♔【.x// CAN YOU HEAR ME? 】

【.x// initiate scream 】

You whisper lies
SO THE VASE SHATTERS
Into uncountable shards
    Tears pour out,
        And though I shout...

You continue to walk past, carefree
Eyes to the skies
My heart locks and you forget your key
Turning your promises into lies

You hand me a mirror...
Red locks and emerald dress.
I hate the sickeningly generic flower.
    So I hope your music
        TURNS TO STATIC

The thorns remain forever
My heartbeat stays erratic
A selfish endeavor
Let this become your music

    It doesn't mean I love you.

        I simply wanted to be loved.

♔【.x// ash storm ;; BURNING BLOOD 】

【.x// notreallyjazzpoetry 】

Stop screaming, stop screaming.

You don't exist anymore
Leave my conciousness
The piece of me you took
Burned to ashes with you

Leave me be, leave me dead.

I'd rather live dead
Than greet you in hell
Won't ever love you
Despite eternity

Kill me alive, kill me alive.

Take this smile
It's without lies
Let loneliness devour me
I don't want to see it

Reflected in your eyes.

!!----------XX

I still love you.

♔【.x// ASH STORM ;; burning blood 】

【.x// notreallyjazzpoetry】

The skies cry so
Drowns out my voice
I need you to hear me,
But I don't exist anymore

I won't shed for you
A single tear
What was meant to be
Simply wasn't

How can you still smile?
The peace in your heart
I'll rip from your soul

I've lost sight of the flamesI used to see in your eyes

Perhaps just that is enough.

XX----------!!

I still hate you.

♔【.x// sound VOID 】Postcard

 

【.x// Scenes from a Postcard】

    I remember the first time we met. I had lost my way, as usual, but I followed your music. It was so brilliant that I stood there for half an hour, just listening. Amongst the scattered noises in the background, your cries to be heard stood out. I could hear your heart resonate through the sound of that ebony violin you treasure so much.

    This was where our separate worlds first connected.
    The echoes of the world around yourself told its story through the music you played. The sounds reached its climax as it harmonized with the sound of the chimes of that old steam clock, and it shook my heart.
I reached to the depths of my pockets, but I couldn’t find a single coin.
    Some people clapped and clapped and left various amounts of change.
    I called you again and again, but you never heard me until the day I decided to sing along. Your eyes widened in realization that I had suddenly appeared out of thin air, merely after a few blinks. I smiled and waved. Complimented you on your music.

    Asked my way.

    I’m so glad you finally saw me.
    But… It would never have mattered, because I’m dead. I have been for years. I had never realized. You must’ve. You tried to tell me so many times, now that I think back on it.

    We met nearly every day after that… I continued to sing with you. I enjoyed the time we had together. So much, you could hardly comprehend.

    When your music reached those who looked up to you on the stage, where you belonged, you still allowed me to sing with you. It should have been impossible, and though people could never actually hear me, they felt my presence. They heard my heart.

    So… I won’t say I’m sorry, but instead, thank you.

    Today, I’m leaving. I can’t disclose where I’m going, but please don’t ever forget about me. Just know that though I won’t be anywhere anymore, I existed. I was real. Though never quite tangible, I was with you.
    It’s unfair of me to say so, but I’ve always loved you.

    That loneliness I’ve always felt, it’s gone now.

♔【.x// to the world ;; DISCONNECTED 】 Char. Sketch

【.x// Character sketch: of a USB】

Attributes:
- cold
- flexible
- small
- sleek
- clever
- photographic (amnesiac prone) memory
- calculating
- dark
- artificial
- lacks lasting bonds with others
- social climber
- technologically adept
- quiet
- manipulative
- Courier/transporter
- Often loses its way   

{ / 011010110010..._/// 7.2mb/16GB }

    For the sake of the organization's policy to maintain mutual trust with its clients, I free myself of the constrictions of my biker's helmet. It had been agreed upon that no faces were to be concealed during pick-up. It's supposed to ease the customer into believing that the deliveries cannot be infiltrated, since all the transporters of the company were all of the same model; sharing identical features.

    Well, the only exception being me. Apparently, some sort of malfunction occurred during my creation. We all share the same face, but I lost all the artificial pigments from my hair and eyes. I can actually think for myself, as I have a unique learning ability and thus I need not be programmed to do my job. According to one of the engineers, I may not actually have human emotions, but can act as if I do. So I suppose I'm less machine, and more human.

    As for who was responsible, people suspect--no, they know it's the head engineer who checked in from central. I'm quite displeased with the fact that I was merely something to satisfy his scientific curiosity. He may be a genius, but I don't understand why he was hired when he's only present ten percent of the time.

    It gets rather annoying when anyone who knew the Original would break down in tears whenever they saw me, claiming his soul lived on through me or some other ludicrous notion. Their cries ring familiar in my ears: “Oh, I'd recognize that angelic air about you a mile away... You’re still as short as everrr! I knew you were alive, I just knew! We missed you so muccchh!!” Seriously, stop nuzzling your chin on top of my head, and my height is average!! So I'm doing everything in my power to be transferred to the Central branch; the pay will be higher and hopefully there I’ll be surrounded by less... Eccentric co-workers.

    Tossing the bothersome white strands out of my face, I take a deep breath and exhale as if I had been deprived of air.

     Ah, finally. I can breathe.

    I always feel like I'm about to suffocate in this city. Especially underneath that helmet. Bitterness builds on my tongue.  Leaving my bike behind, I threw the briefcases in one hand behind my back for support, the other carrying my prison as I climbed up the concrete stairs on the pathway leading to the mansion.  At the cherrywood door I drop the cases by my feet, reaching into my pocket for a bottle. Tossing a few droplets into my eyes, I ring the door bell that in turn chimes hauntingly. The door opens soundlessly as if it were frequently greased, giving sign as I quickly toss my hair down to shade my eyes. 

    "Good evening," the man greets me with a customary gentleman's smile. "You must be the courier. I assume you are aware that you are an hour and forty-two minutes late?"

    The silence and hesitation to speak at first is crucial. I'm without an excuse as I can't exactly admit to my lack of direction. I may remember any and all directions, but none of that can make sense to me at all which is east and which is west. As if I were about to explain myself, I open my mouth to speak... Then I bite my lip, but only slightly.  "Y-Yes, Mister. I sincerely apologize for my tardiness and unprofessionalism," I sputter as I bow apologetically. As I look up, I carefully reveal my watery eyes. Satisfied with his baffled expression, I continue. "I... I..."  I pretend to finally realize I'm crying, and turn away to discretely wipe them off. He attempts to comfort me as I hint to him how I was upset that I almost ran over a squirrel, how I tried to take him to the vet. ...Hey, don't judge me. The man doesn't even know that I've easily taken down armed mafia men, or of any other shady dealings I've been involved with.  And obviously, he didn't know that most couriers didn't actually have emotions.

    "Ahh, you remind me of my grandchild," the man laughed joyously in a manner resembling the great Saint Nicholas. "Wait here as I inform the Master of your arrival, yes?"

    I immediately dropped the tiresome facade as soon as he turned his back. Quickly, I text to the branch's head informant: << The package has arrived at its destination. The Head got caught in traffic and arrived late. >> 

    Moments later, I recieve a reply. Really, isn't he busy? Or was he pushing all his work onto that poor assistant of his again? << Haha~ Don't you mean /you/ lost your way? By the way, 12 down is 8 letters: "imitation heart disease", any ideas? >>

    I stifle a laugh. Wasting time on terribly written crossword puzzles again, I see. I've barely known this man for half a year but he's easily the only constant "friend" I've had in this business--yet I'm still fine with leaving him behind. Even now, people continue to drift in and out of my life.

    << You know me too well. OTL ...Is that last week's crossword? Then it's "lovesick". And I know you're going to ask, so 22 across is "tychopheral acid", and 46 down is "misunderstandment".>> Tapping the keys in a swift succession, typing everything took less than twenty seconds.  The glowing screen of my PDA faded into a pocket of my leather jacket. It wasn't too long until I heard footsteps approaching that I reassumed my facade.

    "Brother, brother! Look! Pretty!" beams a child peeking out of the doorway. An Asian man arrives at the door moments later. He seems to have a permanent frown on his face, which, adding to his height which made him quite intimidating. His initial response at seeing me is shock and bewilderment, as if he was looking at a ghost.  Silence settled the air. Until he flicked me on the forehead. I feel no pain and all, but really. What was with this rude man? I can practically feel the the wires in my head vibrate as if they were twitching like veins.

    "Sir, if I may ask: What the bloody hell was that for?" Wait--did I just use British slang? Strange. It feels familiar on my tongue.

    "Bean sprout? Is that yo--"  I kick him in the shin. No one. No one makes fun of my height, or lack thereof. For the last time, I'm of average height. He doesn't fall over clenching his knee as my ego would have wanted, but he does clench his teeth in pain while swearing colourful profanities.

    "Sorry, sir, but that is how I react to harassment."

    Other man suddenly appears from the door, and assumes the "deer in headlights" expression momentarily before charging straight at me with his arms held high. "Oh my god, is that--!! Beany, I've missed you so muuuch!!" I side-step him and he topples over the stairs onto the concrete. Nobody seems to care about his well-being, though.

    "Yep, it's definitely the copy he left behind. Bastard didn't have to increase the kid's strength, though."

    Let's just get this over with. I'm not fond of dealing with people who knew my Original.

    I reached out to him, holding the briefcases to him...

    Then everything in my mind pounded violently in storms--I see nothing but black and then my conciousness shuts down.

    Spatial awa...ren..ess.... Blan...k...

{ / 101101010110..._/// SOULs /transcending time }

[ SYSTEM REBOOT ]  10.8GB/16GB

    I recall breaking our promise. He always told me he hated people who broke their promises.

    I remember black ashes. I remember the cries of fallen comrades. Only the three others survived.

    I want to cry so badly, because they're gone. I'm supposed to be gone. My real body's gone, but I'm here again. I'm curled into his arms on the rooftop, and the the scowl he usually wears dissappears when my eyelids ceased my blindness. His arms confined me in an embrace.

    "Ultimately, I did keep our promise."

    He head-butts me. My mind shakes, but not much else. I laugh lightly, a bit darkly. He's here. So many have left, but he's here.

    "I'm home."

{ / 10010100101..._///  to the world I connect }

    I suppose I'll be once again separated from the few I've connected with in this crowded yet lonely city. My loved ones are leaving, and I've decided to follow. I finally found my room to breathe, and we'll live for those who've passed.

    I've found someone who will always keep me at his side... This time I'll have something to hang on to. 

OMAKExx (Bonus)


    The window to the roof bangs repeatedly before a "smash" was heard and pieces of broken glass flew from the window, along with a hammer.

    "Stop hogging beany all to yourself, man!! I missed the kid too!" The red-head proceeded to climb through the window.

    The man embracing me sighed, "Dude, I thought this was your grandfather's place?"

    "Uhh... Dude. I like, totally lied. It's yours. I bought it, but made payments with your credit card. Sooo... Congrats, you now own three mansions?" Oh god. What have you done, you idiotic man? I missed him too, but now he went and put himself in a suicidal position. I can't help laughing at his familiar antics, though.

    While still holding me in a death-lock, he literally threw the satellite at the intruder. That was to be expected.

---

    "I can't believe you're not crying right now."

    "I can't, you imbecile!" Rgh, I'm going to make him HURT.

    "So? Didn't you fake it earlier? You conned my servant into thinking you were this "little angel", as he put it." He pulled out a small bottle he'd probably pocketed from me. "Really, I though you had more class than resorting to using menthol. You faker."

    I'm so sorry that I have no tear ducts anymore. I'm so sorry for circumstances beyond my control. What about you, hmm? So-called billionaire who's perfect and orderly in front of the camera and a total profane jerk otherw--

    "A liar, a cheat, sly... I understand the "little" part, but really, "angel"?"

    Uhm, hello? I'm the narrator here. You can't just cut into my inner monologue like that.

    "It's starting to rain."

    "Hmm? No, it isn't."

    "Yeah it is, so let's go."

    I veened my eyes at the sky, and I see not even a single droplet of precipitation. Then I realized my shoulder was wet, and that he must have been in tears. The one who's stubborn to the point of extremity, the one who always uses this snarky, cool, bad-ass attitude... Cried.

    Though it made me smile, I never let him live that one down.

 

*[ 'OTL' or 'otz' is a written emoticon of a pose people make in response to complete and utter failure. It's a view of a person from the side, where they fall over in agony. O being the head, T being the shoulders, back, and arms, and L or Z being the curled knees.]
**[ 'Misunderstandment': Bush. Yes, him. That is all. I can't decide if it's worse than his "coined" term 'hispanically'. ]

A/N: :/ ERGH. I KNOW. I know it's super-super long but I tried my best to shorten iiiit. It's 11:23PM, and I have 3850952 other assignments to work on, like, 80 journal pages to fill, a psychology project to analize, an English essay outline to fill, graphic arts assignments to bleed over, and my wrist to slit. D< (Okay, the last one was a joke, but it's suicidal already, the result of my procrastination.) OTL Derp. SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE.

Images not mine. 1st from oekaki, and the latter from photobucket, google, etc.

♔【.x// An Eccentric Blossom 】 Where the World Began

【.x// Where the World Began 】

    My world now, as I see it through my eyes, as I walk down the paths I take, is as if I'm rushing through a rose garden. Pale and blush petals gathered in bundles are scattered like stars, but instead set in lush leaves, and the pollen dances through the air riding on the wind, as how romance goes. My steps are taken in slow movements without any particular rhythm; yet, the passing time always hurries me along with it, like an invisible wind behind me chasing me forward in urgency as if I were always late--late, for a very important date! But because my life is no fantasy, this garden refuses to measure up to the perfectionism I see when my eyes are closed to the tangible world. The impossible shade of blue I've wished for since childhood will never exist. Instead, in whichever colours the roses do paint, the edges of their petals are bound by time to wilt into a crisp and an unpleasant brown. These things controlled by that unkind fate will remain an unchanging fact no matter how much I yearn for perfection or even perfect imperfection.

    Back in my pointless and lifeless childhood without even an illusion of happiness, back when I still treaded on the rose thorns in my path with bare feet, or even further back when my whole world was grey... In those times, perhaps the reason my world wasn't alive was because I never considered it to have ever began. Those times were, at least, not unbearable to the point of being in a void of blazing inferno or destitution, but as any other human, I held the desire for more.

    I'm not sure what changed me so much. In the distant past I could remember how shy I was in the beginning, how I was the typically desired “good girl”; cute and innocent and kind. Yes, unbelievable. But that personification of myself, I suppose, was merely a reflection of what I imagined others expected and wanted of me. Yet here I am in the present completely antagonistic and twisted, caring for only a few friends but otherwise with a complete lack of morals, also am I immature and rude. Those things about me, I have no desire to change. I must have realized my own selfishness that I didn't care about most others. Perhaps I grew different because of the world around me had changed, too. Perhaps how I used to be was the result of those around me, my identity being shaped by others as I acted mostly for the sake of the happiness or satisfaction of others. My memories of elementary are vague, but they were mostly spent in solitude, or spent in the presence of those who merely used me. Everyone in the same grade as me hated me, and there was no comfort at home as I grew to absolutely despise my mother. It's not as if I blame the others, since from what I remember of my past self, I would have abhorred myself so much more. Nothing ever changed until I changed schools yet again, but by then I was used to the loneliness. It wasn't as if I didn't try to connect with other people, but most friendships were fleeting and fell apart faster than sand castles made of ash.

    So when was my world painted quite so vividly as it is now?

     believe it was when I discovered my fascination with the idea of love, and any other emotions pertaining to it that can ever be felt.

    My world started to blossom in the latter half of my first year in secondary, when I finally found people that I actually liked and had similar interests with. The three, and eventually four of us used to sit together at lunch as we worked on our drawings at we chatted, or read and discussed manga (Japanese graphic novels) together. The days we all buried ourselves in those piles of Japanese comics or read the newest issues of monthly or weekly releases after an anxious wait each Thursday... "Fangasming," as there is just no other words to describe some of our eccentric behaviour. A repetitive rhythm of 'clickclickclick' was heard commonly as my former best friend and I repeatedly refreshed the pages until someone had miraculously finished translating the Wednesday releases. One of our other very good friends would lecture us on how unhealthy our lunches were, or lack thereof, or on our impatience, and the fourth other would crack us up in hysterics with her jokes. The time I spent with them was quite enjoyable. Things looked up, but I still had my troubles. I had settled into a good group home since the year previous to when I entered 8th grade, away from my mother. I was content.

    I've been so lonely and dissatisfied most of my life that these fascinations sprouted like a seed inside me, now reaching into the fresh clouds like a staircase to heaven. The reality of love is usually light years away from how romance novels and dramas write them to be--that much I've always known. The truths are of course dull to me. I've been called lifeless and something of a fool to prefer the fantasies, yet still I don't ever regret making my choice. I'd rather live in a dream than play cupid with or observe most of humanity's couples that are merely infatuated or in lust with one another. I'd rather live in dreams of eternity than watch those who do love each other as their flames die out, as they inevitably fall apart. I do not wish to watch the hands of a clock repeat its repulsive cycle. Thus, I've decided that if any romance can never be so remotely as beautiful, dramatic, or passionate, I don't want it at all. Rather, I have minimal interest in falling in love myself, other than perhaps for the reason of understanding all its boundless aspects.

    I want to understand what makes one fall for another. The way they smile? Could it be as simple as that the other brings them joy? Can love exist in the absence of that happiness? Is it possible for the feeling to co-exist with hate or extreme dislike? I want to know what makes it so fleeting or so everlasting. I wish to comprehend its extremities from the most subtle to the most passionate of bonds. What once used to be a hobby of observation for these make-believe relationships has grown throughout my years to a downright obsession. I appreciate beauty in all forms, but most am I enamoured with love.

    If was finally when I realized all of this to be part of myself that I really considered myself alive, living a life I finally enjoy living, for myself. This is how my world began.

♔【.x// Your Grey Visage, Prompt Sidestory 】WIP

Prompt:

    Philharmonic (Doctor)

    Pharmacy

    Galactic

    Floodgates

    Showbiz

"HELLO THERE, MUNSTER. VELCOME TO GALACTICA PHARMACEUTICALS. I WILL TOTALLY SERVE YOU," spoke a metal contraption monotonously.

Cain stood in front of the counter with a "not amused" face, his mouth forming a straight line. Not even bothering to ask why there was a robot there in the first place, he sighed as he made his request. "Here's my perscription. I need vicadin."

"PROMISCUOUS ERROR," said the contraption, flailing his arms as his whole body spun, with the exeption of his head.

"Pr-Promicuous?" Cain repeated in bewilderment.

"VICADIN ALL GONE. STOLEN STOLEN. ITEM #232 OUT OF STORKS," mispoke the machine. The man briefly wondered if the reason he had to take these drugs was because of the insanity surrounding him that always led to him getting either physical injuries or a series of migranes. Honestly, it had it be intentional for anyone to program such a ridiculously nonsensical robot.

"Stolen? What? How can--"

"YOUR VIRGINITY WAS STOLEN," the robot proclaimed epically. Several people passing by paused mistep to stare at the humiliated man.

Cain decided that sometime that afternoon he was going to search for a mallet and then rip down some floodgates so he could put the cursed machine in the center of the disaster to convulse up in waves of sparks, explode, and die.

"HAHA. JK, JK, JOHN KENNEDY. ITEM #323 ALL STOLEN BY A SHADY PMSING GUY WITH CANE IN DIAGNOSTICS DEPARMENT."

The investigator glared as his perceptive abilities went in alarm. "You just said it was item #232 just a moment ago. ...Hold on, are you talking about... That guy? You just let him get away with the vicadin?! Oh, COME ON!"

"ERROR. YOU FAIL. I SAID #323. YOU NEED A HEARING AID," the machine recommended. Cain tried to insist he heard otherwise, but the thing cut him off, "IT AMUSED ME TO LET THAT FOOLISH FOOL TAKE THE VICADIN--I ENJOY OBSERVING FOOLISH HUMANS SUFFER IN GRATUITIOUS AMOUNTS OF TROUBLE. AHAHA. HAHA. HA."

Another voice began to laugh along the robotic tone's, one crisper and much more full of life and cheer. "Hey, on the bright side, he probably just made room for three more seasons of that guy's show!"

"NOT HIM. NEGATIVE NEGATIVE. HE SAID HIS NAME WAS DR. PHIL," said the contraption.

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "He deals with relationships. Terribly, might I add. He wouldn't be here, Bawb. So don't lie, or I'll have to wash your insides with Hannah Montana toothpaste, and make you do another Miley Cyrus video the next time I do maintenance on you."

The machine froze up in what seemed to be fear, but then he played a voice clip of a man whose voice was quite seductive in tone--practically in purrs: "[Hello. You can call me Phil. Doctor Phil Harmonic, at your service.]"

"Oh great, just who I needed: another weirdo," Cain sighed at finally stopping in his thoughts to notice his younger cousin.

"Why of course you need me, Cain! Isn't it always after you speak to me that you solve half of your cases?" replied Deo. "Anyway, it seems that you were sexually harassed, Bawb. Makes sense--you used to be in showbiz, right? Ahh, Saturday Night Died was a great show."

Anybody who comes on to a machine can't be in their right mind. Or maybe, the older man wondered, just maybe that Dr. Harmonic guy was desperate? Considering all possible scenarios, Cain's head shot back up as if he had an idea, and a light bulb turned on.

"Was there anyone else working here?"

"JUST A GORGEOUS BLOND CHICK WITH 42D'S, WHO WORKED DIRECTLY BEHIND ME AT THE TIME THAT GUY HIT ON ME."

Well, that explains it. Does this car wreck of a machine have any normal comprehension capabilities at all?

"WELL, THIS PIECE OF WRITING WAS POINTLESS," Bawb stated bluntly.

"Uhm, you just broke fourth wall," Cain narrated.

In response, the robot just played another sound clip: "[ITEM #323 FELL OFF THE STOCK MARKET.] HEAR THAT, FOOL? I SAID #323. FEAR ME."

"You never even said that to me!!" Cain said, exasperated.

---

Afterword from the characters:

Cain: That thing is definitely your creation.

Deo: ... (Well yes, I created it to make you miserable, but you'll never know.)

Cain: Which begs the question--why not become an engineer rather than a mortician?

Deo: No particular reason. Besides, here I get to work with you! (Because I love playing with dead bodies and >spoilerspoilerspoiler<.)

Cain: But you could invent things! And I am in dire need of an all-in-one forensic equiptment!

Deo: I only make things of my interest. So this all in one DNA sampler, finger print analizer, etc, would have to come in the form of magical girl wand. Do you still want it?

Cain: ...(Actually considering it.)

Deo: Just--no. Amusing, but--no.

---

A/N: ...I've created a monster. I got Bawb's name from my friend Evan's screen name. It just always struck me as a name of a robot. But I amused myself as I wrote this because all he can do is spew crap, and say things like, "THAT MERELY HALF COMPUTES" or "BRING ME A WAFFLE IRON, I'M HUNGRY." I have a very... Random, Seth MacFarlane-ish sort of humour. I'd love to do some dark humour aswell, but I haven't a clue on how I should go about that. Ahh, that, and Cain is just so fun to torture.

Munster: Google it. Because even I'm not sure.

>Velcome: A vampire-like "Welcome".

>"Promiscuous" error: I blame pop songs.

>"That guy" is Gregory House, from HOUSE, played by Hugh Laurie, a totally sexy mofo. With an awesome British accent.

>"Saturday Night Died", parody of SNL, a show that should die because rarely is it funny.

♔【.x// Story Beginning Drabbles 】

Beginning a story. 
    i. Generalization. 
    ii. Dialogue.

i.

Somewhere from someone, I've heard before, said to me that "love is like a car crash, you never see it coming."

    Well, I just got out of a car crash and I'm in an impossibly white prison that I'm quickly getting sick of. Prison, in which I mean the god damned hospital. Well, they have a poster on the wall to my left, but it's just one of those uninteresting diagrams of the human body.

    According to that diagram, plus that dull pain I'm feeling, I wouldn't be surprised if I had several of my ribs protruding my intestines.

    Oh, and when I said that I happened to be in a car crash, I meant it metaphorically. My girlfriend--well, former now--literally punched me in the gut and totally shattered my rib cage. Then she ran away crying. It's insane. I really just don't get it.

    So I suppose that that was what those romance novels of hers meant when they said that your heart practically leaps out of your chest when you're in love?

    I'm not too sure about that. I'm pretty sure I was just hyperventilating.

    So as I was doubting that very line I read somewhere, or heard somehow before, another type of car crash struck me as an overly attractive doctor stepped in, and spoke in a gentle and kind voice that just made me melt. Don't even get me started on that soothing smile.

    "Good morning, it's nice to see you're awake, sir."

    Ah, so there I sat, totally gaping at this person.

    Crap, was I drooling?

ii.

    "Royal straight flush!!" proclaimed a young teenager with the most eerie yet serene smile.

    The men across him wailed in agony as they tossed their cards in the air. "NOOOOOO!! You can't do this! You have to be cheating!!" yelled the middle aged men stripped of nearly all their belongings.

    "Ah-ah-ah," the boy cooed, wagging his finger. "Though you keep saying it, you still haven't proved it. Besides, I'm not cheating, see? Nothing in my sleeves!" he beamed.

    The men dropped their jaws, as if saying the words "this can't be" repeatedly in their minds. However, the boy merely sighed happily as if could never get bored with the same reactions from his opponents in poker. He quickly collected his money and other winnings.

    "Oi, cheaterface, we're leaving. Come now or we'll leave you behind," an older man deadpanned.

    "I knew it, you were cheating after all!!" the group leader insisted as he sent his men to attack the boy, who in turn ignored them.

    "And what, Kae? Fail the mission and then walk back home? Go on, wave around your silly rifle and get lectured by Lena. I'll just go home early in my gorgeous. New. Black Ark limo," he said in a provoking manner as he swung his leg into an attacker's stomach, sending him flying into his comrades.

    "And get lost, then end up dead in a forest opposite the way back?" Kae scoffed as he decked a guy attacking him from behind without much effort.

    The boy, Arcas, grounded his teeth in frustration, grumbling as he followed.

    "Fine. I'll just buy some sushi with all that money I just won and totally eat it right in front of you," Arcas said in a cheeky tone. "Mmm. I'm especially craving some tempura soba. Your favourite, right?"

    It was then Kae's turn to grind his teeth as he felt an uprise in his homocidal urges.

    "My, what sharp teeth you have, grandma!" the teenager cooed mockingly, in a falsetto imitation of the Red Riding Hood.

    "Oh, he is dead," Kae thought, fists trembling. Glaring heatedly at his source of irritation, he growled back: "It's so I can rip your head off, you damned bean sprout."

    "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one too about twenty times. Oh, and my name is Arcas, or are you hard of hearing?" said male replied in light-hearted laughter. "Onwards to the mission, partner."

    "Watch your back," the taller seethed.

    "That's what you're here for, Kae."

A/N: Eraaaaaagghhhh. Sorry it's so damn short. 8  u 8" I'm a reaaaallly slow writer. Truly. Slower than the process of factoring hectopascals. /TWEWY reference. Anyway, it's extremely likely the latter characters will make a reappearance. o uo~<3 I love making up names. But it's likely Arcas will appear as Artemis next time, which is my favourite male name. Kae will be Yue instead. Yue means moon in Chinese. 

♔【.x// This Loveless Game 】

【.x// Prompt: Our separation need not be final.】

- In media res. Prose.

    A violent crash sounded as I struck an uprooted stop sign at where the ravenhead swiftly leapt from.

    "Just... LEAVE!! Leave this city, get out of my sight. I told you to disappear from my life!!" I screamed in rage. To drive out that very person I need out of my life, I chose to end the disaster we shared.

    "You know, our separation need not be final. As long as we both are alive, everything will be fine," you insisted as poetically as you always are.

    So what will happen when one day you go too far again in one of our damned games, and I finally send you to Hell where you belong? What then? You sugar coat your words all the time, but I'm not as blind as the others you toy with--though before I could proclaim any of this, you had already left.

    I've long come to terms with the fact that you'll never be someone who I can be happy with. You're an evil, sadistic little twit who lives for mind games--and simply without boundaries, no set limitations. Rotten to the core, yet irresistibly attractive in every other way; from your elegance to your perfect and pale visage. You're manipulative and sly, while seductively bold. You're unsympathetic and yet strangely you understand everything there is to be understood, with the exception that you still cannot even comprehend true love. Through your expression of affection-filled hate or hateful affection... It's apparent that you have an extremely twisted definition of love, if you can even call it that.

    So I lied. I'm not afraid of hurting you, not at all in any aspect. From your actions and mine, it's pretty easy to discern that you saw through that obvious lie. Months ago I had dislocated your arm with the full intention of breaking it. I disabled your right hand, but as I was basking in that brief sense of glory, you then proved yourself ambidextrous and then laughed harshly as you struck back at my collarbone with twice the force as usual with your switchblade, as if to say "bring it on".

    It's not that I'm afraid of killing you, either. You're practically impossible to take down. Despite the lack of limitations on my body that can lift even a bus or even a settled trailer, you'd still lift yourself from any blood-soaked ground.

    The unsaid truth is that I'm afraid of falling for you. You may think it's impossible, but it isn't. You're enticing--mind consuming, breathtaking--like the darker path filled with danger and excitement one can't resist.

    I had wanted to live out the rest of my shortened life in peace, since--according to that fool of a doctor we both keep acquainted--my body will start decaying by the time I reach my mid thirties. I laugh because I remember your reaction from back then: your eyes briefly widened in a mix of anger and denial, which I hadn't expected from you at all.

    Then of course, you had to speak further with these nonsensical and twisted words: "Well, that's too bad. Ne, actually, that's quite alright. Beauty has always been fleeting. So should you die early, at least my memory of you shall remain timeless."

    Any normal person would have grimaced in disgust. I chuckled bitterly at that time, not so much in distaste of your lack of compassion, but instead I was annoyed yet amused that you had called it extreme romanticism on your part.

    I didn't believe you until the following week when I found a pistol in your drawer with two bullets left inside. It was locked, but I easily ripped it open, of course. Did you really intend to hide it from me? Even now, I'm not entirely sure what it meant that you intended to die with me.

    After that, you started to hide something from me, while at the same time you subtly increased the time we spent together. You wanted to move in, but I'm pretty sure half of the city would be in ruins if that were to happen.

    So I confronted you about it, threatening to tell both sides of an on-going gang war that you were selling information to them both, for your own amusement. It wasn't as if I'd be lying. Instead, it was probably through a web of gang wars that you sold the truths to, rather than only between two.

    You had finally revealed yourself to be looking even further in your long search for immortality. I didn't take you seriously, but you didn't expect me to. I let the matter go.

    I did want to spend the rest of my life in peace and quiet, I really did, until recently. Because in that ideal I had for myself, once I lived it, I didn't feel alive at all. I couldn't help yearning for the addictive thrill rides that is of every minute I've spent with you.

    If I where to fall for you completely... I can imagine what you would do. It was the unspoken condition between us that neither of us would cross that line. Without a doubt in my mind, if that day were ever to come, you would leave me forever. So in preemptive retaliation, I forced you away. I didn't want to lose, especially not to you.

    It's destroying me--the lack of you in my presence, your presence alone, this loneliness only you can drive away, and the loneliness of being with you. Sighing, I realized one day, whether you're here or not, that you'll drive me mad.

    Just what the hell should I do?

    "NGRAAAAHHH!!" I yelled in frustration as my fist flew to hit a cement wall. My knuckles bled as drops of blood fell down, interlaced with crumbled stone. I stomped heavily away as half the wall fell in pieces.

    Abruptly, I froze in my tracks.

    Ah. It's simple. Well, it's not really simple, but why didn't I think of it before?

    Grinning, I decided on a plan. It wasn't flawless, nor was it very feasible, but I was definitely willing to try.

    I'll make you fall as closely as possible in love with me.

    So, watch.

    Watch as I win this unspoken game between us.

    And finally, when I do, I'll never let you out of my grasp again.

A/N: ...So. How was it? Not too bad, I hope. Gah, that took way too long to finish. This obviously wasn't done in one go. I wrote it on my Nintendo DS, so I could edit it easily. I tried to write it as far from cliche as I could, since I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the ideas for this prompt was something related to relationships. So I wanted to write about something like this, that isn't exactly love. Not at all, even. (Need and want, definitely, but... "Don't be sad, 'cause two out of three ain't bad." HA~ /Shot for the reference.)

FFFFF. Sorry, the title sounds so emo. = u=" It's all I could come up with at the moment.

None of the pictures are mine. o uo Found them via Google or Photobucket, and etc.

♔【.x// Your Grey Visage Pt. I 】

【.x// Your Grey Visage ; First Chase 】

    "So where is this victim?" asked a man half-heartedly. Though it wouldn't be quite accurate to say that he had grown sick of the sight of mutilated dead bodies, it was moreso that he had just grown tired of his job. He had wanted more exitement in his life as an investigator, but lately his cases had been far too predictable.

    "Ah, I happen to be sitting on him," his companion said casually as he popped in his mouth another piece of generic pink bubble-gum that he ruffled out of his easily recognizable 7-Eleven shopping bag. Strangely, he had put the individually wrapped pieces of gum in a latex glove he carried as part of a spare pair. The childish-looking man claimed that he hadn't been able to find the bin of mini plastic bags and thus didn't want to bother looking.

    The former man choked slightly on his coffee, which amused the cheerful person who sat across him in his usual carefree manner, chuckling at his cliche reaction. The man sighed, exasperated at his younger cousin for being so... Illogical? Nonsensical? Or perhaps it was just a matter of being inconsiderate. The whole point of them waiting at the airport was to wait for the victim's supposed family to identify him and confirm to themselves of his death. Yet, here was his weird cousin, sitting on the casket of said body while eating candy. And the man was stuck with him, waiting as the time passed slower than minus five per hour.

    "Deo, honestly, have you mentally matured at all the past four years? You certainly don't look any older," he teased the younger man without malice. "Even in your taste in clothes: There's a cutesy purple whale with an overly swollen belly on your shirt. You wear it to work with your uniform though you're a mortician. I don't even know what to say."

    "Hey, it's cute. Helps brighten up the mood at work, and at least I hid the derrogatorive speech bubble," Deo insisted as he chewed rhythmically on his gum, popping it occasionally. "Oh, by the way, it says 'STROKE & B-'"

    "Definitely doesn't suit you, and I really don't want to know--I'd rather swallow (???) peroxide*... Or something," his older cousin interrupted in a blatant statement. Deo only laughed lightly in response.

    "I just wanted to see more of that 'disturbed face' of yours. But ow, that was quite harsh of you, Cain. Calling me not cute," the light brunette said, feigning hurt.

    "Officially disturbed," Cain said at the thought of his cousin being cute rather than bizarre and creepy. "Plus, you should probably get off the poor guy now. It'd be quite insulting to his family when they walk in to see you using him as seating equiptment."

    "Ahh, true, true! If he had a wife she'd probably wrinkle her face in a lovely scowl... Or she could even cry," the young man muttered almost dreamily. If Cain had found it strange, he'd have likely dismissed it as something the mortician would usually say. Deo stood off the case, exchanging his gum for more candy. Cain assumed it was because of the nasty air of being around dead bodies that made his cousin crave sweets.

    "Well, if she existed she'd probably cry anyway just at the body's stitched up body from the numerous slashes. So as usual, just be quiet and I'll do the speaking, since you always say... Overly unneccessary things," the older male commanded. He examined the papers of his suitcase with an uninterested face, then shifting to his gathered material evidence, including the broken tip of a knife.

    "It amuses me to see people's reactions to things. I don't just do it for no reason, you know. Well, the guy happens to be rich. His family could be in genuine despair, but these days, it's more likely they'll be secretly happy instead," Deo rambled.

    Cain paused in thought while recalling the photos of the corpse, ignoring Deo's creepy and depressing comments. "He didn't seem to be. Did he have fancy jewelry or something?"

    "Something like that," Deo replied as he grinned a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

    A knock sounded at the door, and Cain had let a woman in along with her son.

    "Oi, Cain. I have to run, but you'll definitely catch up, right?" the young man asked cheerfully.

    An eyebrow was raised in confusion at the strangely phrased question, but their owner replied nonchalantly nontheless, "Yeah, whatever."

    Needless drama ensued as he could tell the tears of the victim's wife were fake. Cain was at least relieved that there wasn't any real need to hold back during his questioning. However, a switchblade with a broken tip had been found in the woman's purse, yet she insisted she had known nothing about it.

    Yet, Cain felt a strange sense of déja vü that made him weary. All the evidence had pointed to the wife in such an obvious way, including the mother and child's missing plane tickets including their records, and then the child had insisted that they never even left the city and made their way from home, the site of the murder. The woman was in hysterics, which confused the investigator even further.

    Cain groaned drearily, massaging his neck through his copper-brown hair, "It's going to be a long day." He threw back the remainder of his coffee, but found that it was cold. The man swore under his breath.

    A long day indeed.