Is the first reaction she bares to him, stubborn and absolute in her own personal conquest. Yet in truth, her concept is nary so complex as his own nor as respectful in her attempt to stitch back tattered fragments of a mask gifted. Fingers worm clumsily around thread and needle, stitching in haphazard manner and all the more willful she becomes at the press of his inquiry.
That is, until the needle jabs at bent index finger, turning in on itself and denting full into an unusable object. Growling, she fusses in frustration, slamming the plump and almost silly looking facial cover into her lap before glaring up petulantly at the fellow ghoul who she prays for his own sake will not chuckle at the obvious defeat.
Teeth sink into a plump lower lip, nose scrunching whilst a mewl of personal disappointment parts from a flustered throat,
Seething sensibilities cloud better judgement ‘pon hearing the vexing words slither from tiers unbidden for polite chatter. He means to rile, to cut beneath the stoney surfaced facade constructed over the years. This raw hide to lay barren to quips and wretched pillaging. There is no victory betwixt the ireful dance they attempt, this gnarled relationship over grown with rotted roots and decaying flora.
Flesh stretches over knuckles, drawn in putrid shade of ivory set, and devoid of the blood that tangs delicately in sweet murmur along a tongue belonging to a base carnivore. A gnashing jawline flexes, shoulders bristling and upper lip curling fiercely – she will not take that treatment, especially from him. No family of hers, no matter how debauched and far gone wouldst make a craven from her name.
❝Shut your goddamn mouth. ❞
It comes as a whispers, belittling and harsh though no foothold would it take in echoes. Knuckles crack faintly, neck craning ever so to catch of the glimpse of the boy she once affectionately termed ’brother’.
❝ The only real coward is you. Running away from everything. Everything Father tried to teach you, wanted you to be. Turning your back on the only family you have left… And you call me a coward? Tch. ❞
Exhale, inhale, and how a pulse drops to mere patter. What fury doth rage within a beast so wrought with own self-terror. She cannot quiet herself for the sake of propriety but instead stills the hand that would lash out. Something lingers. Something always lingers – harsher memories of no. And the girl simply recalls,
A preposterous question, a human proposal to question that which troubles her most. Yet all the same it provides a pause, stagnant in it’s own putrid way of thought. How mortal it did seem – and for a girl so fragile, so delicate to ponder what ticked beneath the surface of the ghoul disguised as a girl… What a feat it must have been.
Memories, all in fragments, flash past her, gnawing away at her insides and mind like dull teeth – chipping, chattering, chewing. Is it death? No, for she is an aspect of that itself. All things are, in equal parts. And oh how the realization pangs in her breast, a striking blow delivered in righteous thunderings with the intake of a breath so precious. She looks at this girl and she knows exactly her fear – Nishiki shared one of similar fate.
A l o n e .
❝I don’t want to be – ❞
Forgotten. Replaced. Misplaced.
It’s a hum she falls on, a bittersweet hymn whilst she regards the woman another monsters holds so dear to his heart. Though, lo, he would never admit as such, at least not in a common way. That definition drives weakness on high. She sneers, scoffing once as she clips off her sentence, tongue clucking and shoulders dropping beneath the weight of her embroidered jacket.
Where did this come from? A subtle confession of respect earned from camaraderie shared over the years? What wavering loyalty to behold in the face of all that she was not. This tattered effigy of humanity, strangling betwixt the ropes she walks, ever squirming and writhing under the simplest of pressures. I n s t i n c t . Nary a drive so strong as to feel it in the berth of her chest, prowling beneath corded sinew of monster make. Completely nightmarish and dare she call it exhilarating.
Touched with carmine tiers purse, a lofty pout creasing over a normally placid visage as she gazes at her friend – the one she cherishes so, her tether to the mankin she walks amongst. Fingers tap with eating utensils in hand, putting them down swiftly against the desk whilst her brow furrows.
❝I told you, your cooking is fine. I’m just not hungry. ❞
Lie. Gurgling gargantuan sensation rolls in the depths of her and for the full wealth of knowledge, she knows that is not what her cheery friend refers to; her face wrought with worry, at least by comparison to the normal smile that pervades her visage. Touka relents, tongue clucking and figure slumping back against her desk’s chair with minor defeat.
❝That’s not what you’re talking about at all, is it? What’s gotten into you, Yokiro-chan? ❞
How utterly unfortunate – for him, not her. Yet careless notion reminds her sharply in the form of gasp and mewl. Nothing so devious, however, that he spies upon her figure, mutilated and worn. A battle freshly finished, territory defended, and not a meal to be had though her stomach growls and throat tightens with a sickening coil.
He could have been more subtle ( they all could have been ), however her aim is protect a secret that she holds dear, a livelihood in which she toes the fine line between human and monster. This proverbial tightrope to walk and no amount of balking will give her reason to strangle such a swan throat with it.
Sucking in air, a moment of brevity takes her – winded from the altercation moments passed, blood gurgling past tiers of bitten and raw hide. Lungs will with putrid, pestilent, noxious air and she gags momentarily, tongue splitting past lips – she cannot withdraw her kagune, not that it would do her much good. So instead, she stares, bloodshot irises beaming behind at the face of sunkissed rapport and sandy blonde tresses.
She does not know him though that will not make this any easier. Perhaps she feels… sympathy in her weakness, bellowing out one offer only,
What hadn’t he done? Belligerence flounders in a no-man’s land of hostile reprieve. After all, simplicity beckons no easier task than what she’s provided for him. Truly. And for him to fail at even this? She begins to wonder how he made it past infancy and swaddle. It’s a gift her Manager had offered upon him, a boon of whimsy – lick your wounds, keep healthy, and stay alive. So much as the fates would allow such things. And after the ordeal with … Well, she seethes to think of such a perverse glutton's behavior, teeth gritting against worn cheek.
Nary a soul could blame her for rearing on him, chattering vile chord, whilst vocal chords hum in vitriolic boil. Except for the customers. For their sake, she brings her bubbling ire to a simmer, growling out an irritated timbre.
❝Besides breaking our only espresso machine and checking off the wrong order of beans? Nothing. You’ve done absolutely nothing. Which might have been preferable all along. ❞
Her fingers nearly shatter porcelain cup between such dexterous digits. Did he really have to work here to earn his keep? U g h .
The “Eyepatch Ghoul” was known only by that name around the 20th Ward. It was rumored that he disguised himself as a human and could live among them without even the slightest hint of suspicion, and because of it, the CCG were nervous about dealing with him. He’d already picked off quite a few of their members, making the ward safer for all the ghouls living there, but his exact identity, as well as even a name, were unknown. The only things known about him were his mask, his white hair, and his horrifyingly strong rinkaku.
Said Eyepatch Ghoul was taking a bit of a rest after a fight with one of the CCG’s stronger members. Their quinque had been a mess to deal with, and he felt his clothes dampening with his own blood. His rinkaku would heal it quickly enough, but it was making him a little dizzy, and he felt ready to vomit from the pain, despite knowing it would pass soon enough.
He didn’t even hear it when the footsteps sounded at the entrance to the alley.
Infamy gave way to foothold within a breast so burdened. There had been little room for anything else, though endearment gripped strongly if only by stern abuse alone. Her life for most part laid sunken in the proverbial sea – awash of forged human tendencies and falsified predatory natures. Yet an inkling of renewed intrigue wormed it’s way beneath her flesh, carving out sinew once barren and distraught of any real fascination. It all came from watching h i m fight, a haphazard and shambling way of quickened movements and bold maneuvers.
This “Eye-Patch” ghoul.
Intelligence, however, begs her in the heat of the moment nary to approach her newest interest. For all intents and purposes to everyone else, just another fiend and she had little to do with anything regard. But she cannot help the quirk of her skull, nor the purse of lips whilst she watches through obsidian oculi, purring a hum of approval. Her should clacks against the wall of the alley, leaning in casually but defensive stance. Impressed or no – a ghoul still bearing kagune is nothing to trifle with.
❝ You fought well. It’s a sight to see when those bastards from the CCG meet their match. ❞
