#( verse: the ultimate ᶠᵃᶦˡᵘʳᵉ hatter | school life )

[madamhatter]

@the-lytenye-realms​​ scribbled on the wall: I know your name is Hatter, but you really need to stop talking with your hats. If you’re starved for conversation, you could always pay me to keep you company. ~ H.I. 

This institution's lack of social reform was beginning to reveal the more prominent faults of hubris and pride several of her peers were blinded with. However, any implications that such corruption started as soon as her fellow Ultimates entered Hope's Peak Academy weren't true. If anything, it exacerbated their established egos. Prime example? Hibiki Inoue. 

Playful barbs and forced smiles aside, caution is laced between each interaction - at least from Sophie's end - and how each step closer has brought upon them this strangeness. After all, this "eccentricity" that she calls is their relationship. 

No matter if the two visited the other's room or happened to explore Towa City together, boundaries are still kept. Even if Sophie was invited over to their house, and despite her meeting Hibiki's parents, there mustn't be exceptions. Especially in an arrangement like this. Especially when the result may include unwanted exposure.

Yet something in her twisted at the words on the wall. The inside voice that emerges every day, the phantom eyes constantly watching her, this enigma residing in her mind, glares at the words. Invisible weight on her right shoulder is a phantasmal hand giving its assuringly painfully tight grip on her. 

Sophie's head sinks to her side, eyes adhered to the words on the wall. It's an unwelcomed habit. She wouldn't want it to be seen and known. Another unsightly thing to cover. 

Another step closer to the wall, Sophie reaches and touches the painted words. She forces her flat palm against it in a feeble attempt to hide the covers. She must hide it somehow, someway. That would then stop that imperceptible fear overwhelming her mind. Mother mustn't know. 

A long frown she wears on her face, the longer she forces her palm against the wall. The reluctance comes naturally as second thought while following and obeying Mother's word. Why should I hide it? Why do I keep on slipping up? Am I losing myself? Why do I fear losing myself? It is a back-and-forth with many questions and little resolution - a battle she cannot forfeit but cannot lose either, forever in a stalemate of confusion. 

Her hand drops to her side, chin lowered, staring at the banal words that struck fear in her. Had she any sense of normalcy in her, there’d be resentment saturating her apathy. A quiet irritation that would boil over in the never-ending ambivalence her mind undergoes for being incapable of settling on one thing. But only feels exhaustion making her muscles and bones ache, wanting to fall apart. She’s burnt-out. 

Despite how despicably true it is, Fanny Hatter had her trained well. That was a fact she lived with. 

She sharply inhales. Her hand shuffles into her pocket. The first matter of business is covering up the words in case any word flies back to the U.K. and to Mother. And that will be something she continues to live with. 

But out from her pocket is a cell phone. Calloused fingertip tapping the screen in quick succession.

Brrng, brrng, brrng.

“Miss Inou?” Feigned amusement in her voice, Sophie speaks. “I managed to see your little advertisement on the wall. How much did you pay for that space?” Sarcasm picked fresh from from the fields, Sophie feeds them to Hibiki. Her back passes against the wall, slowly sliding down.

“I understand your talent is at its best when talking to people. But, I’ll let you know, Hibiki,” her lips curl into an empty smile. She settles on the ground. 

“I’m lonely, not desperate.” 

[madamhatter]

⭐️ (with Hibiki)

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

Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses.

The psychoanalyst and hatter operate on similar communication and relationship-building methods - motivations and goals differing shades of gray, however. A significant amount of overlap exists between Hibiki's "contacts" and Sophie's "clients" that neither of them realizes whenever going through their day-to-day. By intentions, "friends" of these friends may not even learn the connection between the two Ultimates; most wouldn't draw a line between the brunette and redhead if never meeting them or watching them interact at Hope's Peak Academy. Very few outside of the academy would learn of their bond, and when this happens, it is through hilarious timing and circumstances: when Hibiki manages to take Sophie somewhere.

The gray portion of their relationship reveals its rosier colors whenever the two are outside the campus. Sophie has already met Hibiki's parents and her eight and counting cats. Hibiki has already heard mentions of Sophie's family and overheard Sophie's sisters at a point - she is bound to meet them (either through one of the sisters barging in or her interrupting a Skype (or Discord) video call). The direct families of both girls are well aware of their sister's/daughter's relationship to the other. Respective families have juggled great speculation. Most seem to agree that they have a great sense of fondness, especially if both are nonchalant and trusting to show their private lives to another. At least, this is considered valid for Sophie and how she is relentless in separating her professional/outside life from her personal/family life. Hibiki can still be a wildcard with her ideas, but it isn't every day that the psychoanalyst brings someone home and introduces them to their parents as if they were dating.

It wouldn't be the first time either girl had to register and pull out their mental web of relationships. Now, there is some delay and processing for everyone (Hibiki, Sophie, and outside parties) whenever they're out. Let's say like if Sophie warmly greets an otherwise intimidating individual who happens to have past connections to the yakuza but now spends his days teaching kendo. Hibiki would be taken aback but not voice her surprise; it is like her to sail along and not bring much attention to herself. The third party would glance between the two but not make much comment on it (unless they're elderly, in which case it's bound to happen). After the meeting, Hibiki and Sophie would talk privately, leading to them learning that they have much more in common.

Unfortunately for them, their little bickering and outing have also planted the seeds of gossip. Much like a dandelion, it would soon spread across their different joined persons of interests. A handful of people may realize just how close-knot both girls area, which can be as adorable as it can be a vulnerability.

[madamhatter]

[robotic voice] DANGANRONPA

stolen from: @melatoninburst  tagging: you! 

[madamhatter]

“You’re in my world now, not your world.”

disney lyrics: villain edition (pt.1) | sentence prompts | selectively accepting

Step 4 out of The 7-Part Contingency Plan for The Heiress’s Retrieval from Operations and Extraction (THRONE): Mitigation. Calculated time spent: Two hours and 12 minutes. Estimated time of completion: Three hours and 32 minutes. 

Mental notes were frequently and committedly made throughout the entirety of the Ultimate Hatter’s recline on the lush and long couch belonging in the dormitory’s living space. Her right arm was forked and resting underneath her head. Alas, how voluntary both the position and location of her leisure was, understandably, doubtful when her frame was serving as the Ultimate Princess’s comforter. Whilst being crushed by the existential weight of expectations and dread of her meaningless life, the russet-locked student wasn’t as affected by the actual physiological pressure against her person. This wasn’t an additional burden against her, it was an unspoken comfort. Though, in the confines of her obstinately private mind, such musings were suppressed and to never dare surface.

While inferior to Sonia’s height by 12 centimeters, the difference wasn’t difficult for Sophie’s management; the couch’s length contributed to how much more accommodating the position could be. Brushing the crook of Sophie’s neck had been the small huffs of breath from Sonia’s sleeping body, as the princess was more than happily adjusting herself and nestling herself against the warm contact, arms wrapped around Sophie’s vested torso. Physically affectionate as she ordinarily was, the alcohol in her body amplified her to such an umpteenth degree that Sophie, in past instances, had intervened and redirected any surprise touch from any unsuspecting parties. And, as in the aftermath of these escapades (when Sophie wasn’t as guiltily intoxicated), she found herself tangled by choice. 

Though, she was finding herself falling into the habitual stage of nostalgia; her scarred fingertips weave through flaxen locks, almost like the golden threads that Rumpelstiltskin spun himself. From the crown of Novoselic royalty herself, Sonia’s undone hair (from its usual ponytail and bow combination), had always been a particular enjoyment of Sophie’s when younger. Raising two sisters by herself meant that she fitted herself as much as a mother and father to them more than she was their sister. Complicated styles, regal styles, professional styles, cutesy styles -- she spent countless nights going through books and magazines she managed to scrap at the library. It was supplementary work included with her studies delving into her seamstressing, hatmaking, financing, and other necessaries for her position. It became second nature for young Sophie to take to any hair and play with it, as well as style it, and Sonia was often her make-shift mannequin head. But, it seemed Sophie was paying her dues as the young princess’s mattress now.

Hopefully, the vest’s material uncomfortable to be sleeping against, Sophie hopes. A majority of her day and night were spent rushing between corporate meetings, fitting appointments for customers, and other duties that filled her schedule. She’d only gotten back home two hours ago, and at the sound fo the door closing behind her, she was rushed by the ever-aware and ever-active princess, who had spotted her immediately at the doorway. In the midst of shrugging off her charcoal gray jacket, assertive and greedy arms had wrapped around her chest, nestling into her vest, and was greeted by a symphony of giggles, hiccups, and slurred words. 

Now, she was spending her time, still in her work clothes, with her wing-tipped shoes undone, both loosely hanging by her toes, which revealed that underneath her punctual garbs had bene mismatched blue-and-white socks. The jacket was folded and on top of a table not too far from the couch. Even if the three-piece suit wrinkled, slacks and all, it wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain -- it’d only be insulting to insinuate the seamstress was short of knowing proper clothing care! 

Juxtaposing the slick yet mute palette had been the princess’s nightly wear. Sonia’s elaborate and expensive nightgown was of a lilac shade, the linen material only available for the most affluent, that much Sophie could perceive by pinching the fabric. Luxury always came easy for those who weren’t able to see the bottom of their pockets and Sonia’s wardrobe reflected that. Sophie quietly fixed the gown by its shoulders, ensuring that Sonia was properly covered, in case the temperature had been too cold for her. 

Nostalgia waned in her eyes, a glimmer so rare dissipated as her mind wandered once more to despondent contemplation; a troubling habit that grew rampant as the years past, ever apparent by eyes familiar with her originally brighter self -- Hell, even Sonia commented on it, the most careful woman Sophie knew who wouldn’t risk breaking from her regally regulated character in most and any publicly visible area and situation. Yet, Sophie submits into the abyss, copper slowly glaze over with a coldness while her fingers still twirl and brush through golden hair. 

( ... ) 

“You’re in my world now, not your world.” Arms anchored around her neck like a token of repentance as Sonia gleefully whispers such a phrase to her. Crystalline eyes, brighter than any commonly gloomy day back home for Sophie, marveled at her with, what Sophie interpreted, as an underlying message. 

It hadn’t been an unusual case for the blonde to reference her royal lineage, privileges, and background whenever she was inebriated and embracing reckless abandon of all those principles. Whatever driven Sonia to take to expensive and hidden bottles must’ve been associated with a private family matter or sidelined discipline from her mother; especially if such particular details were slurred and carelessly thrown around.

“Miss Nevermind, I don’t understand,” Sophie lies. Her jacket was folded over her left forearm as her right hand found itself carefully holding the princess’s waist. With the other teetering slightly, changing her course of tilt whenever she hiccuped, Sophie would rather not risk adding ‘head trauma’ to the list of damages she’d be needing to cover up for Sonia’s sake. How would she explained to Novoselic sovereignty that their only daughter and successor to the throne succumbed to a concussion because her family drove her to drink? 

“Let’s get you somewhere away from prying eyes.” The hatter gingerly tucked a loose lock behind Sonia’s ears, now using her right arm as a means to turn around Sonia. “I need to see what you’ve decided to drink tonight...”

( ... ) 

“May I confess how irrefutably pissed off that makes me?” Copper eyes glanced down to the slumbering Sonia, one eyebrow perked. “Not by the fact of you saying it, but by how awfully true of a statement that is; how unfair of a fact it is for the princess from the Kingdom of  Novoselic endures her only life to be almost removed from freedom and personal choice that everyone should have a right for? How fucking unbe--” Sophie strains her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Get your shit together and maintain the temper before it overwhelms you. You aren’t fourteen anymore and childish outbursts and retaliation aren’t going to save anyone; it isn’t going to improve anything and it only hurts others. You’re 18 and the time to be a juvenile long since past, do not ruin the facade you’ve built. 

“Ah’m goin’ lose it and al end up playin’ pop with yourn mam and faaver,” and slipping out was the northern accent, far too inconceivably angered to use her posh accent. “Tha end up making every’fin n’ they’d take a proper pissin’ on ya. Katered all neet ‘cause yourn mam were mithering ya. Nar then, mi mate’s ain’t roaring, but, aye, ya ain’t th’ faffin’ type.” Sophie’s head rolls back, taking a loud breath. “Ah swear down,” followed with a string of muffled expletives. 

After a moment’s reprieve, the Hatter returns to her senses and glances down at Sonia. “You don’t know how much of your world I’d destroy if it meant you could do what you want, like whatever you can, be whoever you want to be, and be with whoever you want to be...” But, she easily interrupts herself, “And I know how selfish that is for me to say, but I wouldn’t ..I couldn’t.. I hate seeing you being so refined with your smiles, but you can tell the pain behind it sometimes, the carefulness in how you express, and the hesitance and denial to approach subjects and people you believe cannot be a part of your life. You deserve the full cloth of your life, you should cut it the way you want it to be cut and wear it the way you want to. No one else should’ve taken the scissors and made a mess out of it.” 

Sophie turns the other cheek, her own right hand slapped over her mouth in terrified silence. None of that should’ve come out! No, no, no-- Sophie forced a gulp and felt her body shaking -- anxious eyes looking everywhere around the room as if someone could hear, as if something was recording her. She takes a startled exhale and pulls herself forward, trying to hold herself together. Yet, she pushes on in her original plan.

“Miss Nevermind,” Sophie properly announces as she untangles her fingers from her hair, now using it to push herself up against the couch. As she was seated up straight, with now blonde seated on her lap and still clinging onto her, she was carefully working around the princess. “Come on,” she murmurs, carefully rearranging the princess’s dangling legs that way they were on either side of Sophie’s outer legs, “make like a marsupial.”

“Mmm,” Sonia answered her with several grumbles, now wrapping tighter around Sophie’s neck and her legs around her waist. She fusses a bit to tuck her forearms underneath Sonia’s thighs (still covered). She, as well, slides out of her shoes to avoid future fumbling.

With a quick breath and patience, Sophie rose to her feet. Nestled and held against her chest was still Sonia, who was soundly back to sleep and, most likely, unaware that she’d been sleeping out in the living room in the first place. 

“There we are,” Sophie sighs with relief, now beginning the short walk back to Sonia’s bedroom. She hums herself, though, she quietly holds the princess against her, desperate to protect her. But, she knew their futures were futile and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

[madamhatter]

“eyyy... here comes dat boi...!”

Sophie Hatter has been waiting for this opportunity. 

The first encounter with this foreign string of words had left her anticipating the very next moment it would’ve surfaced in everyday conversation. Quiet with disbelief over the literal interpretation of the phrase, she spent that encounter with 77-B’s class representative turning constantly in her chair, trying to find that boy. 

‘Miss Nanami, who is approaching us? Who do you see that I can’t?’ She huffed the query, eyes narrowing, and full of suspicion towards the Ultimate Gamer. Patience slowly teetered off her balance the longer the pinkette repeated the phrase. 

Each time that the boy didn’t appear, the sharper and more impatient her tone grew. Her body suddenly stood, looking around, and her the front of her foot tapping. 

‘Miss Nanami, please tell me.’ Her next request sounded more desperate. While the colorful act as up, behind her determined copper irises was the creeping and anxious thoughts of not knowing something. 

Budding paranoia wasn’t anyone’s friend, and all it blossomed into was thorns that pricked the Hatter over and over again. Should she be concerned about someone listening in and watching them? Had her planning failed her? Was she the subject to some unknown’s entertainment? Why were they watching and who were they? What did they want? What would they want for her? Was it --- 

Adamant to admit that her mind’s undoing, it was her fuming and storming around the courtyard that finally led her to discover the true meaning. 

‘It’s a mehmeh? Oh.’ 

Two weeks of preparation, and terrible handling of online UI, and it was finally the moment to prove herself anew to the Ultimate Gamer. Countless nights spent squinting at the computers in the library, the reflection of a frog dancing on a unicycle burnt into her retinas, and adhering to the encyclopedic trove of knowledge, Know Your Meme, she holds an acquaintanceship with the material.

While no close to the master level as Chiaki Nanami, she wasn’t ever one to give up whenever compared to someone. If anything, that fueled her. 

Once those sacred words were spoken, the Hatter promptly stood from her chair, hands flat on the table. She projects her voice, proudly exclaiming what her days of research given her. However, only the image of a frog balancing on a unicycle came to her, its dark black eyes staring back at her.

So, she shouted, proudly and stupidly: 

“RIBBIT.” 

[madamhatter]

@more-than-a-princess​ / ghost busters befrienders.

Life's sadist quota always seemed to be filled by the Hatter. No matter how she arranged and coordinated her life and manipulated all else around her, some bitter form of irony and hurt would always visit her. An oddity, it was not. Her existence was intended for such treatment; it wasn’t of her right, but it was of her ‘fate’ that such misfortunes occurred. Sacrifices were needed and she must give.

Yet, all was worth it when seeing the silver-lining of smiles and laughter it brought. 

Upon the first reference of ‘ghost,’ the Ultimate Princess springs onto her feet, beaming, and already in motion to move everywhere else but back to her desk. Said desk with the monumental papers on top of it. Such eagerness in her body language and objective, Sophie questions whether or not Sonia had been waiting for any opportunity to remove herself from her current work. Yet, judging from the particular print and word Sophie spots from the papers, the princess most definitely needed a mental rest before returning into her royal duties of memorization.

“I’m certain, Miss Nevermind,” the young student nods her head and she rests the broom in her clutch against the wall. Her fingers make a feeble attempt to correct the licks of deep copper hair sticking out from her bun; one or two of her true silver locks had peeked out, but Sophie tenaciously forces them back into hiding. “What else would’ve brought upon us a sudden and new resident with an incorporeal form?” She rolls her hand in explanation as the blonde addresses her own appearance by flattening the wrinkles from her skirt bottom.”Miss Fujisaki and Mister Souda, perhaps, gotten a spark of innovation and inspiration to collaborate. However, I must admit, I wouldn’t take either of them willing to experiment,” or in this case tamper, “on kitchen appliances wittingly, unless someone else had prompted or requested them to do....which I, for once in my life, can confidently assume didn’t happen.” 

Keys jingling and phone acquired, the Novoselic student appoints the new objective and the Hatter slowly rests her head against the wooden door frame. She stifles a pained noise, right leg tensing. Only with a quiet yet uncomfortable breath leaves her. However, she prioritizes intently listening and brushing aside her pain. 

Sonia had a natural presence that could easily captivate, and it wasn’t one bred from her royal blood and instilled into because of her status. That much Sophie understands was a core of Sonia’s personality, quickly invested and motivated, but as powerful in her positive presence. Yet, as magnificently driven as she could be, she could be as magnificently terrifying under the right circumstances. 

“I attempted inquiring about their name and their origins,” the Hatter grabs her broom once more, “however, they were more resolved to swing the oven door persistently. Several whistles from steam and heat, but nothing that could’ve been humanly understood.” And it smacked my leg and burnt me. Those particular details were withheld, for in Sophie’s opinion, they didn’t matter much to the current situation. What mattered more, however, was if the oven would hurt the others.

Following the other’s movement, and abiding to her hand gestures, both girls had finally left Sonia’s room and embarked on confronting or introducing themselves properly to their newly founded roommate. “Let’s go then,” Sophie mutters, accompanying the other and keeping her eyes peered for any flying utensils.

The kitchen was, as Sophie believes the popular term is, ‘up in smokes’ by the time the both of them arrived to further investigate what happened. Chairs and tables had been launched to either side of the room, thankfully all still in one piece, creating a large and empty space in front of the fuming, smoking oven. The hatter slowly steps forward, avoiding to hobble as often as she can, going to forewarn the princess that her excitement might need to take a step back.

However, something glistening and shining catches her eye. Sophie raises her head, glancing to the closest wall to her right hand right. Irises widen to find herself seeing her own reflection, now small and obscured, in the blade of one of the butcher knives. Not only had their been cutlery  spread across the floor, several and most of the dangerously sharp ones had been stabbed into the wall by the unseen force. A sharp gulp leaves the Hatter as she steps close to the blonde from behind. Though, she takes a deep breath and reaches out her hand, determined to stop her from getting closer.

Yet, as Sophie closes her hand, all she gropes onto is air and not the soft plush fabric of Sonia’s puffed sleeves. Her brows furrow, her head jerking to see that the princess had already began rearranging the kitchen to her benefit. Sophie quickly walks after all, still as determined to protect her friend.

The oven was already fuming again, gray and thick smoke slowly begin to fill the room. But, Sophie had already opened the windows before she retrieved the Ultimate Princess, and their lungs would be spared the smog. The sight of the kitchen overall was reminiscent of the American horror films that you like, Sophie muses, glanced at the elegantly seated Sonia as she begins welcoming the spirit.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance again,” the Hatter murmurs, hands folded in front of her, as she stands beside the seated princess as if she were her personal guard. “Miss Nevermind, I hope this works,” she glances between the blonde and the oven, “As many questions as you’re wanting to ask, getting answers without a mutually shared language, be it by voice or otherwise, may prove this to be futile.” 

A long and tired sigh soon leaves the Hatter, noticing the soft nod given in her direction. Wordlessly, she leans in close to hear whatever it was that the princess wanted to keep private between them. With her cupped hand, Sonia whispers new and exciting plans.

A even longer and even more tired sigh leaves her again, considering how much worse the situation could get with their classes joined together to welcome the new spirit in the dormitory. As the princess did, Sophie flattens her hands and leans in, whispering into Sonia’s ear, “I understand your enthusiasm on the matter. Truly, a rare and unique opportunity that hasn’t ever been recorded before on HPA history. However, we both must admit that not all of our peers might be as excited and warm towards a spirit. I have to worry about their safety as much as the spirit’s.”

“As well, we shouldn’t be overwhelming the spirit, no? I take it that the supernaturally enlightened and curious should be informed. Those who are vehemently prone to disproving spirits, or screaming at the slightest sound, or punching or kicking at any opportunity, shouldn’t be told..at first. I am not ill-equipped to handle burns and fires. But, I’m not sure how it’ll bode with Headmaster Kirigiri if he catches wind of a student trying to fight a possessed oven. ” 

[madamhatter]

it’s a cool, rainy day outside and the ultimate gamer fell asleep on the small couch in the common room. what to do?

Affable spirits gather and loners disperse inside the shelter they refer to as home, properly known as the Main Course dormitories at Hope’s Peak Academy.  Dulcet drizzle greets the closed window panes of the common room, lethargic grays washing the scenery outside to a day meant to inspire languor yet could create a humdrum. Not a ray of sunlight poured into the room, only the tint of ashy drowsiness that oft accompanied such occasional summer rain shaded the room.

Any remnants of color existed in the form of the sleeping princess laying across the white couch. Rosette stains painted her lips, partially parted with content hums from her long-awaited and frequent slumber. Powdered blush pink curls frame her placid expression, lids heavy and at peace with repose, and her pale face turned away from the cushions.

Utterances of the indistinctly nonsensical left her lips, folded right-arm unmoving but her reached out left-arm flexing slightly with her fingers curling in. Whisked away into the illusory realm of dreams, Briar Rose left her rainy reality to an escapist’s paradise. Yet, her form in the true world remains at peace, undisturbed, and greatly protected.

In the well-preserved and wide collection of stories protected in the grand libraries like in the Kingdom of Novoselic, and much like in ancient monarchies as the aforementioned country, the stories of princesses had their expectations. A princess was never without their guard. Stationed at the side of the couch, dressed in well-worn grays and only a hand’s reach away from the resting form of the ‘princess,’ was someone. Well suited was her morose gaze, readying daggers for any potential disturbances. Yet, she was not a knight and there should have been a knight. 

At the side of the couch had not been an armor-clad and proud figure. Indistinguishably silent, yet not the more honorable and noteworthy, her presence was never accounted for in such fairy tales. Knight, guard, warrior, king, queen, witch, dragon, fae-- all roles one could play a part in the story. However, she who rested at the side of the princess was one without a written role.

Not a role worth spending a key or ink stroke on. It is a role that is uncredited and nonexistent in the lines or in between the lines. A figure existing outside of the story, that was her fate.

And her name was Sophie.

Hatmaker, custodian, gardener, caretaker, etc. -- all different masks she wore for her faceless existence. A fate without rhyme or reason, fortune, and joy, that was her’s. Shapeless and empty, she could do what she must with her meaningless purpose. 

It was all whimsical blarney, how tiredly her head rolls with such a thought, to allow herself to be whisked away like this from the rain. 

Tiredness reveals sobering truths that may never otherwise come to light. Ashy-gray locks cascade over her dark cardigan’s shoulder, eyes glazed over by the impending heavy lids daring to shut. 

Yet, she couldn’t help herself being caught in the charm that accompanies such a life she knows as ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ Perhaps, one could call it bewitching. The pun animates an exhausted smile on her lips. 

At the flat palm provided by the ‘princess,’ her flushed cheek rested against it. Far too carefully, far too scared, she would’ve drawn closer and applied pressure. But, what would’ve happened it she awoke her? What if she felt what hid in her heart? What if her own burdens were too heavy if everything came to light--?

Her eyes flutter shut, reveling in bliss. 

Yet, pessimism was a coldness far too dense to thaw so soon. Fairy tales didn’t exist and she was simply Sophie. Her eyes slowly open, huffing, and her usual frown erodes any previous mark of happiness. 

Her place known, her existence meager, and she still found herself hesitating to continue with such philosophy. A conundrum, she notes, a terrible one that she couldn’t keep herself in. 

Impermanent sweetness is deadlier than anything she’s known. It could ruin everything she’s lived for. And it intoxicated her far too quickly; from a glance with pink posse irises that lingered moments too long to a smile that exposed her shrewd heart, it could spell disastrous. A potency she could have never imagined, something that shook her core, was sleeping behind her, aimlessly muttering twaddle.

She should’ve followed her old procedure. She should’ve taken the initiative and taken the other to bed, quietly tucking them in, and leaving the common room empty and available. She should’ve switched the lights off and closed the door -- severing any chances of losing herself again.

But, she didn’t. Instead, she sits alone in the presence of happiness that will sooner erode her staunch facade. Her sweetness was the hatter’s undoing.

How much longer could she fool herself, she marvels at the inquiry. For how long until the clock strikes midnight and this game of imagination disappears? How long could she dance and lie before the magic dissipates and the truth comes out? 

Nothing could come out of this anyways. 

Happy endings never included people like her. Endings, too, would never include her. That was the divide between them.

She had nothing, could do nothing, and will have nothing.

She was simply Sophie Hatter.

She countlessly wished she wasn’t. 

Maybe it would’ve soothed the unbearable, impossible emotion she has for a story that would never have the ending she wanted. 

A painful breath escapes her, reality strangling the whimsy from her mind. Its unmoving spirit resides now in the graveyard of her hopes and dreams she created when young and had her wings clipped. 

Something hot trailed down her cheeks, something that clouded her vision, and shriveled her heart. It wetted her face. Yet, she will not admit what it was. Just in the same way she couldn’t speak out loud what came from her heart.

She could only wish again and again. None answered, but she clung to one childish thought that they might.

She wished she wasn’t caught up in this unfolding tragedy -- this humiliating realization.

She wished she wasn’t in love. 

[madamhatter]

“hu udran nuca eh dra funmt luimt lusbyna du oui,” read a simple note left on her desk. it seemed to be some sort of message written in cypher. there was no name written, rather, a small doodle of a cat on the corner meant to hint at the sender. odd.

Wedged underneath a surplus of schoolbooks and notebooks on her desk was a folded pink piece of paper that Sophie spotted. It was after school, where most main course having not either attended class, to begin with, or bolted out from the door after they finished the minimal cleaning duties. The hatter herself dedicated as much time to arrive far too early and then leave far too late. 

The third-year returned from her voluntary -- if not violent -- cleaning of the hallway outside of 77-A and the most right staircase that led to the classroom. Her thick reddish-brown locks were tied up high in a ponytail with a spare white bandanna wrapped over her head. As she was creating tornadoes with her sweeping and tsunamis with her mopping, it didn’t occur to her that someone entered the classroom without her noticing.

“Alright, let’s see,” Sophie murmurs to herself, wiping off the thin band of sweat over her brow.  At her leisure, she quietly retires her trusty broom, Meredith, against the back wall, before approaching the desk. A lackadaisical stretch of her arms over her head and a content yawn then reverberates through her body. 

Her brisk, careful footsteps resonate in the empty classroom, conscientious that whoever left this note may have still been observing. Or, was that simply nerves and that pestering dark voice speaking to her anxieties? She rolls her eyes, following procedure to ignore the voice that only grew louder in volume and size, accompanied by more.

Pinching the corner of the paper, Sophie quickly swipes it and left her books undisturbed. Perplexion raises her right brow. Eyes scrutinize the clean creases and folds, reflecting this person was far too familiar with leaving such mysterious notes -- or, they were simply great at using straight edges. 

One glance over her right and left shoulders, and one more glance to the window beside her desk, she takes a hazardous step backward. Keeping her back against the wall towards the back of the class, she kept at such a distance where she couldn’t be spotted from the outside. 

Index and middle fingers struck out, she runs the paper between them, flattening out the unfolded paper. Her thumbs brush against the paper, ensuring to limit as much pressure that she needs to hold the paper. 

A quick briefing over the text and the young woman sighs, mouth frowning in dissatisfaction. None of the letters provided rearranged to make a meaningful and legible sentence for her to understand. The language itself, well, it wasn’t ringing anything familiar to her. 

She could’ve gotten the assistance from Martha, the exuberant polyglot of the family, but after the last time she asked for help on something -- 

“Sooophie! Is this about that girl you can’t stop talking about from your neighboring class again? Did she do something that you SHOULD know? Oooh! Should I say the g-word? Is that she what is, Sophie? Hmmmm?” 

It wasn’t going pan out well for her. 

The most certain plausibility for her, however, was that the sender was one who encouraged challenge. That much sprouted a calico-like smile on the Hatter. She draws the paper close to her face, hovering near her lips. A content sigh leaves her, her eyes narrowed with determination.

To play decipherer to figure out this code, well, they should’ve given me something actually difficult. I’ll have this solved before sunrise tomorrow. 

The identity of the person behind the note, of course, would be as much of a mystery she wanted to solve. But, for now, she had her suspicions tucked into her pocket. She needed to first know what this blasted note says! 

challenge accepted! / @koagema​

[madamhatter]

opening the door to the hat cave™️ slightly, chiaki slides a notebook in. what is the content of such a book? it’s not doodles, nor poems, nor scribbles of hearts— it’s a handwritten... enciclopedia... of modern language. written on the front is, “memes for oldies — the pocket version”, with a badly-drawn kermit the frog. why is she like this?

After the phenomenal failure that was her ‘frog incident,’ Sophie Hatter spent some days reclusive and refusing to leave her room. It wasn’t unheard of for the Ultimate Hatter to disappear or be undetectable for some time, most assuming that her schedule bombarded her with far too many responsibilities to remain on campus. Yet, they were all unassuming to how fickle the young woman’s pride was whenever she found herself too caught up in public displays or being noticed in any sense of the world.

It was then at the mouth of the hat cave, which title was flexible to be used both for her workshop and bedroom, that an offering was left. The sounds of footsteps stopping at her door already had Sophie springing onto her feet. She quietly prayed they hadn’t figured out she had been here the entire time. How much more embarrassing that would’ve been! 

Between the space of the floor and the bottom of the door emerged a bound booklet that the young woman never had seen before. She quietly sits back on her head, persistent to ensure that no one would see her. The little space was large enough to the notebook and she wasn’t taking any chances about how much they could see into her room. 

Once the shadow finally left her door, it was only then that she slipped off her bed. The moment she feet greeted the carpeted floor, she tiptoed quietly over, retrieved the book, and bolted back on top of her bed.

ITEM GET!  Modern Encyclopedia of Memes. Pocket Edition. A mysterious gift that was left at your doorstep. It wasn’t formally published and seems to be crafted by hand and personalized for you. It is legible and written in both Japanese and English, for your convenience. The author is, unmistakenly, Chiaki Nanami. 

..You might’ve spent far too much time rereading the notes she left you on your desk sometimes. 

“....Is this the part when that jingle plays?” 

Now, don’t go breaking the fourth wall without permission, Sophie! 

The young woman stares down at the face of both her savior and damnation: Kermit the Frog. Any lukewarm memories that could resurface were the face of her father, who prided himself on his voice talents and could mimic the famous banjo-strumming frog. 

“Oh dear.” 

Now begins the long nights of studying memes. 

[madamhatter]

koagema inquired: “HATTER-SAN...! SATAN-KUN KISSED ME...!” is she fanning herself over this? absolutely. “hatter-san...! i whipped belphegor-kun and he really liked it! he’s staying at my room tonight~” UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema​

HATTER-SAN...! SATAN-KUN KISSED ME...!  (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄) ⇦「 Received from: 千秋 七海 (牡丹-ちゃん) 」 

「 Sent to: 千秋 七海 (牡丹-ちゃん) 」⇨ Ms. Nanami, this is wonderful news about you are maneuvering through the dating simulation. This is a great indicator too that your progress in the game and this route will be a successful one. ‘Satan’ is the blond one, no? Though, how fares your progress with the ‘Lucifer’ character? Ms. Nevermind is simply adoring how he checks off every item on her list. 

. . . . .

hatter-san...! i whipped belphegor-kun and he really liked it! he’s staying at my room tonight~ ∑d(°∀°d) ⇦「 Received from: 千秋 七海 (牡丹-ちゃん) 」

「 [DRAFT] Sent to: 千秋 七海 (牡丹-ちゃん) 」⇨ Ms. Nanami, is that an ethical way to treat a demon? Must I presume that lot of seven are all masochists? Goodness, what a particular implication that carries -- 'whip me if you want me.’ Add the fact the game might be using a generic riding crop graphic to represent that mechanic, I wonder if they actually put in the effort to distinguish different whips per demon like a bull-whip for one or even a many-tailed flogger. 「 Sent to: 千秋 七海 (牡丹-ちゃん) 」⇨ And I hope he would help me in reminding you to get some sleep tonight as lack of sleep affects your daily performance. Honestly, this company could make so much revenue if they considered making alarm clocks with their property. I can only imagine how you’d leap out of bed if you heard Mr. Belgephor yawning and telling you to get up. 

. . . . .

LED white light traces over the exhausted features of Sophie, who is hidden underneath two blankets as she comfortably resides on her bed. Rest, still, is as desired on any day like today, but it is fleeting and leaves a heavy-lidded student to fall into lapses of boredom. The young woman rolls around in her blankets, her mismatched socks, and all bundled together as she tried to retain warmth.

It was another week of school done, a day of rest today, and she found herself scrolling through the distant and infrequent messages that made her up logs between her and her classmates. For some reason, it kept on returning to reading Chiaki’s texts -- she half-acknowledged it was amusing, if not, educational. After all, half of what the Ultimate Gamer spoke about current pop culture and interests were far out of the hatter’s league. While Sophie may blank out on understanding gaming, or the particular history and evolution of arcade cabinets to game cartridges, it gave her an opportunity to learn.

Long, wavy locks of deep copper locks mixed with silver drape over her shoulders, her round cheek pressing against her forearm. “Hm, I wonder if she’s asleep,” she murmurs, glancing at the time on her phone.

Their mutual friends were already aware of how addicting these games could be for Chiaki -- more so, how any mobile game can be for her since it’s an arm’s reach away from her. Though it kept her entertained and excited, spamming Sophie’s inbox with consistent updates. It was something to talk about, keeping liveliness in a friendship with someone as mundane and uninteresting as Sophie Hatter. 

Yet, for now, the Hatter keeps herself busy, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Maybe sleep will overtake her, letting her doze for an hour or so before the dormitory building comes to life abruptly at 7 AM. 

[madamhatter]

there’s a folded note stuck to the gate (door) to the hat cave. upon retrieval, it reads: “if you believe it! naruto! naruto! believe it! belieeeeeeeeeeeve it! yeah here i am with my ninja clan. ninja clan. here we stand. naruto! i’m on my way. naruto! i’ll be okay. getting ready to fight on sight. my best friends by my side. sasuke - is really cool. sakura - the beautiful” ... why. why is chiaki like this?

A symphony of groans and sighs fill the artisan’s workshop on campus. Such noises belonged to the brunette whose chin rested on top of her workstation, only knowing the comfort and company of mannequin heads and hats. Sourced at her tailbone, was a sharp jab or two that was ever persistent if she sat for too long or positioned herself in such a way that made work all the more cumbersome. ..Which, admittedly, was all the time.  

At the peak of her life and health, her body contorted and moved without worrying about the expanse of how her body would later ache and whine to the limits she reached. Handstands, one arm handstands too, cartwheels, back walkovers, elbow stands --- her youthful and serene moment of life was her committed to the art of flexibility and control over her body. 

Surely, some techniques weren’t much help when being in tussles, or being thrown around, but they certainly easy and fun to do when there wasn’t anything to do in the hat shop. Yet, she was beyond the golden years of her life at the ripe age of 18. It was all gone now, just the remains of a worthless life ahead of her. She sighs, grumbling under her breath.

How incredulous of a conclusion. For God’s sake, I’m only 18-years-old and beyond any form of recovery. Why must my mind spin such thoughts..? Even if it’s right. Experience defines age as much as every time the Earth orbits the sun. 

The hatter covers the back of her head with her arms, gritting her teeth. There wasn’t any point in laying, awaiting death when it wasn’t coming anytime soon. Falling asleep at her station was already impossible as her own flighty, defensive head wouldn’t even let her relax until she was in the confines of her room. 

Sliding off her stool, she slowly raises her arms over her head, hearing every joint in her body cracking. With her right palm. she drives her hand down to her tailbone, rubbing it for better care. She knew the right stretches, but it’d be better to do them in her room in case anyone walked in and gotten the wrong impression...

Pathetic shuffle to the door, a rare hatter emerges from the hat cave, retreating back to the only other place she’d find herself comfortably in. Though, as she opens the door, her eyes immediately spot the note attached to the door. 

Is this a warrant or an eviction notice? 

Sophie gently removes the note, the tape still left behind on the door. Unfolding the paper, she straightens it out between her middle and index fingers pressed together. “Alright, let’s see.” 

Ah, Chiaki. It must be of utter importance if the class representative from the neighboring class wrote it. As well, it must be addressed to me...because who else wastes their life in a workshop beside me? 

Oh, an encouraging letter! Believe in yourself! Believe ‘it.’  That is a strong opening to what this must be. Midterms are coming up, after all, and it can be daunting for all the main course students to prepare for their demonstration.

Na-roo-to. It must be a rallying cry. Na-roo-to! Na-roo-to! Huh. I never encountered this. It must be a local dialect that I have yet to learn. I’ll keep tabs on this.

Ninja...clan...... What a way to refer to your class. It must’ve been something she picked up from Mr. Tanaka’s superfluous speech and mannerisms.

Here we stand. Good, good. Bolster up those around you. Nah-roo-to! Nice, nice. 

......

Sophie draws the paper to her face, nose now picking the page. Squinting harder than she ever could to read the kanji, she pulls the paper back and then closer again -- at a normal distance from her eyes, this time. 

What the hell am I reading?

“This is something....” She murmurs. “Would those be one of these complex online lexicons?” She glances at the paper and looks up. “Where would this have even originated from? Or am I incapable of understanding and appreciating new-age poetry?” Frowning, Sophie wrinkles her nose. 

“Have I been..mehmed...?” The correct pronunciation for that is memed, Sophie.

[madamhatter]

koagema inquired: resting her chin on her hand, chiaki nanami spaces off as a loving smile settled into her features. she’s got it bad— though... it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. she’s too childish to be with her classmate, she thinks. and yet, she also muses, “i’d count your freckles all day and trace constellations if you’d let me.” ... shit. her mouth moved, right? “... fuck. did i say that out loud...?” UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema

Filling her stomach by 12:30 PM was unheard of for Sophie Hatter. No less, having company and lunch while on a break -- mandated by a certain hypocritical someone -- only weighed the Hatter down with hesitance in overall agreeing to these terms. Throwing herself and letting her thoughts be blown away by the blustering winds of tidiness and over-preparedness, the fact that she was human oft lost in the turbulence. 

However, it was nice to be reminded sometimes. 

Basking underneath the sunlight, Sophie sat underneath a large tree with branches extended out, twisted and turn in the air, with their healthy green leaves providing some patchy shade. A large and roughly sketched-on campus rested on her lap as she taps her pencil against the page. With her right hand, her fingers rhythmically run up and down against the ceramic wrapper of her sandwich. Not too far from the barely bitten-into sandwich was her treasure cove of artist supplies in a gray pouch. Grumbling to herself, she wrinkles her nose and taps the front of her foot against the pavement. 

What to do? When would the hidden spring of inspiration be struck? I shouldn’t even be out here when I need to finish this... Fumbled together and tangled like yarn balls, her thoughts knotted and twisted with no relief in sight. If only I was in the workshop, I’ll be able to pull out old designs, photographs, just anything to get this blasted mind of mine working. All the fabric, the accessories, the feathers, the fake flowers, ribbons. I shouldn’t even be out here if I’m doing this terribly. I don’t deserve to be. God damn it.

A sharp breath left through her flared nostrils. She slowly turns, dropping the pencil into her pouch, murmuring something both very crass and very English under her soured breath. Shaking her head and returning to position, Sophie’s eyelids lower at the sight of unfinished work.  She takes another breath, letting the warm air fill her chest, as she forcefully retires the pad to empty space to her side. 

Yet, she glances to her left-hand side, remembering exactly why she was out here and why she didn’t deserve to be. Chiaki Nanami, with eyes cooler than the sun setting yet with a smile warmer than the sun rising. Chiaki Nanami, with a touch barely noticeable yet as soft and careful, even inviting almost, as she would recline and lean against her shoulder or back with some hidden demand for attention. Chiaki Nanami, a guilty-pleasure of sweetness for someone who couldn’t handle sugar, yet with a surprising kick of heat as griping and exciting that overtook her. 

It was all trivial to define what she made her feel, for all the words she would’ve woven cannot compare. She must admit, it was as if flowers blossomed in her pathetic empty rib-cage whenever she found herself watching, learning, and all the more adoring Chiaki. 

Spending nights in the dormitory, attentive to Chiaki’s thorough explanations of ‘game routing’ between the utterances of curses and rapid button tapping, sometimes laying by her side. Those conversations expanded beyond their talents too, beyond tangled console wires and yarn strings. The class representative certainly had many stories to share when it came to Class 77-B too -- just how her eyes danced around with the liveliness in her retellings, not shying from adding some imitations of her classmates. Yet, that wasn’t all.

In the rare chance that the hatter found herself in her true calling, flowers and floral arrangement, even the Gamer lingered in her thoughts. In the greenhouse on campus, while Sophie would find herself trimming and caring for the flowers, occasionally making conversation with them, the back of her mind re-imagined each reference she could from Chiaki.  

Her past was engulfed by an overgrowth of vines, wildflowers, and shrubs that grew taller by each day. Like a labyrinth with marble pillars, tall and daunting, at its entrance, the maze of knowing the gamer was wandering challenge. Yet, as little as she disclosed to Sophie, there were hints throughout that maze, a trail of pink rose petals that led her further and further each day.

When it came to flowers like lavenders and white lilies, how their scent perfumed Sophie’s cardigan after working in the gardens, Chiaki lurked and nestled herself into the fabric that rested on her shoulders. All surprising to the hatter, it was all the more comforting after the immediate pang of fear. Once she’d see the top of those pink curls, she settled back into her spot. 

Yet, it was those same scents that led to the smallest insights -- like sunlight bleeding through the thick and overhead vines over the labyrinth. As the flora perfumed her, and the gamer nestled, Chiaki would often mutter small facts -- hanakotoba, how each flower speaks a different emotion and expression. From what little the hatter could see over her shoulder whenever the other spoke, she could at least tell that her pale pink eyes would look left. Recalling memories, trying to find what was once in her mind, that’s what it meant to look in that direction. 

It was never direct, never too obvious the direction her memories went. Never a specific time or place, or people involved, but what lingered was happiness and it prevailed through what she shared. Yet, even in the warmth of the sun, a shadow of doubt was cast. 

A reluctance hidden underneath her words -- Sophie wasn’t ignorant, she was raised under the eyes liars and manipulators, she knows how carefulness was an essential trait for some to survive. She wasn’t any different. Encroaching on such sensitive topics wasn’t ever acceptable one as nosy and inquisitive as the eldest of three. Yet, to assume that there was strife in the other’s background was as bad as assuming altogether -- it isn’t of her power nor judgment to impose that onto her. 

Regardless her roots, she blossomed all the more beautiful, Sophie concludes. earthly irises remaining on the posied irises of the other, heavenly sigh leaving her lips. And no matter how she looked, or how she spoke...it all didn’t matter for one reason.

Importantly, it was kind. 

Outside of the endless trove of internal monologue that warped her to a different plane of existence, the two students were aimlessly gazing at another. However, it was apparent that one was more vocal, if not, having a chest full of dove feathers and lips full of yearning, heart-felt sighs. 

< i’d count your freckles all day and trace constellations if you’d let me. >

Sophie immediately, blinks, fixated back on the class representative. Not a flinch and response, she remains with her brows lowered and her hands, now folded, rest on top of her lap. Unlike the regretful student, she was as unresponsive and downright confused by the string of words that left Chiaki’s mouth. 

Her finger slowly curls outwards, about to speak. Befuddled by the slow comprehension coming to play, she frowns shortly. Why was it that she had to bring up those nasty little dots? She pondered, trying to look down to her nose. But, being cross-eyed wasn’t what she wanted to look like in front of her friend.  

< ... fuck. did i say that out loud...?>

“...Miss Nanami, someone of your position should be careful with such vulgarities. What if one of your classmates, or even your homeroom teacher, caught wind of what you said?” Sophie continues with conversation, leaving the elephant in the room to starve. “You should be sure to finish your lunch if you’re going to continue staring off. You’re, after all, the model student for 77-B.” 

[madamhatter]

koagema inquired: here she is, miss gamer girl— all dolled up and practically floating in the hallway. heels clack on the floor, a sound one would rarely associate with her— then again, makeup is also rare to be appreciated upon her features, yet there it was, her cheeks tinted pink and lips redder than usual. even the fact she was wearing a dress instead of her usual cardigan-skirt combo seemed surprising, but... she felt like dressing up. and who else would she want to show off to aside from a certain hatter? UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema​​ | continued from here.

Firm elbow on the edge of her shined and sanitized desk, an internal quarrel festers in Sophie’s mind. Her face doesn’t signal any form of struggle. Countless years spent in the grinds and gears of the higher class, a dirty business altogether, she was consistently exposed to the chatter and incessant noise of gossip and rumors from dirtied mouths of high society. The only few benefits of such early exposure were learning to contain and coordinate past such meddlesome and vile words.

Entangled in the back of her mind were those pestering utterances -- they knotted together and grew in size, a notable distraction and annoyance it was becoming now. With her right arm’s elbow perked on the table, she hides her disdain and tightened lips behind the palm of her right hand. Brows knitted, eyes refusing to leave the glass panes of the windows, Sophie hadn’t dared turned back to look across the classroom. She digs her molars into the rich pink gums of her cheeks. Rows of teeth repeatedly chew and grind, her brows lowering as her eyes look back on the top of the wooden desk. Any harder and she would’ve tasted iron.

While her mask was fixed to remain calm and almost empty of thought, the indignation already spilled out earlier. Timeliness for the Hatter was to be several hours ahead, she entered the classroom much in advance, even before the homeroom teacher (which led to them being scared nearly out of their wits). Whispers and chat from the birds -- also known as her classmates -- grew noisier as they gathered in their seats, all the more invested in talking about others, especially about the class representative next door. 

Surely, she should’ve ignored it. She should’ve minded and never read more into the situation. Her nails tapped against the desk, the longer she listened, expression distorting from perplexion to disbelief. Eyes squeeze shut, as does her fist, intaking her breaths slowly. 

"The class representative from 77-B is acting different..." "Eh?" "Didn’t you see Nanami-san dressed up like that? Do you think she has a boyfriend?" "Or maybe she’s trying to impress her crush..! I wonder if he’ll like it."

And there was an audible snap in the back of her mind.

At the memory, she cringes and closes her eyes. Several of her classmates had grown stiff and frail at the enunciation and power behind her voice-- not one expected out of a gray mouse. It was perhaps why they took the respectful step away and returned to their seats, having their ears talked off about ‘minding their business and not to perpetuate any ridiculous claims.’ 

What was this feeling, so sudden and new? Her brows furrow together, raising, and she opens her eyes again to make out the lines across her desk. All that jumbled mess that occupied her mind, it was a void that followed her throughout her childhood. At the one point in her life that she thought she had a confidant in her late father, his charm and wit all came to conclude with simple advice. 

‘Just like the metal tin where we keep all the needles (and lovely tomato cushion), thimbles, scissors, pins, buttons, and tools we use, we need to keep it stored if she wasn’t needing it. And just like those bad, dark things,’ he would muse with a spin of his finger, towering over his daughter as the sunrays dripped through his hair, revealing its rare red gold, ‘we keep them in there if we don’t need them.’ 

And so she tidied her thoughts, a mental sweep into the metal tin of her mind, storing it away for a rainy day. She had no purpose to feel this way -- how dug its claws inside her stomach, an uneasiness that left her foot rapidly tapping against the ground. How it, for some odd reason, tightened her chest and she felt smaller than ever...

It didn’t matter now, she concludes, it’s time to keep it all back there.

To loiter in the halls during the lunch period was an all familiar point of Sophie’s schedule. Instead of conversing and going through with the others in the main course, her mind was immediate to reroute her back to work. She dusts down the length of her uniform’s skirt, grumbling to herself at her own untidiness. First what happened this morning and now I look disgusting, she sighs to herself in disbelief. 

Prodding away at the folds of her skirt, Sophie was more than unaware of the world around her. Too many details to scrutinize under her eyes, it only fueled the distraction through her spiral into self-deprecation. The length of her scarred fingertips tug on the fabric, she mutters the type under her breath, reminding herself the appropriate detergents use to clean it -- even if there weren’t any stains 

Fumbling, tongue-tied unspeakable unnameable something was pitted in her stomach, distracting what little remains of her anchored logic. Her fingers return to the thick braid of deep copper and speckles of silver, picking now at the ends. Head bowed, eyes narrowed, she couldn’t help if the bottom of her feet and the joints in her fingers twitch. Though, it didn’t matter as she finally takes the first step.

Pacing, pacing, like a mouse trapped in a labyrinth, unable to make a choice at the fork. Nonsensical rambling underneath her breath, all only glimpses of self-deprecation and shattered confidence she held together with the tightest seams. It was only natural that with time, the strongest sutures should be removed after all the healing was done. Yet, it was a recurrence that all too much, hastier and impatient as ever, Sophie removed them too soon, prolonging the healing process.

For how long could she inspire this forged mask until it’d expire? Her body pauses, hands slowly rising to her face as she closes her eyes. Holding herself was the most typical comfort she found at home and here. It dissuaded her from being caught adrift in the vast truths and realities, all the thousands of thoughts that existed in her mind and overwhelmed her once she found calm. Never was there such a thing as rest for the eldest of three.

Her hands slowly trail behind her neck, slowly inhaling deeply, making out the pressures and tense muscles from her jaw to her shoulders. Rhythmic breathing mechanisms, slowly in and slowly out, tranquility wasn’t as easily found as she’d like it to be. 

Click, click, click -- Sharp, narrow heels meet the polished floors of the academy halls. A snap to reality, Sophie feels fear strike up her spinal cord, her hands dropping down as if she hadn’t been dancing with despair. A forced gulp, only considering as to who it could’ve been and if she knew them, she grimaced reality. It made it worse if it had been one of her peers that she starkly admonished over...

She shakes her head, refusing to remember. 

Yet, the young woman turns...Eyes widening, lips slightly parted, and the entirety of the cacophony in her mind goes silent.

The brisk rush of jubilance and childish glee, that’s all that the 77-A student feels the moment her lingering gaze returns to the silhouette of the 77-B class representative. Impulsion to pick, tear and claw at her own being numbs in a moment, just like how her lungs ease to breathe in the air as if it wasn’t hurting her chest. All the wider her eyes grow, her body relaxing, and it was almost as if she felt herself getting lighter and lighter. Almost as if her boots couldn’t keep her grounded any longer.

“Miss Nanami.” She clears her throat, straightening her posture and promptly bowing her head softly forward. “Good afternoon, it’s wonderful to see you.” Though, as much as she boasted to hold eye contact and hold herself well in conversation, her eyes dart away.

Never had Sophie encountered or needed overdramatizing and oversaturated language in compiling her internal workings.  Yet, something swelled in her throat as she felt urged to speak -- whatever that she thought of coated honey and sweets on her tongue and palate.  Figure shrinks at the trouble of speech -- words cannot contribute to the collateral of her body being stuck in place.

It isn’t as if seeing Chiaki wasn’t ever such a blossoming of euphoria, a sensation that didn’t now flee her. Settling her mind was a waning and unfamiliar feeling, almost craving for it, something that couldn’t be named --- because she was quite terrified to know what it was. 

“Miss Nanami, you look wonderful..as you usually do too. That is such a wonderful cut for you -- and, where did you get that shade? It suits you so marvelously.”

Alas, a linger gaze could only do so much for her when she groped onto reality. Struck by the unnameable, unspeakable something, her hands slowly to her front, aimlessly folding her hands, but her eyes envisioned much more. Rosied tint glossed her lips, rouge powdered her cheeks, curves of light pink curls framing her face--- But, all this did was accentuate the matter of how much Chiaki could stunt her to such tranquil silence. 

Not needing to speak, not needing to act, all she... No, shouldn’t say it... All she ...... to do was spend it in her presence. No matter what she did, Sophie ...... all the time. All the time she could have to spare, all the time she ......to give. 

The mass in her throat, she couldn’t feel it anymore.

Glancing down for a moment, her brows quirk. Tear-shaped petals dripped from her lips, thinner than the circumference of her little finger, and a familiar shade of powdered pink that overwhelmed her mind. Another blink, they were gone. Another blink, the petals were scattered on the ground by the hundreds, petals surrounding her worn boots. 

Not a second longer, the word finally came to her: peonies.

Placidity still forms her face, eyes roaming back to Chiaki. The gardener herself, a cynical half of Sophie’s mused. The one who’d gotten and now has linked me to this unpredictability I feel.  Another half, chirpier, sharper, and rougher, retorts. It isn’t her fault for the problem I created for myself. I’m are the one who allowed the seeds to be planted, I nurtured and grown whatever this is.

For all the weightlessness Chiaki inspired, an invisible deadlock wrapped around Sophie’s shoulders. An uncomfortable weight against her back, leisurely hanging on her with chest pressed to her, and its whispers flooding her mind. Disappointment extraordinaire, Sophie Hatter recognizes reality was forcing itself unto her. Say it already, say it. You know it’s true. 

Want. She forced herself to spit it out. It was a dangerous word. Want, want, want. A selfish impulse to impose herself to be worth anything and forcing herself to a position of desiring that couldn’t be. Couldn’t be, mustn’t be, shouldn’t be.

Laying by Chiaki whenever the two were meant napping, half of the time exchanging tired dialogue and giggles, eyes unable to move from the other, in spite of the messy hair and unkempt appearances. Midnight proposals conducted by the restless, if not unhealthily attuned, students who kept within close proximity, always chattering away and roaming between the library and greenhouse, or even hiding underneath piles of blankets. Seating aside another during their lunch period, cozily listening to the fountain behind them, exchanging tales from their classrooms, pointing out if any spare crumbs gotten on their mouths or clothes...

All the thoughts swirled in her mind, all leading back to a now smiling Chiaki before her. The hatter, eyes wide and blood cold, holds her head once more in Chiaki’s direction, watching her draw closer. The racket in her chest couldn’t be endured as her heart bruised her ribcage and rushed the blood flow, breaking the paralysis. 

She takes one unsteady breath, a forceful swallow, as she is finally pushed past the brink of denial. 

Oh.

Oh shit. 

“....We should get to the cafeteria,” she timidly murmurs, attempting to hold herself together by the loosening seams.

[madamhatter]

How peculiar that I’ve now noticed this being so common at this campus...

What a large quantity and quality of wide torsos. Huh, interesting to note, I suppose. However, I should keep these observations to myself...

[madamhatter]

koagema inquired: “hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. ... are you a broom? i think you swept me off my feet.” and she proceeds to speedwalk down the hallway. UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema​

Unceremoniously, Sophie’s scarred fingertips brush through the thickness of hinted-red and brown locks with a rare sliver of silver peeking from her scalp. Another laborious day of rushing between offices, meetings, and appointments for the 18-year-old and her feet were blistered, burning pain on the underside, as she stood in front of the mirror. A passive, almost unresponsive, mask she wore as she gazed upon what remains of Sophie Hatter in the pristine glass. She grumbles something under her breath, something about “looking like a sheepdog” as she examines the volume of her loosened hair.

Hope’s Peak Academy provided for the normalcy of what most knew as a stable home -- a place to call their own, but most importantly, a place of vulnerability and release from the public eye. The dormitories were unwinding and the commonplace of cacophony and shenanigans were settling for the calm and cold evening. Sophie glances over her left shoulder, inspecting any incoming foot traffic as she continues to prod, poke, and pinch every inadequacy she could spot on her person. Which, according to her, was everywhere and unavoidable in that damn mirror.

By the slender length of her index finger, she drags down the dark bags under her eyes and frowns. Maybe she should’ve waited until after her change of clothing to wash off her makeup, then she wouldn’t run the risk of scarring someone with her face. The cover-up made her resemble some form of a stable member of society. I look like an absolute loon, she concludes as she steps closer to the wall-mounted mirror, leaning to inspect the faint row of freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter... The hairs on the back of her neck rose and a momentary pang of shock spikes her shoulders up high. On the right of the hallway, muffled footsteps echoed down the nearly empty corridor. Almost excitedly, if not determined, from what Sophie could perceive. Her hands immediately descend and the long sleeves of her cardigan hide her scarred hands as her shoulders straighten.

< Hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san...>

Sophie addresses the approaching figure with a lackadaisical glance over her shoulder, spotting familiar yet comforting eyes.

Half-opened eyes, each lid carrying the weight of sleepiness, with pale rose irises belonged to the round face of a certain Chiaki Nanami. Ultimate Gamer and class representative of Class 77-B with a badge of her talent ever so hinted at with the Galaga-ship clip in the right section of her pink hair, Sophie admitted that she was a character hard to miss among their year. Yet, that was an understatement compared to the others in 77-A and 77-B, all of whom hold their eccentricities and talents on their sleeves sometimes.

What was the reason behind her hurried pace? The taller of her two tucks her mundane lock behind her ear, ever so quiet yet patient as the other was closing in. Despite a well-disciplined and well-meaning student in the Main Course, Miss Nanami wouldn’t exert energy carelessly -- if anything, she spent most of her time reserving it through intensive naps throughout the day. The fact that she could sleep standing up as more than impressive for the Hatter, who had spent most nights staring at the ceiling of her dorm room.

At this time, Sophie would’ve expected her colleague to be sprawled out across one of the couches or chairs in the living space, having a go at her endless collection of games. Or, in some cases, she would’ve rested her chin on Sophie’s shoulder whilst the other was working through commissions and handling paperwork. Whether it was to gain her attention or remind her to actually take care of herself, it varies. The class representative did behave this way with others, caring for their well-being, despite being a hypocrite and being a self-admitted nocturnal human.

...Just like a cat. The hatter blinks, glancing down to her gray loafers. In the corner of her eyes, the other girl’s white loafers were quite visible. ..And I’m a gray mouse, huh. She reframed from revealing a bitter smile, slowly raising her head to meet Chiaki’s eyes. What business would a cat have with a mouse?

“Miss Nanami, Is everything alright?” One brow raised, the Ultimate Hatter's fingers peek from under her sleeves and weave through her dark copper bristles. Something is bubbling in her mind, she blinks, inspecting the other in respectful and cautious silence. I’m not sure what, but if she’s this slightly excited, should I prepare myself with what’s to come? Will this be another case of her coming up with a plan and keeping it as a poor secret...? Ah, what’s to come and how will I handle it ---

< “Are you a broom? I think you swept me off my feet.”>

“...What?” It was only a moment’s worth of breath that she managed to speak. The hatter’s body froze. As quick as those words stunted her, the curly-haired Chiaki shuffled away, already at world-record pace with how speedy she was. Yet, the jovial and playfulness that sprung from the gamer’s aura didn’t remain with the hatter.

Her shoulders slouch as she is left in the light of flirtations and teases, her body growing heavier with the crawling sensation of doubt and rejection under her skin. A familiar accompaniment that lingers and follows, that keeps her grounded to the reality of her mundane and worthlessness that was inevitable in her life.

The phantom of Chiaki’s smile haunted her mind in those last minutes as she stood aimlessly; shy yet accomplished, Chiaki beamed over her success and continues along with her adolescent years. Curls slightly bounce with cheerfulness and her body moves with anticipation, she soaks in the adrenaline from her imagination as she rushes from the scene.

A picture locked in Sophie’s mind, every trace of happiness inescapable from every detail on she saw Chiaki’s face, she heard in her voice, and she felt in her presence. Quietly, the hatter braces herself, face growing cold and emotionless as her thoughts now return in motion. Her hands clasp together, head bowing, yet the chill still runs through her veins. The question remains...

Why? Why me?  God, you’ll be disappointed if we keep whatever this is up and I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that.

A tease of freedom and choice through childish carelessness, Chiaki melted on her lips --  yet, the sweetness was out of hand’s reach, out of her pleasure, and out of her power. To indulge in something so short-lived, Sophie Hatter couldn’t tempt it. Far too much rested on her shoulders, and if be reminded of a life she could live like a teenager, it would only leave to disaster. Necessarily, she didn’t have a life, she had no life left for her, and there will be no life in the future.

Once more, the inevitable loneliness of her existence returns, and the bitterness and regret sink in her shoes. To give chase after Chiaki, with burning resolve, to one-up her elementary tease with something better, what she would give to do that! But, that decisiveness to abandon the carefulness of everything she planned, it would betray what she’s worked for, and all she worked for would crumble...

The hatter shakes her head, blinking hard and back to consciousness she was now. “....I’m going to finish work.” A dry comment was all she could she muster up to say. Another night thrown behind a sewing machine and record-keeping, it was all that kept these blackened thoughts at bay. To continue this teetering between duty and disobedience because of something or someone, she couldn’t go on. But, she wants to. She wants to live.

[madamhatter]

koagema inquired: “hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. hatter-san. what did the scarf say to the hat? ... you go on ahead.” ... a horrible joke, really. how could the gamer be so proud of it? UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema​​

"Hm-?” Poking her head from underneath her quilt, the seamstress’s concentration is broken from the game in her hands. Comfortable in her make-shift nest known as the couch in the living space in the dorms, she nestles into her spot and watches the Ultimate Gamer hurriedly walking over. 

With Chiaki’s record, she can only imagine what was stirring in her mind. Though, as much as the thought intrigued her, only the sound of heavy, late-spring rain hitting the windows was disjointing her attention. However, she adjusts the heavy blanket draping over her shoulders and rests the game device on her lap, hidden by the blanket too. 

Sophie’s head reclines back against the cushion, oak-brown-irises attentive again as she finds herself unable to look away from her colleague. Eagerness has Chiaki on the tip of her toes, excitement lighting the light gray shades of her irises. Despite the lack of sharp inflections or expressiveness through changing her voice pitches, every other smaller detail Sophie could find in her body language caught her attention. She took to Chiaki like a bee to sugarwater.

Sophie raises her the back of her hand against her mouth, muffling the tired yet soft laughter.  Oh, are we going to try and have a go at this again? The corners of her eyes wrinkle as she couldn’t help the hum leaving her. 

“Let’s see--” Her hand, now closed into a gentle fist, rests against her fist. She bobs her head, eyes averting, despite how many jokes were quickly sprouting and were waiting to be used. So many thoughts yet she could only take so many breaths to say them all. 

“What’s one thing I have in common with Oasis and The Police? We all work with bands. The one thing we don’t have in common? None of my bands ever broke-up.” 

“If you fill a cup up to the brim, it means you got a good offer. If you fill up to the brim of your hat, you got a terrible fit.” 

“Seamstresses never make for good thieves. You know why? They always follow a pattern. But, do you know that seamstresses make for great comedians? They leave everyone in stitches.” 

“So, an officer goes to a convenience store because she needs to investigate a case of theft. The customer, in question, is a young assistant at a clothing store. When talking to the young suspect, she explains she works with materials and came in for a break, purchased herself a flapjack, and was going on her merry way. But, as she further explains, the cashier was quick to pull her back and call the police. Sympathetic, the officer goes then and takes to the cashier, asking for his side. It wasn’t long before the officer came to the conclusion and gave the young woman a warning. Why? Because her quid was fabricated.” 

"I have more quips, but I don’t think that really hatters.” The young woman fans her hand into the air, tasting a rare drop of pride on her tongue. It wasn’t long before she begins ruffling her long, deep copper locks, brushing her fingers through them.