ncstalgialoop

[ncstalgialoop]

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡｡･ﾟﾟ･ @starstckrs

tiny twinkling bells announce hana's arrival to the ivy. if she listens hard enough, she can hear soft french music playing over the clatter of dishes and overlapping conversations from diners. the smells of fresh bread and spiced soups filtrate through the air, offering a warm contrast to the chill outside. yet, none of it matters much to hana, even as she notes those details. she's searching for---there they are. not too close to the front, not too far in the back, or by a window, the red lily picked a prime spot to sit in case the worst happened. she smiles; it means they can't shoo her away without causing a scene.

someone in a beret interrupts her thoughts, asking if she has a reservation. her tone is strained, and hana can assume the place is fully booked right now. or, she smiles beneath her scarf, she's nervous over not being able to see her entire face. has the ivy ever been robbed? it's fancy, sure, but there must to be better places to steal from.

"i'm here to meet a friend," hana tells her, gesturing to saylor's table. "but they don't know i'm coming. it's a surprise, so could you please let me go first on my own?" she gives the hostess her best pleading eyes, and fiddles with her hands like she's nervous. it takes less than five seconds for her to be waved through. "thank you," she clasps her hands together and skips to the dining area.

if saylor notices her before she reaches their table, hana can't tell. she slips into the seat across from them, and rests her elbows on the table hard enough the utensils clink. "fancy meeting you here, small world!" she exclaims, as if she hadn't bothered saylor here before. "did you order already? i'd hate to miss a meal on your dime." she snarches the menu in front of them without asking, unfolding it and scanning the choices. "maybe we should order the special? oh! and a few drinks, it's not too early to drink, is it?"

[ncstalgialoop]

hana knew her free time should be spent elsewhere. get a hobby, pick up an extra shift at the motel. the best idea would be to slip in some extra training, better herself as a fighter and prove saving her hadn't been a waste. but, this also contributed to improving her standing in scarlet nightmare. at least, hana contorted herself into believing that.

someone needed to keep an eye on those who left the organization. yes, there were shadows. love probably had one. however, whoever had the job, they didn't know love, not really. a stranger would miss the little things, and underestimate love's capabilities. in a way, she was doing her bosses a favor by keeping an eye on her.

most of the time, she watched without incident. love nearly never took note of her, and hana disappeared quickly enough during the few times she did. she experimented a lot in the beginning to test how close or far she could be, or the length of a stare before she felt it. the routine came easy to hana; she could probably follow love with her eyes closed nowadays.

it lulled her into a false sense of security.

she sat at her usual spot, reading a book to kill time and blend in with her surroundings. after a quick scan of the place, she dropped her eyes back down to the pages just in time for someone to appear out of nowhere. her fingers curled tighter around the book as the familiar, flowery scented perfume she knew all too well invaded her space.

when love starts speaking, she jolts, acting like she's caught off guard and didn't realize she was there until then. her eyes widen comically as she glances down at the paper, then back to the woman who returned it to her. she saw love pick it up a few days ago, yet foolishly assumed she hadn't made the connection or wouldn't care enough to return it. but that isn't what she wanted.

her gaze stays trained on love's, silently listening to her repeat and reword the same sentence again and again. she grips the book tighter when love's finger starts to twirl a piece of her hair around. it's all she can do to keep herself from reaching out and holding her hand to stop the nervous tick. the old habit lingered after all this time.

attempting to distract herself, she studies her appearance. a velvet pink jacket is zipped up her chest; it's new, from a shopping spree a few weeks ago. hana appreciates how much softer it looks up close, and the color adds a sparkle to her eyes. hana can't see much more of the outfit with her sitting, and moves her focus back to her face. her cheeks are rosy, and lips glossy. did she lick them before coming over here, or is that one her lip glosses? maybe the strawberry one she loved? she closes her eyes for a moment, thrown back years to a moment she tried to bury.

'could you be any more loud?' hana groaned at popping of love applying her lip gloss. love grinned, then did indeed repeat the lip smacking at noisier volume. hana threw a pillow at her, which love easily dodged.

'you're gonna mess up my makeup!' love whined and hana answered by throwing another pillow. this time love caught the pillow and leapt to hana in the face with it. a tug of war began, with kicking and grunts of pain anytime someone landed a particular good one. finally, a ripping sound, followed by a confetti of feathers ended the fight. both looked at each other stunned, before breaking out into laughter.

'bet you regret the lip gloss now,' hana said smugly as love picked a small feather from her lips.

love pouted, then in a blur caged hana in to leave a kiss on each of her cheeks. she giggled as she drew back to see feathers land on her face. 'nope, i don't.'

hana glared but could do nothing to stop the blush creeping across her cheeks.

hana opens her eyes, breathless and dazed. the blush from her memory follows her into present time, and she grits her teeth at the warmth. her mask covers most of it, thankfully. and of course, love is still there, not as close as she was in the past, but there all the same.

this love isn't the one from her memories, though, is she?

the thought douses her in cold water. waiting a beat after love finishes talking, hana puts down her book and answers her. "it is mine, yeah." she doesn't grab it, nor does she look at it again. her eyes are focused on love's, searching for something she knows she won't find. "you're observant. remembering i sit here," her voice is steady, even as she digs her nails into her a palm.

do you remember how you became that way? the stakeouts? the tests they gave us?

she shakes her head to rid herself of the questions. there's no point. there's no point. she asks instead, "did you read the note?"

@ncstalgialoop ♡ ˚₊‧⁺ જ⁀➴

as far as handwriting went, she liked to believe hers was unmistakable—the way her letters curled skyward, never slanting downward into hesitation. how her i’s were dotted with meticulous precision, her t’s crossed as if sealing truths. even when rushed, when time demanded urgency, her script remained deliberate, designed for another’s eyes to read with care.

and yet, the note she had found—picked up in passing, almost by accident—was not hers. still, something about it clung to her, settled beneath her skin like ink that refused to fade. days passed, and she turned it over in her mind, as if deciphering it might grant her clarity, though the meaning evaded her.

but more than the note, it was the girl who had dropped it that burned into her memory. the way her gaze had seared against her skin—both a slow ember and a consuming blaze. the way her mouth barely curled at the edges, as if withholding something, some quiet amusement or unreadable intent.

love wasn’t perceptive enough to realize she was being watched. that there was a presence, a pattern, a shadow moving just out of reach. no, she had yet to connect the dots, but something in her bones stirred, a low hum of recognition without a name. it should have unnerved her, but the feeling sat somewhere between fear and belonging—a tether she didn’t remember tying.

she wanted answers, but she didn’t know what to ask. and so, rather than keeping her distance, rather than lingering in the periphery of curiosity, she waited. she let the girl sit first. only then did she move, measured and quiet, slipping into the seat across from her as though she had done it before, in another life, in another forgotten moment.

the note, folded neatly, is pushed across the table, fingers hesitant but compelled.

finally, the explanation surfaces, though it feels like an afterthought to the act itself. “you dropped this the other day—” the words feel strange in her mouth, like they belong to someone else, like she is reciting a script she was never given. her teeth graze her bottom lip, an unconscious act of hesitation. why does she feel afraid to speak?

a strand of hair is caught between her fingers, wound around and around as though binding herself to something tangible. “i mean, i think you dropped it the other day.” she had practiced this, rehearsed it in the mirror, but now the script unravels, her carefully crafted expressions curdling into uncertainty.

“i mean, i found it here a couple of days ago, and i know you like to sit here sometimes…”

a warning sounds in the back of her mind, a siren’s wail urging her to leave, to abandon ship before it’s too late. her body tenses, her breath shallows. run, it tells her. but her gaze catches onto the stranger’s—dark, knowing, too familiar for comfort—and she is frozen in place, tethered, ensnared.

her lips part again, her voice unsteady, betraying something too fragile to name.

“i mean, i’ve seen you sit here a couple of times…”

and there it is—that sensation, that pulse of something inevitable. a thread tightening, a memory reaching for her from the void. "it is yours, isn't it?"

[ncstalgialoop]

irritation permeates each step hana takes within the sorceress's dress. online shopping had never been convenient in anchorage, considering how isolated the state in general is. but, it was nice to have the option of it, especially when hana didn't want to leave her bed, like right now. she yanks clothes hard enough that a tiny cling sounds out everytime she puts one down. so far, she's found nothing that comes close to replacing her torn dress.

she barely notices anyone else in the shop, too wrapped up in finding the most minute detail wrong with each dress. still, she doesn't flinch when someone speaks up. she almost dismisses it, thinking she picked up on a customer talking to an employee. nosiness gets the best of her and she listens anyway. she glances over at the voice, giving the stranger a look just at her eyes, as the rest of her face is hidden underneath the scarf she's wearing.

"what makes you so philosophical while shopping?" hana asks, looking back over at the row of dresses. "aren't you meant to blow off steam here?" hypocritical, coming from her, since she's obviously not relaxed either. after another few seconds, she decides to answer, "people are what they do. how else do you figure out if a person's good or not?"

@anchoragestarters♡ ˚₊‧⁺ જ⁀➴

who: acquaintances or friends ( assume connections + connections page ! ) where: anywhere ( you choose the setting ! ) when: an evening feb 1-4 ( slain by rosemary's baby event ! ) cap: 0 / 4 ( please be fair to muns i don't have threads with and refrain from replying if we have threads here ! )

the usual composure of abina roth is absent tonight, abandoned somewhere between the weight of her thoughts and the relentless pull of her conscience. her doe-like eyes, perpetually wide and searching, are now glossed over with a sorrow so thick it clings to her lashes like the first breath of frost on a winter windowpane. she is not crying—not yet—but there is an unmistakable heaviness in the air around her, a fragile tension in the quiver of her lower lip, the uneven cadence of her breathing. she has cried, or perhaps she is merely on the precipice of it, teetering on the razor-thin edge where grief and restraint collide.

the cause of her suffering? guilt—insidious, unrelenting, a serpent winding its way around the chambers of her heart. it tightens with each beat, constricting vessels, turning warmth to ice, seeping into her very marrow with the merciless chill of an anchorage winter. no amount of fur-lined coats or artificial heat could ward off the cold creeping through her veins, the kind that no season could thaw.

a heavy question lingers in the mind, and is finally spoken to break her silence, "do you think people are bad because that’s just who they are, or is it more about the things they do?"

[ncstalgialoop]

“I have survived, but I have not been spared.”

— Deathless, Catherynne M. Valente  (via charwrites)

[ncstalgialoop]

—verses, tamino

[ncstalgialoop]

A giant tree fell in the forest and no one was around to hear it.

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