enmaxmp-blog

[enmaxmp-blog]

Gratitude isn’t something he ever expects, but besides the little wrinkles that appear between his brows in mild confusion, Enma isn’t too affected by it. A foreign little feeling stirs in the stone recesses of his fake bones, but is pushed away in favour of him saying, “No, you would’ve.”

And it’s not just him saying that, either.

“Shifting’s in your blood, you know. You’d have learned eventually.” More out of instinct than anything, his index and middle finger tap against his own temple. “People always do, whether it’s sooner or later.” Enma turns after this, the side of his body against the dirt and his eyes once more dropping to the palm that’d changed form. While now it’s human flesh--flesh that he knows would feel soft and warm to the touch if he reached out for it now--earlier it had been feline, much as Taekwoon had first wanted to be an ape.

The question sounds more like a statement when Enma says it, a query ending in a period, but still: “You like cats.” Somehow that sticks like a thorn in his brain. “Do you feel comfortable when you’re in feline form?” His eyes flick upward, an unwavering gaze settling on Taekwoon’s face. “What’s that like?”

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

Taekwoon shrugged, “Apes would be good if I wanted the whole arm, but I figured a smaller portion of my body would be easier to shift, and I like felines a little more than apes.” His lip quirked as he studied his paw, watching as the other’s hand came into contact with it. 

Shifting back? That part was easy. With the rest of him being human, his hand followed quickly and a few seconds later, Taekwoon had his human hand back. “Shifting back is usually never the problem, unless I’m in animal form for too long,” he explains. “Turning back would probably be especially easy when the rest of me is human.” 

“You know you give good advice,” he says to Enma, and lies down on the grass, the smell of dirt and nature relaxing his senses. “Thanks,” he says quietly after a little while of silence, “I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it if you hadn’t helped me out.” 

[enmaxmp-blog]

Enma’s content listening, for the most part, but the moment he hears the name Raijin his head lifts a little higher as a slight furrow appears between his brows. He finds himself mouthing the word ‘senpai’ in mild confusion, but he pieces together the ever-legendary god of lightning and this little ball of mischief and finds that it isn’t much of a bad alignment at all.

“Maybe not a gold star,” he says, reaching out just to flick the girl’s forehead. “But you’re doing a lot better than you were last time, Kumi-chan.”

Somehow he feels like he should be smiling, but the little hint eludes him in the end. Kumiko taking money from thieves and giving them back is a good thing, certainly--but the fact that she’d gotten a cut of her own isn’t entirely morally good. Then again, it’s not like Enma’s job is to make sure she’s an angel. He just has to make sure she isn’t causing chaos wherever she goes, and he’s glad that she’s behaved for the most part, at least.

“What was that you said?” he asks, his hand moving over to scratch the stubble that dots the line of his jaw. “That I missed you and... memorised your face, right?” Enma can’t take the damn thing seriously, but at least he’s giving the vaguest sort of effort. “I don’t know what ‘missing’ feels like,” he murmurs, “but memorising might be right. If you gave me a pen and a paper I’d probably be able to draw you with my eyes closed.”

He pauses, head tilting to the side. “... is that what you wanted to hear?”

easy days | ( enma + kumi )

It was obvious that he did not ordered food as the waitress awkwardly waiting for them to make a order while Enma just staring into her soul not even answering any of her questions but that excepted of him. Kumiko took to herself order them lots of food to eat and try out along with glass of waters from both. Once the waitress went on her way, the fox girl started to show how Enma should of said instead of staring at her making the fox feel at unease.

“Oh. Kumi. I missed you so much, I am soo happy to see you top-side again and I just memorize your features on your face so I can remind myself on what my dear kumi baby looks like—” she mocked playfully yet the only response he got from him was about the universe and game with the ball and the stick.” Kumi’s nose wrinkled up at his words knowing that he used that universe gps on her again, seriously she can’t do nothing without him knowing about it.

“You did that thing again! Those powers! Universe gps thingy! One day, pops you gonna see something in my insight thingy, you won’t like. The game is called pool, if you want I can teach you how to play it. It is really fun. Besides I was doing it good cause, I gave money to people who rightfully deserves it.”  The girl smugly announced feeling actually really proud of herself, “Also, I have been good girl…sort of..I got a job! I work at bar, serving drinks to customers. See! No stealing or anything bad- Earning money the honest way too and I’m pretty good at it. I got a lot of praise from Raijin. He’s god too! Sooo- I am in god’s hands, so I am safe too. I deserve gold star for this~” She joked playfully trying to be more lighthearted. 

[enmaxmp-blog]

“I wouldn’t say that,” Enma says in reply, but he won’t deny the slight glimmer of something in him at seeing Taekwoon’s successfully shifted paw. He could never do anything like that--god he might be, but it’s beyond his scope of abilities--and he finds himself hiking his body up with one elbow as his free hand reaches out to touch the new body part. The word ‘miracle worker’ sticks in his head, unable to be totally washed away. “I thought you wanted to be an ape?”

It might come across at teasing, but the fact of the matter is that Enma really is curious. The end outcome doesn’t necessarily make a difference when it’s understood Taekwoon’s succeeded, but while he can understand the universe, he can never quite understand human beings. Taekwoon might only be half, but that’s a lot more human than Enma is nevertheless.

“How about shifting back?” he murmurs, hand pulling away when his thumb brushes against the endlessly fascinating texture of Taekwoon’s new palm. The boy might have only just changed, but it’s always imperative to be able to turn human again after the animal transformation. At least, that’s what Enma supposes. If he had such a power he’d never be in human form again. “Do you think you can do it?”

Back and forth is the basic skill. Whether Taekwoon can transform more parts of him into different animals or not comes later. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Enma’s already decided he won’t mind if he’ll be asked more questions today. After all, the clearing is still calm, the sky is still blue, and Taekwoon’s familiar enough to be easy to talk to.

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

Taekwoon thinks about the other’s words for a minute, silent as he takes time to process what the other’s just said. Basically, it was down to him and his instincts. 

He puts that aside though when he hears the question, deciding to answer the question before anything else. “I used to be really systematic about it. Think about what I want to shift into, then imagine myself turning into it, and what I would feel when I’m in that form.” He frowns a little, “But now, I just… do it. I still decide what I want to shift into, but it’s become sort of muscle memory to actually shift.” 

Taekwoon looks down at his hand again, curiously. Turning his hand so that his palm is facing upwards, he gets an image in his head. Instinct. He takes a slow breath, imagining the feeling when he shifts into a feline, nails turning into claws, skin turning into fur. 

It takes a little while, but a few minutes later, Taekwoon’s looking at a lion’s paw connected to a human hand. His eyes grow wide and he smiles, quickly looking over at Enma. “Thanks,” he says quietly, eyes still shining with wonder at the small miracle he managed to achieve. Curling his fingers, Taekwoon watches, mesmerized, as the lion paw responds. 

“You’re a miracle worker, you know?” he says to Enma, eyes still fixated on his paw. 

[enmaxmp-blog]

“What the hell do you know about my life?”

[enmaxmp-blog]

years | ( enma + cyhiraeth )

@cyhiraethxmp

It’s been too long. Enma knows this the same way plants know the sun shines and bends towards the light. The fact that it’s been years since he’s last seen Cyhiraeth makes this even more awkward than it has to be; he’s sure she hasn’t forgotten him, of course she hasn’t, but it doesn’t make it any easier to suddenly drop into her life again.

The World Wars had been tough; though more than half a century’s passed since the last one, a new era of human violence seemed to have started after, and Enma had his hands more than tied as more and more under his religious domain came to Yomi and had to be weighed. He hasn’t lost compassion for her--while the notion of it is rare, Cyhiraeth makes him softer than he has to be--but he simply hasn’t had time.

Now, though, with his new position and the guarantee that the underworld would be fine for the hours a week he had to be top-side, Enma has more free time than he knows how to use wisely.

That brings him here, sandals on his feet and hands in the pockets of a pair of sweatpants as he looks up at a foreign sign.

“Lingerie,” he mouths. What the hell is lingerie?

He knows she’s here, though. Cyhiraeth’s always had a certain chakra about her that reminded Enma’s of his own, though hers was much warmer to feel and much happier to be aware of. In the millennia that he’s known her, he’s always been able to track her down, and something he takes comfort in is the fact that she at least doesn’t feel like she’s going through any terrible distress. Still, his body loves to rebel against him, and for that reason his palms are sweating in that familiarly unfamiliar sense of humanity.

Enma pushes the door open, wondering if she can tell he’s here.

“Hello?” Maybe he came too early. The sun’s only been hanging in the sky for a few minutes, the clouds coloured like cotton candy in the wake of sunrise. Enma’s voice is scratchy and rough--awkward, as he hasn’t had to use a throat for years--but he forces it out a little more. “Cyhiraeth?”

[enmaxmp-blog]

Raijin’s one of the most animated beings Enma’s ever encountered: from the crackling, electric blue of his eyes to the way his facial expressions keep changing while he speaks. Though one eye is covered by his hand, the other watches in something like stunned silence--ruined, naturally, by the little nudge that ends up having Enma toppling unceremoniously onto his side. He falls over like a stuffed animal urged out of sitting position; so unaccustomed is he to having a physical body to control he can hardly keep his balance.

“You have a bar?” he says oh-so very softly. Enma’s idea of bars is as out-dated as the rest of his ideas, he’s sure. While they’re in Korea, he hadn’t quite expected to see the way people dressed, nor had he expected to hear the new slang in their words or witness the terrifying reality of bright screens both in shop windows and held in people’s hands. A bar sounds familiar--hell, a bar owned by Raijin sounds familiar and comfortable and less of a culture shock than essentially every inch of this new world--but he takes it with a grain of salt. It’s more than highly likely that bars aren’t what they used to be.

He carefully gets himself up to a seated position again, quietly moving to rub the spot on his arm where he’d been nudged and wondering why the phantom sensation of it remains. “I, uh...” Enma decides not to say he knows exactly how long it’s been, though the number five-hundred and sixty-two lingers on his tongue. Still, he can’t even find himself able to lie. “... maybe a little longer.”

Something tells him maybe he ought to be smiling. He can’t deny that the barest hint of relief’s washed over him, all cool and simple and easy in direct contrast to the worries that plague him. But at the same time, Enma’s never been all that good at smiling to begin with.

He just hopes Raijin knows he’s glad he came.

“My chest hurts,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, then he finds himself cringing again because everything he says makes him sound like an idiot. “I have work today, soon, but thinking about it makes me--" Unable to find the proper words to express himself, he settles for a miserable, “--swear.

“That’s not normal, is it?”

misery | ( enma + raijin )

Hearing that Enma said “Oh,” made him chuckle a little. He was certainly someone he could find something a bit amusing about the fellow god. Then again, Raijin did laugh a lot more than Enma-O. Noticing that he cringed a bit, he knew all too well that the other god was getting used to being in a form like this all over again.

“Well, it’s certainly entertaining to me that the first words I would hear out of your mouth would be swear words when I came to see you. I also told you that you don’t have to call me “senpai” as we’re both gods.” The thunder god smiled still and walked over, sitting down next to the familiar man next to him. But Raijin did have a point, that they haven’t seen each other in a while. You could say that the older god was a bit excited about seeing the god of the underworld again. He didn’t really have much of a chance to visit when Enma got busy with all the lives needing judgement every day.

Noticing how he was rubbing the stubble on his face, the smile got a little wider along with a bubble of laughter. “It’s something to adjust to. It was a new sensation when I first took a walk on the earth, but you’ll adjust in no time. It shouldn’t take too long. I also must say that you look a bit more handsome with the facial hair. I don’t think I will ever have any. It would make me look so old if I had a silver beard to match my hair.” A horrified look appeared on his face before he shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

When taking a moment to glance over at his longtime acquaintance, possibly even friend, he noticed the pout. He gently nudged the man and smiled. “You know that if you need something, my room and bar always open to you. It’s great to see you again thought. It’s been what, a few centuries? Maybe 4 or 5 centuries at most? Or was it longer?” Raijin scratched the back of his head while in thought, wondering to himself if the amount of time was correct or not. All he knew was that it was a long time ago.

[enmaxmp-blog]

“You’re right to some degree,” Enma murmurs, “but I think you give the birds too much credit.”

There’s always the possibility of just telling Taekwoon what to do, but where’s the fun in that? Not that Enma’s any paragon of fun and happy things--he’s the exact opposite, he supposes, now that he thinks about it--but enlightenment always feels more right when it comes from within as opposed to others. It’s this logic that has him pointing out another bird that cuts across the clearing clear as day.

“Animals aren’t like humans,” he says, a certain amount of detachment present even in the word humans, much as he’d been one himself before, “in the sense that they aren’t capable of rational thought. Or at least the majority of them aren’t. Most of the things they do are fuelled by instinct.” He clears his throat after this; his throat feels like gravel’s been poured into it, but that always seems to be the case when he finds himself in corporeal form again. Enma swallows. “The bird knows in its heart that it can fly, but probably not that it’s because of how they were built. Mothers can push their chicks off nests because something deep inside the chicks tells them that they can fly and survive it.” His hands lift, thumbs locking together and the rest of his fingers making fluttering motions. “Rather than think about how they have wings, birds just do what they have to do.”

He turns his head then, his hands dropping to fold over his tummy this time and his legs crossed one over the other at the ankle.

“What do you think about when you shift, Taekwoon?”

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

Taekwoon looks at Enma blankly before obediently sitting down on the grass next to the other. He’s a little surprised that the guy got to spend his childhood with both his parents. He wonders what they were like. He’s done a small bit of reading on other gods, and figures that it would’ve been interesting to live with someone who decided the fate of souls, though perhaps having the god as a father figure would’ve been less fun. 

He nodded and nodded an affirmation, just the slightest bit bitter that the other had spent a chunk of time with both parents when he hadn’t met either one of his own. But he supposed some people had led different lives than he did. Some people were luckier and others were less fortunate than he was. 

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the other pointing up at the sky. Taekwoon looked up, watching the bird dip and dive as it flies freely. He liked flying, the few times he’s done it. It was a little scary though, to think that if he lost focus for a moment, he’d be in freefall. 

Taekwoon shrugged, “It’s a bird. It probably knows it has wings and knows what they allow it to do, but probably doesn’t know they’re called wings.” He wonders if Enma was using a bird analogy to teach him a lesson. The other guy was always fairly cryptic like that, but it was a nice change to the other people Taekwoon interacted with. 

[enmaxmp-blog]

Kumiko appears right on time in the sense that she’s completely late, but it’s not like Enma’s surprised. He doesn’t try to look exasperated on purpose, but there’s something about the lackadaisical nature she presents herself that makes the very edge of his left eyebrow twitch.

For a kid of a Japanese god, she’s got a horrible sense of punctuality.

“A little side-tracked,” he repeats, paying little attention to the comment about ‘missing her’ and ‘how he must be’. He hasn’t ordered, and that much is obvious as he passes the little fox-girl before him the menu the waitress had given without any further comment. He rubs his eyes with the tips of his fingers before folding his arms over the table, gaze unwavering as he tilts his head and watches Kumiko’s every move without shame.

It’s obvious Enma’s yet to learn that staring is rude.

“The universe tells me you were butting into other people’s business again.” The fingers of one hand drum his bicep, tapping rhythmically like rain. As cheesy as the words had been, every single ounce of it is true--insight is a funny thing, and Enma’s so used to watching over Kumiko and making sure she isn’t getting herself into trouble that he has an ingrained tracking system for her somewhere in the back of his mind. Of all the things he can predict and see, only two are universal and doubtless: images of death, and images of the brat sitting across him getting herself into mischief again.

“What kind of game is that?” His nose crinkles at the images; it looks like Kumiko won, but he’s no idea how it is that happened. “With the ball. And the stick.”

easy days | ( enma + kumi )

Due to tiny little accident when Kumi first arrived at Mount Phoenix, the council thought it would be best to have one of council members to look after her and make sure that her morale compass was pointing the right away. Enma became someone what like father figure making sure she doesn’t get in too much trouble. In the way, she did not mind it so much as he was always busy down under collecting judging souls or whatever.

Daddy-o has came up top-side once again, it was the annual family dinner even though he was not her father, it certainly acts like one. The girl was running late for several reasons, one reason was that she woke up late so she was behind in all daily schedules and she may have got side-track as saw a sweet opportunity to hustle a person who thought was bee knees type of hustler. The sly fox had to show who was the boss by taking these earnings by winning the games of pool. It was nice to show up this idiot plus Kumiko split the money which she collected with the poor victims of the hustler.

During the celebration drinks, that annoying pulling thing gave her a reminder about the dinner making her panic. Oh Shit– The fox headed out straight to the place once she was  summon using her speed to not be as late she would be if she walked like a human being.

“Heeeey, daddy-o. Sorry I am late…just gotta little sidetracked” She joked playfully as finally reached the desination pulling a cheeky bright grin. “Did you miss me so muuch? How top-side treating you? Oh, Did you order without me?”

[enmaxmp-blog]

Nervousness kills the senses, or at least Enma concludes this much when he’s jarred out of his moping by the sound of someone speaking to him. Typically he’d be able to tell who it was even before they entered the room--in fact, as he suddenly shoots up off his futon (gracelessly, foolishly, and far too quickly) and sits up, he feels his blood run cold at the fact that he hadn’t realised who it was.

Standing before him is his infamous senpai, and the just-for-show heart in Enma’s chest tightens just a bit before he finds himself saying, “Oh.”

It’s certainly no award-winning answer. One hand lifts and Enma digs the heels of his palm into his right eye, unable to stop himself from cringing as he rubs it just a bit. It’s still so new to have these mortal sensations--the slight pain in his eyeball, the heaviness in his chest--and he’s sure that this is no help at all in his quest to be calmer.

“You don’t have to smile like that, senpai...” he mumbles, but he does scoot away a little to make space on the futon for his apparent companion. Sitting is better than standing, after all.

He doesn’t bother asking how it is Raijin knows he’s here. The playful undertone in his gaze says enough; he’s probably aware of Enma’s promotion (or enslavery) and came over to mention something about it. Needless to say, Mr. Lord of the Underworld braces himself for the worst, but he does have to give Raijin some credit--just seeing someone familiar makes a little bit of the nerves in him ease out and away.

“And you don’t have to ask, either.” Both his hands move to rub his cheeks, his fingertips lingering on the stubble that dots his jaw for a fraction of a second before continuing again. He’d forgotten what growing stubble felt like, too. “I don’t look very happy, so what do you think?”

To be fair, though, Enma never looks happy. But he hasn’t pouted like this in a long time.

misery | ( enma + raijin )

The god had been in Mount Phoenix for a few weeks or so. During that time, he was able to get acquainted well with the people that were around. He didn’t really mind the people, as they were a bit better than some of the humans that he met in his travels. He did get a bit irritated at the humans that were losing their respect for the gods, but he knew it was bound to happen. The gods and goddesses still had plenty of followers, but they stopped sending consorts for the mighty beings. Their company of different mind sets were gone after a point. The only other option was to go down to the earth. It was a bit odd, but during the time of rock and roll did he truly enjoy his time on the earth.

Since being in Mount Phoenix, he found people he grew up with. Raijin found out about demigods, great beings of similar status from different locations around the world, as well as meeting a few of their children. He could understand why many of the humans spoke of how the goddesses and gods were beautiful, dazzling creatures. The humans were the creatures to the beings of power however. That was one thing they would possibly never understand.

As word sometimes got around quickly, he caught wind of another Japanese god coming to Mount Phoenix, and he fit the profile of the god he was wondering when he would run into again. He smiled to himself as he finished his morning jog around the park and decided to pick the Bohemian district. His sweats were swapped out for a sweater perfect for the spring weather as well as a pair of jeans. Keeping his slippers on his feet, he wondered all over the Tengu Apartments. Once he found the room he thought was it, he heard very quiet swearing. He chuckled softly to himself before opening the room to the door.

Out before him was Enma-O laid out on his futon with the covers off and quite an unhappy god. With a smirk, his blue gaze lingered before he spoke. “Well well well. It’s been a while Enma. I take it your morning isn’t going as well as it should?” Raijin raised an eyebrow at the younger god, a bit curious as to what made his morning so bad. However, if this was his first time in this form, he would need to adjust quite a bit and it would take some time and it would be unpleasant.

[enmaxmp-blog]

Enma mumbles it under his breath--a monkey arm?--and while an objection rises in his throat, he finds himself holding it back in the wake of Taekwoon’s next question.

The kid always has so many. Then again, he figures, back when he was human he must’ve had a lot of questions, too. The only thing is that unlimited insight certainly kills a man’s curiosity like nothing else.

There can’t be any harm in entertaining him.

“My parent,” he repeats, but before answering any further he makes a little beckoning motion for Taekwoon to come over, even though his eyes are trained elsewhere. He pats the patch of grass by his side, patiently waiting for his acquiescence, and then gently drops onto his back to stare up at the sky before speaking again. “Yeah, I met my parent.” His hands move, fingers locking together and then moving to cushion the back of his head. The memories are as fuzzy as he’d expect after being dead for more than thousands of years, but there’s something about the warmth of being held that seems to stick. He might not remember what his mother looked like, nor his father, but he knows at the very least that he used to be cradled and loved like any other baby would be. “The other one, too. I spent most of my childhood with them. Does that answer your question?”

Not waiting for a response, Enma’s eyes widen just a bit in the midst of his staring. One hand lifts, index finger raised to the sky, and he says, “Look at that.”

What he points at is a bird, flying freely and cutting through the blue in a smudge of black. If there’s one thing Enma’ll never get used to, it’s how endless the colour is here in the mortal realm, but a bird flies and his breath is caught somewhere in his throat and for a fleeting moment Enma finds himself fascinated by how alive everything is around him.

But he pushes that away in favour of dropping back into the grass and looking at Taekwoon again.

“Do you think that bird knows it has wings?”

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

Taekwoon sees Enma sit down, and he refocuses on his arms. There was a brief moment about a half hour ago where he felt a shift start, but the feeling had gone away the moment he got excited over it and hadn’t come back since.

He’s grateful for the other’s presence, especially in times where he has no idea what to do or how to proceed.  He hadn’t really thought of what type of animal he’d want to have the arm of, he’d only really been concentrating on making it… not human. He guessed that would’ve been the logical thing to think before trying to shift.

“I guess something closer to a human arm would be best,” he said half to himself. I definitely don’t want to dislocate anything. “An ape of sorts,” he makes up his mind. “A monkey arm should fit okay.”

He looks down at his arm again. Maybe it was a little too much to try and shift an arm. He concentrated on his palm for a little while before hanging his head back, half in exhaustion and half in exasperation.

Taekwoon can’t help thinking that if his father were around, things like this would be a lot easier. He might not even want to meet the god at this point, but it seemed as though if they had met, the god would be able to help him out. “Say Enma, have you met your parent?” He sort of wanted to call the guy ‘Junior’, but figured that might be disrespectful. Enma seemed to be pretty proficient with his own powers, and Taekwoon wondered if it was just years of practice, or if his god parent had helped him out.

[enmaxmp-blog]

misery | ( enma + raijin )

@mpxraijin

Day one hadn't been so bad, but day one had only been the beginning. After getting oriented theoretically, the only logical step is to get oriented in practise. Enma has to admit he isn't looking forward to having to move around and meet not only fellow gods, but also a number of demi-gods, and he has to admit that if he had the pride to say he had a comfort zone, this was precisely outside of it.

He's forgotten what it's like to talk to anyone without having to sound official and imposing and having to list sins and fates with his lips in a straight line. In fact, he's so out of his league he's got a book in his hands on "basic etiquette"--or, rather, on his chest, where it'd been relocated when Enma decided the book wasn't going to help him with jackshit.

At the moment the heels of his palms are digging into his eyes. The work day hasn't yet begun, but the sun's risen (and the concept is so foreign to him--that the sun can rise and light can shine and the world can be warm, instead of cold and lifeless), and rays of light shine through the slats of his blinds and over his form. He's got his back on a futon, the blanket tossed aside, and while he himself doesn't need any sleep, his physical body does. There's an unfamiliar sting in his eyes--one he'd last felt many millennia ago--and a yawn that builds in his throat and then escapes it in a whoosh of air.

"Fuck," he whispers, the word so small and silent and uncharacteristic of him, but nevertheless appropriate. What is he going to do?

Enma has the names in his head, of course. He knows who he has to meet and what behaviour he should watch out for, and he knows the general line of topics he has to discuss with fellow Important People. But how to go about it is something else entirely, and with how long he's been immortal he's being slain by a very new-but-old human thing--nervousness, perhaps. Or maybe even anxiety.

There's no use moping about it, he knows. The beating in his chest is a lie--he doesn't really have a heart, astral beings don't have physical features--and the throb in his head isn't real, either. But it doesn't stop it from feeling any more like it is tangible, and that's what bothers him most.

"... ah, fuck..."

[enmaxmp-blog]

blues | ( enma + hel )

@helmp

Being top-side again after so much time spent among the dead and the darkness is something that'll take some getting used to. For one thing, Enma can hardly control his physical form: it took him how long to get himself standing when he materialised, and then even longer to actually start walking. For another, politeness seems to elude him: as he fumbled and walked clumsily with his poorly-working new legs, his lack of apology had people glaring at him as he bumped into them and said nothing. He can't even begin to explain how bright the sun is, either--or how warm it is in comparison to the frigid temperature of the realm he's spent millennia in.

Getting to his office had been a real pain in the ass, obviously. Granted, he could've had the option to materialise there in the first place, but he needed the practise of binding his astral self into the working body of a mortal--and then making sure the actual body fucking worked. And work it does, to his credit: by the time Enma got to the designated building, he was standing without leaning against walls and falling flat on his face. It's a success by small standards, but a success all the same, and in the wake of this minuscule glory he'd headed to his office and been given a thick stack of documents to remember like nothing.

He's not too bad at memorising, to be fair. Holding the Book of Life and Death with the name of every mortal's lifespan gives him a good enough ability to recognise where names are and on which pages. But memorising laws whose logic he can't even begin to understand (such was the downside of spending all his time away from modern society) is in another realm entirely, pun intended.

This brings us to the current situation: Enma's sitting at his desk, an elbow on the wood and his hand quietly cradling the plane of his forehead. His other hand holds one paper out of many as he goes through it, and to his left is a 'read pages' stack while an 'unread pages' stack is to his right. It's obvious enough which stack is higher, even more so because of the permanent crease between Enma's brows.

But then he feels it--a shift in the balance of chakra around him. Someone powerful's stepped into his immediate radius, and given the cringe that takes hold of his expression, it doesn't take a genius to tell that Enma knows exactly who's come to pay him a visit.

His door creaks open, and with his expression as composed as it always is, he grumbles (in a voice he hasn't used since he was mortal): "You stole twenty souls from me last year, Hel."

[enmaxmp-blog]

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easy days | ( enma + kumi )

@mpkumi

The formal term is "courtesy call", but the way Enma sees it, the term "babysitting" sounds a lot more accurate. That isn't to say he treats the whole thing with contempt--Kumi isn't terrible or evil, just a handful--but he really has to ask himself how he landed this side-side-job.

It's always strange having to take on physical form again after spending so much time as a boundless entity. For a while after his materialisation all Enma did was touch his face and wiggle his toes and tell his frozen body to stand and walk. But walking always proves to be something else; no matter how much he goes top-side, the light of the world around him is so different from the underworld that he can't bear to move in it without layers upon layers of clothing.

They always meet in the same place, he and Kumi. It's the same comfortable restaurant with the same easy menu, and the same booth in an unnoticeable, tiny corner. As usual Enma sighs and hunches over, elbows on the table and palms covering his face, and in silence he searches for Kumi's chakra among the people in this humongous city. Enma has yet to discover the convenience of mobile phones, but this works just as well--when he finds Kumi's chakra, he locks onto it, and cheats as he always does.

No doubt the girl will feel some familiar pull in her; the urge to move, the urge to go. And no doubt she'll know why. Enma's not one who enjoys being kept waiting, but he knows without a doubt in the depths of his heart that Kumi's going to show up late, anyway.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is that now she knows he's here and that he's waiting, and even though she's late, she's never absent.

That ought to count.

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Always with the difficult questions, but Enma has to admit there's some relief there that he doesn't have to force himself through a pitiful 'hey' or 'how are you'.

Contrary to Taekwoon's standing position, Enma finds a good spot to sit in and sits there, grass tickling him even through the thick fabric of his jeans. His legs stretch out, hands pressed to the ground behind him, and he rolls his neck if only to get rid of the mild stiffness there. All the while he thinks of a possible answer; there is an answer, of course, as there're always answers to questions, but the only issue is the fact that explaining it in terms a mortal would understand is no easy task.

It's beyond him why it is demi-gods constantly have to challenge themselves and find out what they can do; the fact that they're all bound here on Mount Phoenix makes for nary an opportunity to use said abilities for any sort of benefit. Maybe if they were free to roam, he'd understand, but this is just a mystery. To be fair, Enma isn't even obligated to answer, but he figures maybe he ought to do his damn job every once in a while and offer guidance where he can.

"What're you trying to turn into?" he asks, voice as rough as it always is and sounding like he'd just woken up. One hand lifts to scratch the stubble at his jaw as the god yawns, but when he opens his eyes again there's a degree of concentration there, his gaze swimming over Taekwoon's frame and ending at the arm he'd been trying to shift. "Let's start there."

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

Taekwoon stares at his arm intensely, so much so that to an outsider, it would appear as though he had never seen an arm before. He’s been at this for over an hour now, just standing in his favourite clearing, and trying to make his arm turn into that of an animal. Any animal, it didn’t really matter. He had already accidentally shifted completely into a different animal, and shifted back almost immediately, grunting in disappointment. 

He’s so focused on his arm that he doesn’t pick up on the other’s scent, nor the fact that there was a crunching sound announcing his approach. It’s not until he hears a voice in his vicinity that Taekwoon starts and looks up to see the son of Enma. 

Thinking too much? Taekwoon supposed that was true. Whenever he shifted, he never actively had to think about it. He just… did it. Maybe it was the same with partial shifts, though he wasn’t sure exactly how much to think about shifting. 

He’s not even aware that he was biting his lip until he relaxes everything, letting his lower lip fall out from between his teeth, and his arm swing downwards so that he was standing normally. “How do you not think so much?” he asks rhetorically, not expecting any sort of answer to the question. Having someone help him along was always nice, especially when it was this specific friend, who seemed to know exactly what to say and do to help him. Taekwon rubbed at his eyes in exhaustion. Sure, shifting was tiring, but trying to shifting and not being able to was just as bad. 

[enmaxmp-blog]

south end | ( enma + taekwoon )

@taekwoonxmp

To make it perfectly clear, Enma doesn't give any efforts to seek the boy out. If he had his way (which he almost never does), he'd be spending all his time outside the city alone as things usually ought to be.

And for the most part, he'll admit--he is alone. Eight out of ten times as his worn sneakers hit the green grass of anywhere but the land of modern skyscrapers and loud noises and even louder people, he'll be the only one to step on those grounds and remain interrupted. But two out of ten times he'll encounter someone else, and by fate or destiny or some natural attraction brought about by their chakra, that someone else usually tends to be Taekwoon.

Enma doesn't like him, but to be fair, he doesn't dislike him, either. While their first meeting had been as awkward as anyone could expect first meetings to be, first turned into second turned into third and then fourth. Try as he might, Enma couldn't avoid him, but time always leads to interaction, and in all honesty, Taekwoon's a lot more pleasant than most of the rowdy bastards that populate the city Enma's supposed to be counselling.

Today he encounters the boy on his way to a clearing, standing in the shadows while Taekwwon does god knows what. Enma's no stranger to quietly assisting the boy with trying to hone and sharpen his abilities, but this time he's not entirely sure what it is he should be looking at.

Shapeshifting, of course, is the first word to come to mind, and it's not like Enma's never seen it before. But Taekwoon's never really had issue with that--until Enma realises it isn't a full-shift the boy's trying to achieve.

This bids a 'huh' to slip past his lips, but it doesn't stop him from shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and stepping forward.

It's the crunch of dry leaves beneath the soles of his shoes that give him away, but it's not like he'd been trying to sneak around. Enma stops a good few feet away from where Taekwoon stands, and by now he's sure the demi-god's already perfectly aware that he isn't the smiling type.

So Enma's comfortable with being completely simple as he says, "You're thinking too much, kid."

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