月-— Hark! If one listened, they would register the noises of..
Well, nothing, actually.
There were no sounds of heels against barren, tiled floors. No agitated rustles of grocery bags evermore creased by the contents it enveloped. No audible breaths. Nothing. The sky had tucked its fingers into the tiny fractures within it, peeling layers of blues to allow an ink to spill and stain, dying the world with secrecy. It was with this blanket that the rabbit would put a certain scheme into action. There would be no returning. Yukari would commence this syrupy mess and she would prevail as the victor! “Ahahahahahaha!" Hands contacted her mouth, toting ephemeral pain along with them. Whoops. Too loud.
She nimbly maneuvered into the high school dorm’s kitchen without detection, positioning a pristine pot onto the stove. Ferreting through her plastics, digits wriggled until identifying a bag of cherries, ripened to glossy rubies. After cleansing the fruit under the water so unwillingly generously donated by the faucet, carmines tumbled, greeting metal with their descent. Plop. A deadpan stare monitored the bleeding fruit prior to advancing. Glass lilacs scoped through bags for sugar and corn starch, which were then married in a bowl of hues that mimicked her own before precipitately dumped onto cherries. An extracted spatula roiled the syrupy goo.
—- ♪ And done. ♫ Off went the stove.
Nestled in isolated plastic lay a pre-made crust, faintly rimy from its freezing residence. In another bag, surplus dough rolled out to blanket cherries. As the idol waited for the heat to subside, folded papers were fanned onto a table. Pencil scratched the results to ample homework. Haah. Neglected assignments finally assembled attention at the cost of flickering eyes. It was all so boring, but necessary. And FINALLY, the cherry mixture cooled with the completion of work, as if a coalition had been composed. The filling glided into its container and was promptly shoved into an oven for a fifty-minute wait comprised of humming and absent staring. With a BEEP, the oven door gaped, framing a cherry pie. Its fragrance wafted out. The pie was extracted for cooling.
Step, step, step.
With footfalls, a pate swiveled, attempting to detect a source. She could feel beads of perspiration forming to accompany her noisy, accelerated heart beat. Uh oh. A college student in high school dorms wouldn’t be acceptable. And no excuse of ‘It’s easy to navigate!’ would be readily acknowledged. “U-uh..” Gulp. Orbs navigated across the room. Inhale, exhale. Hopefully her loitering would be excused by the offer of her prize. A knife dug into the pie, slicing a generous triangle before being transplanted onto a plate and offered to the other. “H-here..!”
Spring was finally here. The sky was a clear azure blue, and the light breeze was quite refreshing. Senna had never been one to enjoy staying indoors, now that the weather was this pleasant she could spend even more time outside. It was just cool enough she could still were her usual attire consisting a jacket, a skirt and long socks. She tied her hair up with the red ribbon she was usually recognized by. Senna left the her dormitory unlocked, she didn’t seem to have a current roommate meaning no one could lock her out of her room making it less of a hassle.
The girl walked out of the building and off the school premise. It felt like she had been gone for a while, though she didn’t know why she would feel that way. It wasn’t like she had left town at all recently, right? Her memories were often mixed up though Senna would make as much sense of it as possible and ignore the constant confusion she felt about her past memories.
The purplette was walking down the street along a tall fence with her arms extended to her sides to aid her balance. Residents walking bellow her often looked up at Senna as if she was insane, occasionally suggesting she climb down before hurting herself. Usually Senna responded with a short giggle and informing them there was nothing to be concerned about. Though she may not look like it Senna was quite physically fit, Senna’s balance was spot on, and her reflexes were impressive. If she were to fall without a doubt she could prevent herself from getting injured.
While walking she noticed the silhouette of another person. With the distance she couldn’t tell if they were male or female, old or young or anything about the person. One thing in particular caught her attention about them. They were carrying several bags in both hands having difficulty carrying them. Senna sped up her pace along the fence until she was close enough the other could hear her voice. “Hey!” She called out to them and waited to see their face. When they turned the shinigami smiled. “You seem to be having a little trouble there, huh?” she teased. “If you need some help, I’ve got some free time.” It wasn’t like Senna didn’t have anything else to do, helping this person would kill some time.
月-— Oh dear. AHS certainly went overboard, assembling a Mount Everest of scripts, lyrics, ensembles, and largesse in lissome limbs. Peeks into abysms disseminated abysmal and mediocre tunes accompanying saccharine euphonies. Other bags blanketed indulgence to satiate her predilection for sweets. Stuffed animals and the like were absent as a colleague advocated recorders placed inside were commonplace. Scrupulously plotted footfalls ensured minimal disturbances in her load, periodically depositing what had occupied arms onto warmed concrete to serve as cessations to relieve her human chassis.
During intermissions, the rabbit positioned the heap in order to metamorphose into a more feasible pile. Yukari had yet to perspire—spring’s capricious tendencies discharged puffs of wind amidst the lackadaisical “heat”. But still, digits curled around chilled plastic, tilting the container to trickle water into her mouth. She proceeded to rest the bottle against her forehead as a makeshift ice pack; a preceding injury of collision between pate and wall left pain to marinade. Inhale, exhale. She shoved the vessel into a bag. Interlude had ended.
The ebony hood of her outerwear draped over her head veiled her from attention of the crowd. In tandem with Spica’s uniform, she possessed the semblance of a high school student (albeit really a college student). She was popular, but her repute was no compeer to the esteemed Hatsune Miku. But that was okay with her. She wasn’t required to brood in dysphoria over appearances and scandals. She could escort whoever without it being summoned to headlines. If she wriggled into a relationship (What? How scandalous!), it would concern fewer. She was on the fringe of scrutiny. At least there would be no sycophants.
An additional few paces prompted her to turn her head of lavender threads towards an interjection in her thoughts. Blink, blink. Ah, it was the girl who maintained equilibrium despite elevation. Yukari had seen her oft along fences with people sporadically attending to watch or advise of the dangers that were coupled with that forte. And to this moment, few bystanders traced the girl’s movements while others glanced and persisted with prior tasks. Yukari herself was reverential by her skill, but also worried for the other’s safety. At the other’s proposition, Yukari nodded, following with words. “If you’re all right with the idea of helping me, then I would like it very much. Also, will you be escorting me on the ground or..?” Perpetuating one’s balance even with the addition of a load was a precarious act.
Anonymous If Yukari was to exit her living quarters she would notice a small basket outside. In it is a variety of smaller and larger chocolates, so professionally crafted that one could easily think they were bought, however the taste can only be achieved from a handmade product with lots of love. Along is a card: "Happy valentines day to a beautiful mademoiselle. - Mr. Prince."
月-— A secured door became ajar with the noise of subtle footfalls. From such an aperture a head peeked, matched amethysts combing for glimpses of the person—visible fabrics before an altered direction, a thread of hair departed from nest, anything. Her door was nudged further for her escape, but stopped when it scraped past an object of anonymity. Oh? What is this? Her pate swiveled left before its reverse prior to descending to a squat. For her? Digits curled around the handle and tugged the gift up and into her room for further examination. First the card, which read with a deadpan exterior that gainsaid the rapture settling within her. Cerise saturations adorned cheeks and a dainty smile curled. Every item received kindled euphoria—this and the digits assembled into her arms every year. Despite the hierarchy of gifts, the rabbit cherished each. Depositing the card for the floor to embrace, her gaze transferred to the card’s petite pair. A hand pinched chocolate from its aerie and removed the protection that surrounded it, proceeding to nudging it into her mouth.
"It’s surprisingly good. Thank you, Mr. Prince."
((screams in lowercase i’m really sorry this is late i really am and so i just pretended that she received it on the day itself?? aaaaaah i’m really horrible so i’m really sorry i’m a poop goodbye))
月-— Oh, the infamy of a pun! ..—Though their efforts totaled to something more than naught in constructing curves that revealed blocks of white and saturating her cheeks in pleasant hues of pink. They were quite useful, or at least to her puns were. “Amazing! D-do you happen to have others?“
"Tears make you stronger!" "Crying isn't for the weak!" "Cheer up!"
Shut up. Be quiet. S t o p t a l k i n g .
月-—Such bilge. All of it. Liquid tracing curves down a face didn’t metamorphose anything, an exception being an idol into some figure manipulated for arrantmirth. Losing balance, allowing objects to plummet, subjected to teasing—.. Aa, what should she jest about next that would transpierce through sentiments, marking her palpitating heart with derision? Oh, but never would they allow something like ethics to merge with an affluent, trickling stream of notions and more superior things, including mockery. No, why would they ever consider her lacerated ego? Her happiness? Aa, but her blunders were transcribed into their happiness! If her lips curled in any direction but downwards, they wouldn’t have their very own grins transforming their visages! No ecstatic chortles! Nothing!
Ｍｏｒｅ， もっと， ｍｏｒｅ！
Aa, aa. How inconsiderate of her. Amidst that crowd’s titters, extremities would align themselves onto her thighs, her back arching. A silent apology—not like they even coveted one. “Continue, continue! Laugh until you’re content and then resume.” Would she dare to say that? Speak with her voice tormented by that malaise? It would cause her voice to be more distorted than she would have purposed it. But they would continue with their euphoria until cheeks became saturated with cerise hues and wheezes were noted by ears. But if normalcy displaced cacophony, it would resume, adopting even more cruelties to assault her with.