hand loosens, palms white from the pressure. It was then she finally jolted her hand underneath the table and squeezed her Higuchi’s fingers. Her thumb runs in rhythmic circles against the older woman’s palm. Slowly, she draws Higuchi’s palm to her lap.

"Jealousy shouldn’t be what you’re feeling if you believe me to feel such a way towards him,” a whisper was finally returned. “I wouldn’t take it you’d be envious of how utterly dreadful he is.” Both of their eyes finally met, and she continues, hurriedly, “Your curiosity should end in this very moment before he swallows you whole with his eyes, Trust me, you’d feel like a rat.”

At that moment, her touch disappears and a warm smile graces her face. She turns to the waitress, quietly taking her order, unsure of how this exchange was going to play out with Higuchi in the mix. Certainly too, if Higuchi ended in the ways of his man’s interest and harassment, there was no telling what Sophie might do...

[madamhatter]

trickster n’ treating

continued: x / @diverse-hearts​

  An airy, tired laugh came out of the heiress as the young blonde’s curls bounced with her excitement. In the back of her mind, only the memory of another young, blonde energetic girl came to her mind. However, the eldest of three knew that her own sisters would be celebrating Halloween the modern way. Perhaps they wouldn’t be going out for trick-or-treating (as rare as that is), but they’ll still spend the time getting dressed. And not getting out of hand, the oldest sister hoped. 

    “Of course you’ll get candy, you’re always cute,” the older woman hummed gently with her hand politely muffling her laugh. 

   “I am planning on that! One of my colleagues, Mr. Takeshiro, he was planning for a late meeting today since he wanted to review some plans he had in buying a smaller company in England. I was going to help negotiate the terms but, it seems he canceled earlier this week to spend some time with his kids. How kind! --Wait, sorry, yes, Halloween.” She waved her hand, a quiet apology before she returned to the appropriate topic. 

   “I'm dressing up as ‘Sweeney Todd’ this Halloween. I already have my costume, special effects make-up, and blood all set up.” She sounds far too content on the prospect of going all out. “If Mr. Ougai isn’t available, I could perhaps take you? A lot of the older citizens living her kindly referred to me some great locations.” She bobbed her head.

    “If you could drag anyone else with you, you could, of course, try that.” 

[madamhatter]

topsy-tipsy!

@diverse-hearts / x 

    A quiet night at a high-end dive bar was all Sophie Hatter wanted. Away from paparazzi, investors, perverts, and just everyone who held ulterior motives. Was it too much for a woman go out just to get red in the face, smashed, and forget the day?      Apparently, it was.

    She caught sight of the three-piece suit, black exterior with the main coat’s interior with a faded light red, vivid orange locks, and that hat. Sophie sheepishly sipped her drink, turning her head before being spotted. Thankfully, it seemed the executive was more entranced with bar service, too easily flaunting his status with the expensive drinks rolling in. And that turned out to be not too any servings before, well....

    “May you please stop squirming?”  Sophie grumbled, hooking her left arm underneath the drunkard’s legs, trying to keep him still. Her own rashness came like a flame under her heels, making for a last-minute intervention. A polite smile was given to the bartender, apologizing profusely about the cretin at the barstool. She turned on her heels, carrying away the redhead as if it were his wedding night. 

    A worrywart by nature, she couldn’t have imagined leaving the petite mafioso at the whim of liquor and poor decisions. Though, she was more concerned about the collateral damages he would’ve caused with the other patrons. God have mercy if he tried flirting with people. She sighed, glancing down at the disheveled representative of the Port Mafia. How was this man terrifying again? Was he not one of the terrors he warned about that roamed in late-night Yokohama? 

   “Of course, I’m pretty when you’re gobsmacked,” she rolled her eyes, uncaring that she spoke English. Yet, the compliment still made her cheeks rosy pink and hot. “I bet anyone who breathes in your general direction who you think you can impress with your money is just the most attractive thing to you. I bet you do the arrogant play of offering expensive wine to women and making not-so-subtle comments about your motorcycles or whatever it is you’re collecting. ” She ranted to herself, looking half-mad to everyone else around her who couldn’t understand her. However, she quirked a bit, pondering further on his statement. “Or are you saying you like being--..” Sophie cleared her throat, guarding the jab begging to be unleashed. 

   “Mr. Nakahara,” she warned him, once more in Japanese, “don’t make such a racket!” A sudden push against her chest and her lungs tightened. Carrying him around was already taking out what little remaining energy she had. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, trying to straighten herself out while his arm hung around her neck. 

    “You need to be careful. Someone can seriously take advantage of you if you get this drunk,” the lecture began. “Imagine trying to walk home while in this state of mind. You’re going to end up inside a trash can and a raccoon will then end up sporting a fancy new hat.” She shook her head. 

     “Mr. Nakahara, where do you live? I’m taking you home.” 

[madamhatter]

😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse - elise

Nonverbal RP Starters / accepting ! / askbox. 

    Like a gargoyle on its post, the seamstress was stationed in a low-standing stool, back hunched, while her right-hand worked meticulously yet slowly with a thin sewing needle. Unwavering was her concentration, pouring every drop of energy to her current commission. Out of the generosity of her host, Mori Ougai, her services were called upon more frequently during her stay at Yokohama. However, these requests weren’t always for mending suits or creating new blazers, shirts, and jackets for the older gentleman. Instead, they were for his daughter, Elise.

    Stray locks of silver grazed across her cooled cheeks, as she straightened in her seat, fiddling with a particular angle with her needle and a dress sleeve. Her eyes squinted, trying to focus on an already poorly-lit room as the curtains were drawn in. Though, that was of her own decision as she never enjoyed the potential of prying eyes – even if she was well far above the ground and in one of the higher floors of the building. A quiet hum left her, a remnant of her childhood when her father once aimlessly played the piano to avoid work. 

    Crrrrrk. She lifted her chin, brows furrowing. “I wonder what that could be,” she muttered to herself, unphased by creaking floors and other sounds that came with aging buildings. To her, it was as if the building was living, breathing, and aching. Almost like something out of a fairytale. But, it was the only assurance of sound she had in her childhood whenever she home alone home with her mop, broom, duster, and two younger sisters. 

   One hand rose slightly above her head, eyes narrowing. With precise adjustments, her hand lowered – 

   Sophie’s body jolted, her shoulders hiked. A sudden bang behind her sends the seamstress bolting out of her stool. She practically leaps forward on top of the desk, pulling up her torso to sit. With a last-minute rescue, she slides the dress away from her designated landing spot. Every end of silver hair rose and her left-hand instinctively rushes towards the pocket of her apron.

      A joyful, wickedly amused girl stands before her. Sophie comes to a standstill, her index finger curling in and twitching as every nerve of her resists following her defensive urge. Oddly, the seamstress’s eyes were narrowed, her brows neutral, and there wasn’t a flicker of reaction. Unemotive in the seconds before she would’ve done something. 

    A heavy-heart sigh escaped the seamstress as she rested her scarred palm over her head. Her feet slowly return to the ground as she lowers the sewing needle back onto the table as she rhythmically flexes out as she recollects herself. Pushing back her locks, her eyebrows rose, emotion returning to her character, as she scolded the child, 

   “Ms. Elise, you almost gave me a heart attack! An old woman like myself could only handle so much,” Sophie reclined against the table, her elbows now resting on top of the metal surface. Though, she cocked a brow with firm suspicion, “…Were you waiting to scare the knickers off of me?” 

[madamhatter]

💧 Wipe away my muse’s tears - chu

Nonverbal RP Starters / accepting ! / askbox.

      All she wished to do was open a hole in the earth and jump into her grave plot. Yet, her mind succumbed to reality. Her fidgeting fingers digging into her gray skirt, burrowing right into her flesh through the fabric. In the darkness was her shivering silhouette, head bowed in shame. Only was there her old soul rued every minuscule component that led her to this point. 

     Out of habit, the eldest Hatter would’ve surrendered to the darkness, locked away in the confines of the workshop or her bedroom. Or, in desperate situations, in cramped bathroom stalls and storage units. To plummet into the depths of black that pooled in her mind, it was all she could do. An instance of her exterior masking cracking would’ve meant the start of the end. Weakness, after all, was an invitation for the gentlemen and gentlewomen whose expertises were in exploitation and manipulation. 

     A slight sigh left her lips, the breath escaped through her clenched teeth like silent seething pain. The unseen beast that haunted her since childhood only grew more noticeable by how it clutched her ribcage, hurting every chance she had to breathe deeply. 

    Alone, she thought she was. Alas, her sluggish body stiffened at the odd sensation against her cheek. Shoulders braced, the heiress raised her chin, finding a leather-gloved hand extended out. She slowly brushed her cheek away, recoiling before her eyes fixated on the figure.

    A glint of recognition came when she steadied herself back to place. Though, to be consoled by him… The silence washed over her once more.

   Demure copper irises observed his hand that reached out and brushed a stray tear from her cold cheeks. Her brows furrowed, expression unaltered by the gentleness. Yet, bewilderment surfaced with her eyes, slowly narrowing, the longer she held her focus on the mafioso. 

   Touch – it was an unfound warmth, a comfort, from its allaying gesture. It’s been so long. However, she remembered: his palms only knew warmth by the blood he spilled. Reminded by such a fact, she’d sooner focused on the cold material of his gloves. 

   Clean black leather. He always wore a pair as far as she recalled from their encounters. Even when she’d spotted him from the corner of her eyes, the bare flesh underneath was always covered. It was an oddity, to say the least. 

     However, just like back home in Yorkshire, the affluent and influential of Yokohama flocked to rumors like birds on a wire, far too chatty and loud. They chirped incessantly right into her ears about the countless bloodshed and destruction the executive paved. His technique was among the most speculated. 

    Glamorized gory gossip, that all it was! Besides from his apparent ability to manipulate gravity to his whim, there’d been rumors of something far greater underneath. Untamed, uncontrollable, unrestraint carnage was what they suggested. 

    The heiress wasn’t ignorant – she’d been her fair share of research as she did with every objective and curiosity that was on her mind. But, everything that surfaced from her legal methods only led to mysteries about Yokohama. For example, a giant crater appeared nearly fifteen years ago at a bayside island that’s now a makeshift community! 

    All that was terrifying about him, she thought, was his potential. He’d proven himself worthy for his executive rank in the Port Mafia, so, there wasn’t any point in questioning his affliction to brutality and blood. It was the beyond that point that she’d only then grow antsy. 

   Yet, all she could feel in the end was sympathy. Truthfully, her mind was focused on missing pieces to the puzzle. There were copious amounts of gaps of what she knew and understood of Chuuya’s background.  …Or, really, anything about him. 

      But, some things felt familiar. 

     A young soul with gifted with a miraculous advantage at birth. An exploitable power that led down a path that others benefitted from. 

     But, their stories played out differently. 

    Destruction at the tips of his fingers, creation at the end of her lips. A rising star to the top, unbound by fate. A mundane stand-in, set in place by fate. 

     Though, her ability wasn’t as significantly powerful in an offensive or defensive matter. It wasn’t an ace under her sleeve. So painstakingly unnoticeable that no one ever considered her beyond dispensable for normal usage for 18 years.   

     ….At least, when no one noticed the signs.

             Regardless, the differences stacked higher than both of them.

    She couldn’t even consider him born or raised for his role. Nothing about him screamed him being on a predestined track set by heritage. He, clearly, wasn’t born in the underground cesspool. He assimilated to it — that much she could read from his overall behaviors and attitudes. 

    Though, she wondered then if he’d been used. Or even been in that position at all. There was only the fact that power was exploitable. But, there wasn’t any point to even consider it. She wouldn’t even be close to anyone to ask that – let alone, anything. 

     The misfortune, dutiful failure was the eldest of three. There wasn’t any potential or benefit in her besides her occupational value. Destined for nothingness, she had her part to play, albeit begrudgingly. 

      Oh, that was right. His part. She faintly marveled at the fine stitches that made up the executive’s gloves, before her eyes traversed down his suit’s black sleeve, to then lock with this sharp crystalline irises. A ghost of a frown appeared with the corners of her lips turning downward.

     Play your part, Mr. Nakahara. Don’t deter from the path you’re meant to walk. That kindness is only going to be a down-side – a weakness. Be the cruel, cruel man you’re supposed to be, Chuuya. Don’t be as misguided to show humanity to those who you’re meant to consider as tools. Or else, you’ll begin questioning things once you need to turn that kind hand to a painful fist…– 

    Unbeknownst to the Hatter, as her mind was caught in the abyss of thoughts, her heart showed a different tale. Momentarily, her face reclined against his hand, a soft hum escaping her. It’d been then that the tears had stopped. Yet, a bittersweetness lingered.

     If she weren’t careful, she would’ve leaned into the touch. But, all she wanted to do was reminisce of a time where she could’ve been so – 

    Intimate. Sophie Hatter, what in God’s name are you doing?!

  The heiress suddenly jerked upright, reality returning like a whiplash. Don’t forget your role too, you idiot. She stepped back from his toiuch. Her hands slowly cleaned off the few stray tears on her cheeks. She shook her head, eyes returning to the executive. 

   “My apologies, Mr. Nakahara,” Sophie rested her flattened palm above her heart, ripping herself from the moment. She curtsied forward with her silver braid falling over her shoulder. Quickly, she returned to her straightened position. “I should be returning to my apartment. It’s quite late, isn’t it? I hope you have a pleasant night.” 

    The words left her without a moment to breathe or rest. With a turn on her heel, she was as ready to scurry like the gray mouse she was. She wouldn’t dare consider looking back. She needed to go back to that shabby, rundown apartment hidden far from everything.

[madamhatter]

“You should watch Minions with me, Sophie.” ( ranpo, I'm so sorry )

Eccentricity, it was a word commonly associated with geniuses and so weirdos. The boundaries between the two and determining where Ranpo Edogawa was sure - it never had a permanent spot and ping-ponged between the two in an endless game.

As of now, with an end of a lolly between his fingers, he twirls it around, signaling to the seamstress that she should anticipate what was to come. Posture leaning against the back of the couch, his neck resting on top of the cushions. Much like those dastardly whispered creatures, and though one cannot see his pupils, Ranpo's eyes were trained on her.

"Mister Ranpo, what are you concocting in that mind of yours? The Agency has not had a case for a bit of time. Whatever it is, please do not involve me with it."

Without further prompting or listening to her request, Ranpo points his candy toward her.

"...I should be doing what with you?" Her eyes narrow, reiterating the most she could understand ofromthe statement. "I should be your minion? I should watch your minion?"

"Do not I detective-sit enough for the Armed Detective Agency? Mister Fukuzawa may consider paying me at the rate I keep frequently appearing here."

In that instant, as soon as Ranpo raised his hand, she quieted down and listened to him. Clearing up the situation and her bafflement, her brows raised as she continued to talk:

"You need a chaperone now to see a children's movie?"

[madamhatter]

"Hey, it's been a while!" - Chuuya

The Bluff - it was a Yokohama district that Sophie Hatter found herself summoned to due to the high density of European clients that rented often or had a summer home there. Though many requests are localized in the city's center, the port-side districts were of great personal interest. Especially when one accounts for her long unspoken love affair of the botanical kind, that it is when her curiosity besets all her former concentration. 

Hand folded above the other hand and resting on the small of her back, the seamstress alone on a sunny hilltop. In an evergreen knee-high trimmed bushed maze, the clicks of her gray maryjanes follow her as she strolls and gauges each flowerbed. Her eyes focus on the pastel purple and purple lupines. She pauses, blinks, steps closer, and cranes forward with the summer-gold braid falling over her shoulder.

Sophie's eyes flutter shut. Inhaling the dulcet spring aroma, the hatmaker's shoulders rise in soft decrescendo to lower in a gentle coda. 

Years and years of aching muscles and bones intense in a moment and slacken as she exhales. To be relaxed in a short time and without needing any of her other remedies is an initial surprise for the young woman. However, a knowing yet saddened smile resides on her face. Has it been so long that I have forgotten? Of course, it has. The beginnings of a smile soon sour to a deep frown within seconds. This impression of a memory tickles me; I almost embrace it; then it troubles me. I almost recognize it but it leaves me. Long forgotten, long mistaken, long denied..

Why must I doubt any morsel of happiness that I almost feel?

Shoes scratching against stone pavement, her head lifts as the sound approaches. At first glance - when her eyes moved from flowers to floor -, all she sees is a pair of black loafers with such intricate stitching. Salvatore Ferragamo. Nothing from any of their premium lines. A custom pair of tramezza shoes--. How in God’s name are such expensive shoes here?!

The answer comes to her as the man answers, “Hey, it’s been a while,” with such informality that she stiffens and straightens her posture. Her hand immediately tames her braid, ensuring that there weren’t any stray hairs, before she flattens any creases from her gray skirt and vest. 

“Mister Nakahara?” Aside from apparent bewilderment scrunching her brows, she folds her hands in front of her, taking standard and formal posture. Dangerous sapphire eyes, it was undeniable who it was. She clears her throat, trying to reclaim her focus. “Good morning, sir. How are you faring today?” 

And what brings you to a place like this? She holds back her tongue. I wouldn’t imagine that a garden is of your interests, no less, not one without a luxury or luxurious price attached to it.

[madamhatter]

"Do you ever pause to think before you say things?" - Chuuya

"Implying that I am thoughtless, Mister Nakahara?" No reservations on the forefront, the somber mind of Sophie Hatter inquires with such unceremoniousness. Elbow resting on the countertop edge, the woman tilts her white-rimmed glass, her earthly irises monitoring the passive flow of glistening amber whiskey.

"What inspired this train of thought for you?" A raised brow addresses him, yet her eyes remain on the liquor, her placid expression having dissolved into a prominent frown. "What was it that I said or done that would've provoked this culturing doubt?" The chilled glass presses against her rosied lips as she turns her wrist, consuming the preferred intake of her mind-numbing remedy.

The glass lowers and her lips part, a partial inhale escaping. "I assure you that acting unmindful is never part of my controlled nature. After all, making quarrel and unease is something a no one of my existence needs." She tilts the glass once more, directing the opened end towards herself.

She hums to herself, the hints of a Cheshire-cat smile toy at the corner of her lips, "I apologize; I realized an error. Correction: that is during business and impersonal hours. Outside of that, and by myself, my judgment may..." Sophie clears her throat. "...May get interesting." 

"Simply put, yes, I happen to pause before speaking or doing," Sophie huffs an answer. But her expression grimaces, her hold on the glass tightening, as she says, "you may say I've taken too many pauses and waited for so long that I couldn't ever do anything," before taking a forceful gulp of whiskey. 

Her eyes fixate on the glass once more. “...It seems that we’ve run out. Allow me to serve us some more.” 

[madamhatter]

💗 ( Ranpo back when they were a thing! )

send 💗 to kiss my muse tenderly without explanation

Gloomed skies of the abrasively rainy northern weather never seemed to falter the glow and shine of prettily pinned blond hair. Current head Fanny Hatter stares out to the horizon. Her steel eyes squint at the gray clouds sponged across an even more monotone canvas of a sky. Despite Fanny's form removed from the looks on her, her posture and form almost give off a faint glow by her presence alone.

Faint complaints and speculations arise behind the standing figure. Disembodied voices then scratch and tap the long table they were seated at. What had become of the company after Sebastian's passing grumbled another. There was only a mess to be found in the wake of his death, agreed another. 

The latest quarter had been only the latest of debacles in the crumbling machine. A quick and sudden rise to popularity and out of the financial crisis had been a miracle, but it seems that miracles were only temporary. It was only a spare plank nailed to a sinking ship, and it was only a bucket scooping over the overflowing water overboard.

But where had been the remaining sailor on deck? Had they gone and abandoned ship too, like the rest? 

Across the stretched-out conference room, with hands folded in front of her and head bowed, had been none other than the 'body' to business. Eldest of three, Sophie Hatter, does not waver her glance from the floor she stares at.

To look up would be for her to break. It is a lifeline to stare into the nothingness. To look back at those faces and have her stomach churn and her body wishing to sink underneath the world would not be helpful, she tells herself. It would do no one any good to keep up with this. 

"What has been keeping you so distracted, Sophie?" The proposed question launched across the table, the girl keeping her head trained down. Just as I practiced. One, two, three, four, five, six...

Steeling her breath, the copper-haired woman continues taking soft breaths, all the while the bait is cast. The room now fulfilled in their customary game of complaints and searching for the fault. The weight of the jury now the eldest daughter, displeasure and irritation blending altogether into the familiar beast that loomed over her each time she entered this lion's den.

Unlike Daniel, her judge wasn't ever the Holy Father, but the matronly judge whose eyes bore as heavy of emotion as her colleagues into her.

"I know you wouldn't do anything of the sort to sabotage us; you're not that type of girl." 

Fanny gives a once-more over her eldest daughter, watching her with the same indifference as she did for the clouds outside. 

“Of course, mother. I wouldn't ever want that to ever happen to us. My own carelessness is inexcusable."  “And what else do we say?" Fanny stares at the seated men, and Sophie forces her head upwards. Trying not to tremble like a leaf.  “My apologies to the board for my dangerous and recklessness that impacted the company. It is never my intentions nor will to ever see anything befall my father nor your work.  “Mhm?"  "Any repercussions and consequence needing to done to make up for this blunder, I..I’ll do it. This is all my fault--" 

( . . . . ) 

"The next station is Nihon-Odori. Nihon-Odori," announces the pre-recorded voice over the silent yet cramped rolling train. Little stirs from the crowds of seated students of all ages on chairs or standing, businessmen and women with their heads lowered into newspapers and phones, and the elderly completing booklets of crossword puzzles and nonograms. "The doors on the right will slide open," the conductor instructs. A dozen pairs of eyes glance towards the train and the still-moving and blurred world outside the train, it steadying slowly to reveal the complete and nonmoving world outside. "Please be careful not to leave your belongings on the train," advice given before the PDA cuts again for another minute in preparation of the next station ahead of them.

None other than Sophie Hatter awaits the call too. With a disheveled ponytail in the air, her forehead rests against a cool metal beam as she clutches her suitcase. Dull-lit eyes watch the windows like the others, tumbling silver and greens out the bright shining day, turning and blending like currents in a river. A tired sigh parts her lips as her calloused hand tightens on the leather handle. Eyes flutter once more, unfocused eyes are prone to churning her stomach and storming her mind into a chaotic cyclone. 

Dazzling sunlight soon disappears as the train disappears into a bricked brown interior. A whistling conclusion meets Sophie's ears as the quiet humming of turning wheels comes to a standstill. She leans further against the pole before forcing her face up with slight regret. 

"We are now arriving at Nihon-Odori. Nihon Odori." 

Doors roll open, an electronic chime temporarily ceasing the quiet of the train cart as the flooding outside noise of passing footsteps descending up and downstairs greet them. Some fumbled words over cellphones of anticipating passengers wait beyond the yellow line at the station floor. With the pool of off-boarding passengers, Sophie's form dissolves like seafoam and joins the amalgamation of moving bodies.

She takes a deep breath of urban noise and life, the bottom of her shoe clicking against the brick. Her eyes almost flutter shut in her lethargic walk, head bowed. 

Idyllic memories of brief freedom come with the sounds of terrible automobiles and ever-pacing people moving around. It is to join the crowds and disappear with them that almost unravels the inevitability in her. 

"Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!" Breaking silence had been the sudden call for her. Her head angles upward, dizzy, and confused as to why her name was mentioned near her. 

Almost crushed on the spot, two arms wrapped around her, and her body jolts awake. Fast-moving brown before her, a newsy cap daring to fall off at the quickness and shaggy black hair greet her. She shakes her head and opens her mouth - - "Hmph!" - - to be interrupted by a pair of clumsy lips. Her brows furrow and eyes widen at the sudden contact, to then sneering at the obnoxious amount of coffee and sweets on her lips. 

Blinking, Sophie presses her hand against the crook's chest. He, without any shame, takes it as a sign to lean further down. She, with all qualms, begins tapping her foot and repeatedly pats his chest. As he bends forward, and she straightens herself, she takes a deep breath and exclaims in a whisper, "Ranpo!?"

How in God's name did he manage to navigate himself through the train station!? 

"Oh, this flavor," he smacks his lips together, better assessing the faint cherry taste of her lip balm. "You remembered the kind I like over that usual sugar cookie stuff you put on. That tastes terrible, shame that it smells so nice--" 

"What is with that sudden burst in greeting me here?" She already scolds him, stepping closer. The doors to the train behind them were already closing and departing for the next station. "And what is with you rushing over here?! What kind of energy is that? And to kiss me too! In public!? The nerve of you!" He, however, is already smirking as he tilts his head forward. "You wouldn't have been reapplying that if you didn't want to kiss me already. That's why it's in your shirt pocket. And who would've chosen that specific flavor if not wanting to smoo--" 

"Enough, enough--" She huffs out loud, feeling the heat rise over her face. It didn't help that Ranpo bobs his head a bit more. Oh, he knows it's annoying her, and he isn't at all shy of his awareness. Consider it one of the many countless qualities of the tremendous deducting machine himself. 

"But, you're more stressed out than usual. And that's saying something," Ranpo disrupts with candid observation. "Huh?" That prompted her to tilt her head in confusion. "I don't have to look up at you," he explains. For Sophie, all she can produce is, "What is that supposed to mean," from the sheer vagueness of it. 

Ranpo scrunches his already closed eyes and nose, stupefied by such a question being asked. His confirmation was cemented, that much Sophie can read in his minor ticks, and it seems he took minor injury from such a question.  

He nods his head down and up again. Sophie glances at the floor and back at him, "What does that mean?" Ranpo clears his throat, his tone sharper, "Do I have to spell it out for you?" He glances down again and back at her, at least helpful in letting her see. She looks down again, seeing his black oxfords and knee-high white socks. "Your ego is getting a hold of you, and it's only been a minute since you embraced me in public," she grumbles, wrinkling her nose, still staring down.

Ranpo taps the front of his foot against hers. Her shoulders deflate as she finally stares down at her own feet. Closed-toed ballet flats, black. “You usually like looking down at me, with that six centimeter advantage,” he shrugs. “They don’t look at all bad,” he raises his brows and looks at her, “and neither does the hairdo.” 

Her nose scrunches, still eating away at the note he makes of her. She opens her lips, feeling herself shrink before she can connect mind to sound. 

But that quickly interrupted again by a tight hug around her again. Him burying himself into the side of her face, and her right arm squished. Pink carnation flush overwhelms her face as she blinks. 

Marred digits slip underneath his brown coat, with a gentle hold at its ends. Despite all his ruggedness and awkwardness with humans altogether, the great detective seemed to just know what to give. At least, with everything he can understand from his deductions while failing in most typical human things, he tries. He tries for her and it is enough for her. It’s a shock altogether that there was some part of someone who just simply tries just because they wish to for her.

Just a little longer, hold me like this. Sophie nestles her face against his shoulder. Eyes flutter shut. A little longer that way I can remember it. A clumsy hand forms into a shaking fist, burying herself further against him. I don't want to leave you--

"How do we get out of here?" With his hands now on her shoulders, the detective holds her. A frown takes to  her as she glares at him, bit peeved at the sudden shift. 

"Ranpo," she sighs as his arms slack beside him, tilting his head and, for once, listening. "Come here," with feigned exasperation, her hand quickly takes his own and tightly holds onto his. “You were just waiting here for me because you didn’t know how to get out, didn’t you?” She rolls her eyes, turning to face forward. “Of course, I need you for that,” he confirms with his catlike smile. Though, her hand tightens around him and even with her face away from his sight, he can already imagine her smile. 

Departing from the yellow line, Sophie leads Ranpo through the crowd, sheepishly looking away from any others who witnessed the lover’s reunion. 

The smirk on Ranpo’s face remains. Her warmth and weirdness riveted him each time they saw another. He lets himself be pulled along through another of her rambling spells, not attentive to her words, still more focused on her....

....His smile shrinks the longer he watches her. A mystery of his own found in the shadows of her smile, to how she dressed, and how she lingered on him. Her hold so comforting yet so pained, the way her fingers were tighter than before. It is something he is afraid he can already deliberate, something that he can confirm if he paid any attention longer. 

But, to that, he continues holding her hand. The answer itself as to why may not show up now but soon will enough. When the inevitable comes, he will not be surprised. But he surely could anticipate the ache ahead. 

Or had her terrible overthinking finally rubbed onto him? Who knows, who knows. 

[madamhatter]

breathless-darkness inquired: ❛ i’m worried about you. ❜ (Shuji) angst  for  ships  sentence  prompts | accepting | @breathless-darkness​​

In her garden of thoughts, all that flourished and blossomed in an unattended mind were dandelions, black nightshades, and creeping buttercups. Seemingly harmless and gorgeous, they are wrongly categorized beauties with a habitual need to grow, spread, and overtake a healthy garth. Surrounding thicket of tall black poplar and full English holly trees obscured any recognizable shape on the horizon and even the horizon itself.

Isolated from reality yet Sophie Hatter finds comfort in this retreat. Well-worn boots, brown paint flaked on her outsole, and dirt coating the tips, she stood above a tangled grove that she trekked through far too many times. Detached (literally) from reality, all that she desired was to be cooled by the shade that overcasts the greenery. Yet, no matter the position of the sun, the shade stretched out into shadows, swallowing the place in a muted darkness.

There shouldn’t be a place, nor reason, for her to find herself a reality away from her physical body. However, as soon as she returns to the conversation, her hollowed eyes remain narrowed, with unliveliness wrinkling the corner of her eyes. 

And where did her eyes go? Dullened brown irises reach and lock with far darker brown irises belonging to Shuji Tsushima. A lifetime ago, the name didn’t produce any wariness.

Instead, it was naivety and glee of a young child who attuned and clapped along to the laughter and chides of a young pierrot’s ploy. A mask tightened with piano wire, it was an unbreakable facade that fooled her once. 

Yet, people grow and change, as did she. And people speak and people exchange, yet she did not. All that befitted her was to listen and synthesize. 

From what she heard from the vineyards, as the rich couldn’t help but gossip and ridicule, the Tsushima’s youngest certainly had led a stir. While it was quite little of what she knew, there were already accounts about him and several women that had her plainly concerned. 

She knows better to than reconsider her emotions, her steadfast conscious, whenever approaching someone who taken to fiddling and meddling. Yet, she continues her formalities and niceties, tight-lipped smile, listening to each of his words.

“I’m worried about you.” The authenticity of his statement never existed to her. Doubt sprouted like weeds and there was an overabundance made whenever he spoke. 

“Mister Tsushima, I beseech you to repose your fret over my being.” Archaically thick, the heiress minds not how blatantly she purposely made it out to be. However, the far-too-prim dialect is cut short as her body turns away, returning to the papers that were once preoccupied with her. And truthfully, she wished she was back to her the ink and the neverending pages she had to deal with. 

“Your worry is one that I acknowledge, which speaks for your character.” And his worry carries such notoriety that she prefer to stray as far as she can. “However, I must assure you that my business is simply that - my own business.”  

Tilting her head softly, she returns her gaze to Shuji, “But, whatever troubles you about me -- I can assure you it’s not one for you to have. There are quite other pressing and concerning matters to be wary over.” She softly smiles.