#i say this as someone currently fostering two orphan kittens | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noquiem-blog · 7 years

Text

STATS

FULL NAME: Zoe Murphy. PRONUNCIATION: ZO-ee MUR-fee. MEANING: ’Zoe’ means life in greek, while ‘Murphy’ means descendant of Murchadh. NICKNAME(S): She doesn’t really have any, apart from the occasional sweetie, baby or kiddo from her parents/older family members. PREFERRED NAME(S): Zoe. BIRTH DATE: N/A. AGE: 17 in canon. ZODIAC: N/A. GENDER: Cis female. PRONOUNS: She/her. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic. (Zoe does not realise this until midway through college) SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual. (Zoe does not realise this until midway through college) NATIONALITY: American. ETHNICITY: Caucasian. CURRENT LOCATION: In canon she lives in her childhood home with her parents and older brother. Probably somewhere in the midwest. LIVING CONDITIONS: The Murphy family is well off, and this is clearly depicted in the way they live. Zoe’s childhood home is a relatively big house for a small family of four, and she has her own bedroom of medium to big size, with a bathroom connected to it, which she shares with her older brother. She’s never had to cut back on her expenses (which, to be fair, when compared to other girls her age, isn’t high) in order to afford food or clothing. TITLE(S): N/A.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: N/A. HOMETOWN: N/A. SOCIAL CLASS: Middle- to upper-class. EDUCATION LEVEL: College degree. FATHER: Larry Murphy. MOTHER: Cynthia Murphy. SIBLING(S): Connor Murphy. BIRTH ORDER: Connor, then Zoe. CHILDREN: None. PET(S): None in canon. During her third year of college, Zoe fosters and adopts an orphaned kitten, who she names Buttons. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS: Evan Hansen. PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: Evan Hansen

IMPORTANT EVENTS:

Age 6: Starts primary school.

Age 14: Starts high school.

Age 17: Connor dies.

Age 17: The Connor Project is established.

Age 17: Starts dating Evan Hansen.

Age 18: Graduates high school.

Age 18: Moves across the country.

Age 18: Begins college.

Age 22: Graduates from college.

ARRESTS?: None. PRISON TIME?: None.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: While in high school, her parents cover all her spendings and she doesn’t need a job or a primary source of income. During college, however, Zoe chooses to support herself and gets a job waiting tables at a bar near campus. SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: N/A. TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: N/A. APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: N/A. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: As content as a stressed college student can be. PAST JOB(S): She worked at a local diner during the summer between sophomore and junior year, mainly for experience. SPENDING HABITS: Zoe doesn’t actually spend a lot of money. She has a set number of money that she sets in the bank each month, and she doesn’t purchase much more than food, clothing and the occasional book. She does, however, have a subscription to Netflix and HBO. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: Her guitar.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: Average. OFFENSE: Low. DEFENSE: Low. SPEED: Medium. INTELLIGENCE: Average. ACCURACY: Average. AGILITY: Average. STAMINA: Average. TEAMWORK: Good. TALENTS: Guitar playing, writing, baking. SHORTCOMINGS: She’s stubborn and has a black-and-white mindset, which is a little troubling. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English and high school level French. JUMP-START A CAR?: No. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: No. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes. SWIM?: Yes. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Yes. PLAY CHESS?: No. BRAID HAIR?: Yes. TIE A TIE?: Yes. PICK A LOCK?: No.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Laura Dreyfuss. EYE COLOR: Blue with a hint of green in them. HAIR COLOR: Somewhere between dark blonde and light brown. HAIR TYPE/STYLE: Long, wavy hair that’s often left loose with her bangs braided to the side. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: None. DOMINANT HAND: Left. HEIGHT: 5′5″ WEIGHT: N/A. BUILD: Mesomorph. She has some curves, but she’s definitely on the skinnier side. EXERCISE HABITS: Zoe makes sure to jog at least three times a week, and manages to squeeze in two training sessions at the gym each week. SKIN TONE: Pale. TATTOOS: None. PIERCINGS: Her ears are pierced, though she hardly wears anything. MARKS/SCARS: One over her left knee from falling off a bike when she was fourteen. Other than that, just the usual scar from goofing around as a kid. NOTABLE FEATURES: She has freckles speckled across her nose. USUAL EXPRESSION: N/A. CLOTHING STYLE: Zoe definitely goes for the more relaxed style over the over-dressed, stiffly elegant one a lot of girls in her class prefers. She loves her trusted white sneakers, a fashionable mom jean, a plain t-shirt or a knitted sweater. She also loves floral dresses, denim shorts and denim jackets. JEWELRY: She has a few rings she refuses to leave the house without, as well as a star-shaped necklace and a simple silver handband. ALLERGIES: Mosquitos. BODY TEMPERATURE: General. DIET: None. In canon she pretty much eats whatever her mom makes for dinner. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: None.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: INFP. ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 4. MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic good. TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic. ELEMENT: Water. PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Intrapersonal. APPROXIMATE IQ: N/A. MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: None that are diagnosed. SOCIABILITY: Zoe is very sociable, and has a very friendly way of carrying herself. She’s the epitome of the girl next door. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Relatively stable. Less so after Connor’s death, but even then she fights to maintain control over herself and her emotions. OBSESSION(S): None. One could argue that her want to be in control is an obsession, though it would have to be a minor, not unhealthy one. COMPULSION(S): None. PHOBIA(S): None. ADDICTION(S): None. DRUG USE: No. ALCOHOL USE: She drinks when at parties or when the situation calls for it, but only started doing it regularly after turning 21. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: No.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: N/A. ACCENT: Neutral. QUIRKS: She plays with her hair or the sleeves of her jackets/sweaters a lot. HOBBIES: She plays guitar in the jazz band at school. Other than that, she enjoys a bit of reading and the occasional poetry writing. HABITS: Bites the insides of her cheeks when bored, nervous or focused. NERVOUS TICKS: She plays with the edges of her sweaters and her hair when nervous, and bites the insides of her cheeks. DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: After losing Connor and finally being able to grieve him, making sure no one else ever feels so lonely that suicide is the only option. She also wants to teach people that their emotions and reactions to certain things, such as traumatic events, are always valid. FEARS: Losing control, not being able to make her own choices and someone else deciding what she should do. Losing her independence. POSITIVE TRAITS: Kind, empathetic, passionate. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stubborn, relatively narrow-minded, critical. SENSE OF HUMOR: Relatively normal. She’s a big fan of puns and dumb dad jokes, as long as they’re not her dad’s jokes. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: It’s very dependent on her mood and state of mind, as well as which person she’s talking to. On bad days, cuss words slip out easily, while on better days she definitely manages to bite it back. She’s definitely more prone to let them slip out when talking to Connor than when talking to Alana or Jared. CATCHPHRASE(S): N/A. FAVORITE QUOTE (BY CHARACTER): “I don't need more reminders of all that's been broken / I don't need you to fix what I'd rather forget.”

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Performing. Even in a band, Zoe really gets to shine on stage in a way she never gets to in her everyday-life, off-stage. ANIMAL: Dogs. BEVERAGE: Peach-flavoured iced tea. BOOK: Victoria by Knut Hamsun. She reads it every summer. CELEBRITY: Beyoncé, probably. COLOR: It’s a tie between pastel blue and pastel pink. DESIGNER: She doesn’t really pay any attention to designers, or fashion. FOOD: She’s a big pasta fan. FLOWER: Sunflowers or daisies. GEM: N/A. HOLIDAY: Halloween. She loves playing dress-up. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: Bicycle. MOVIE: Across The Universe. MUSICAL ARTIST: Gabrielle Aplin, Joni Mitchell, Sara Bareilles. QUOTE/SAYING: N/A. SCENERY: A blue sky clear of clouds, the sun shining above a field of sunflowers. There’s a forest in the far background. SCENT: Vanilla mixed with sweet, floral undertones. SPORT: Baseball. It’s fun to watch, but she doesn’t care about playing it herself. SPORTS TEAM: Zoe doesn’t really care all that much about sports, unless it’s the Puppy Bowl. So, all the puppies? TELEVISION SHOW: Superstore. Don’t tell anyone, but Amy is her spirit animal. WEATHER: Blue skies with not a single cloud in sight, the sun shining and with a light breeze in the air. VACATION DESTINATION: Bali, Hawaii, Amsterdam.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: Being able to live doing what she loves, surrounded by the people she loves. GREATEST FEAR: Losing control of her life. MOST AT EASE WHEN: Outside during the summer, lying down by the side of a quiet lake. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: At home, during one of Connor’s anger outbursts. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Losing the people she loves, losing control. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Getting through college without having to rely on her parents for a lot of economical support. BIGGEST REGRET: Misunderstanding Connor. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: She probably messed up one of her solos in jazz band once, which she’s never forgotten about and continues to haunt her. BIGGEST SECRET: Her sexuality. TOP PRIORITIES: Maintaining control of her life and of herself. On a shallower level, finding happiness and contentness in life.

TAGGED BY: Myself. TAGGING: Everyone!

#( &. ABOUT. ) remembering through a secondhand sorrow. ❜#this took literally forever but! i'm glad i did it aaah

1 note · View note

hinagamoizaf · 7 years

Photo

Chapter Two = Hand-crafted Love and Infectious Hope

Looking back you stood out from the crowd,

I watched as you were so loud and proud.

This had me amazed how you could be so shrewd,

Never in the slightest did you seem rude,

Yet you managed to find an opening to protrude.

The entwining locks could be seen from afar,

From a stellar altar, came my fostered star.

At the time, I didn’t consider our scars,

Since you were still a stranger and unfamiliar,

However this would grow to be so multipolar.

Your voice came forth as a roaring song,

With it came the star who’d come along.

Let’s go to dance the dark night long gone,

So that it may slowly sprout our bond,

One where both our astral should belong.

Words and writing presented then were quite articulate,

During my course of rebirthed youth, you arrived rather late.

A gentle one, once we both began to associate,

You had me to debate if you were a suitable mate,

Thinking of you as often as I see my bookplate.

Wandering here and there, yet so fair,

Originating from the land, Blair.

Crushed by the ever high, foreign lair,

Unwavering roots had in despair,

Until I stumbled across repair.

Your contrasting starry-sky skin flashes,

Begging, butterfly-batting eyelashes.

A voice far from becoming mere ashes,

Mesmerising mane maintained anguishes,

Beneath all, an ignited soul lushes.

Literature was to come in May,

To a fresh, spring street titled Rosebay.

Fostered star, the only breakaway,

Torn between agape and agapai,

Our sweet daughter’s name will be Renai.

-Fostered Star

(19th July 2012, a Thursday.)

“Khalid-san,” just when I thought I could return to a nostalgic summer of hijinks and bizarre activities, Magoichi-kun catches up with me. He still scares me, I don’t know why. “I wanted to talk to you about the summer project.” “I’m pretty sure that it’s individual work,” I try my best not to be rude, maybe my blank expression will come in handy. “Oh, I know,” preparing myself for a convoluted excuse, “I just figured it’d be courteous for me to let you in on what it’ll be graded on.” “Do the others know about this?” “Heavens, no. Or-not yet at least.” “Then why are you telling me?” “You’re a bit slow.”

Well that definitely stung me. He makes up for it with a weak smile but those eyes say otherwise. I hastily make my way back home, “Pleasure speaking to you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.” “Be careful of that serial killer,” well he knows how to grab someone’s attention. Luckily, I’m not someone so I proceed with my agenda. “You too.” “Can’t wait for the summer to end, that’ll increase our chances of meeting that serial killer.” “With that kind of attitude, I’d recommend a doctor for you.”

(Three days later, 22nd July, a Sunday) I’m woken by a gradual hand movement and the gentle whisper of my name. I blink for three and my eyes are exposed to a universe of blossoming greenery. As the car engine stops, bags are lifted to the grand Japanese house. I carry myself there but not before stopping in awe.

Seasons change as people do, this beauty was meant for so much more than two. At the foot of the threshold, both of my maternal grandparents stand with grace and an aura of might. As a trio, we make our way obediently as lost as orphaned kittens.

“Don’t remember them being this small.”

“You could hardly believe they’re no older than children.”

“Say what you want about genes, their lifestyles definitely shape their miniscule bodies.”

“I don’t pay you gossip about my only grandchildren,” an elderly woman with a petite frame silences everyone gathered at our arrival. Those turquoise eyes that have lived through war, were reborn and now see generations’ worth of peace. She looks at no one except for us four. Doll-like in the way she holds herself and I can pinpoint her genes passed onto us. Our grandmother, Tetsuya Kiwako-Naima; current head of the former Kusanagi family.

Staying close to her waltz is an elderly man of below average height. He has that snow-white hair that my brother and I have inherited. For the battles he’s fought through and the chances he’s risk, that has left him with a lean body for his age. This is our grandfather, Kenshin Mashiro-Maqbul; the disbanded Hoshizora family’s rightful patriarch. While he nervously scans the crowd, his wife breathes in heavily with dismay.

“You push yourself onto a dying woman like me and now you talk behind the backs of what should be your ‘masters and mistress’,” that delivery has sent everyone into an anxious panic. Even us, who aren’t receiving her scolding, are chilled to the bone , “With that kind of attitude, I can easily dismiss you all and go back into isolation. You’ve abused the privilege my husband and I have given you with much reluctance. You’d like to interview the head of the former Kusanagi family? This is her telling you to hold your tongues if you wish to live through the summer.”

“I’ve had Ott and Fez training behind the scenes. I’ve witnessed first hand how Ib can manage. But as for you, Fik, what can do you do? Before this summer officially begins and I send you off to the other realm, I’ve got a task,” Obaasan eyes us like a hawk. “The teleporter, time-traveler, and now the ice mage. But three will be going head to head against one another into order to retrieve,” she fiddles until two items are held up , “The ring of Hoshizora and necklace of Kusanagi, our heirlooms.”

“Act your age now, you three are well aware this no fancy jewellery passed on by the dead. Of course, as your grandfather and I are the current heads of our respective mage families- things now go by our rules. One of which is that when we were as young as you are, we’ve established the Kusanagi and Hoshizora war was to be stopped. In terms of blood and flesh, as you are the second generation of our marriage-it’s interesting to see who really has the right to bear such power.” “The McKnight family is nothing like this, I thank my lucky stars,” Kakak Ib whispers with relief, even she becomes tense when our grandmother is around.

Although our grandparents’ family house exists in Kyoto, due to magical interference; the land under their name can change from traditional Japanese landscape. We’re brought to an area of scenery I can best described as the moors, as I recall Kakak Ib once explaining to us from her paternal British heritage. The moors expand further than the horizons, as wild and exposed as God intended; we climb hills that are wuthering. Stunted trees exist in circle groups, close at their roots are thorns permanently bent by the wind.

With poised elegance that puts the sweetest of roses to shame, Kakak Ib sprouts her faery wings as she flutters to what can be considered the heart of these moors. In one hand she clenches the ring of Hoshizora , in the other she clasps onto the necklace of Kusanagi. Beacons of starry skies and bands of cutted grass escape her hands like trails for lost children. A kaleidoscope forms on her fingertips, the heirlooms slip themselves in their vessel like obedient children. My cousin beams at us and it hits me what a beauty she is, from the deepest parts of her soul to wherever the tips of her being can touch.

She isn’t exactly what I’d call an ideal lady, because that changes with context and personal preference. To me though, she is the perfection of an English rose.One day, Ibtihal-Eloise Victor-Mamun will not only be the most stellar soldier that the British Faeries will ever see. She’ll be more than just the most sensational Trauma Mage skilled with her trusty rapier. She is my family now through technical and personal means, but oh yes the day will come; she’s going to be my sister-in-law.

“Naqiy’s granddaughter will be guarding the heirlooms,” Obaasan’s voice, “This is going to be a fun little exercise. Obtain the heirlooms by the end of this trial. Of course, one such opponent will be your cousin-and I myself.”

We remain silent and almost frozen in fear by that announcement. Sure, my brothers and I could easily back away. But as our grandmother would say, where’s the ‘fun’ in that? The three of exchange looks declaring our rivalry towards the other. Each to his or her own, we’re determined to grab those heirlooms by our own strength, skill and perseverance. This is only the ‘fun’ trial, our summer’s just kicking off.

The winged swordswoman immediately targets Ott-nii, I catch glimpses of Obaasan challenging Abang; as for myself? I’m faced against a different obstacle:elemental illusions.

An unidentified beast nudges itself against me, catching me off guard. Just when I’m about to trip, what feel like sturdy fingers pick at me ever so gently. Strangely, this helps me gain my balance again. I don’t know what it is, I can’t even see it-but without a doubt, it’s here and I can feel it. Almost as if it lives in me, like a restless spirit visiting the living. I reach out ever so slightly, only to be greeted by an eerie touch that exists as thin air. My heart loses its rhythm momentarily as I undergo an invisible inspection. I taste a sliver of blood by chance and everything loses its gentle magic. Just as I’ve lost to a season’s torment of a heartbreak.

I’m caught by my wrists and forced to remain a prisoner. I can struggle all I want, this substance isn’t moving an inch. Figures of fleeting happiness dance before me like silhouettes. I breathe and catch the smallest whiff of smoke lingering among skin. Hues of summer’s sunset flash before me as fast as the first heartache of the season. My memory calls back to a day of fire, a fragment in my life is burning. But soon, it’ll blaze up to shame Hell. My eyes flicker for focus as my mind feels torn; at least-there’s one thing I can positively say isn’t hurting me right now.

“Been awhile since we’ve clashed, hasn’t it?” Ott-nii grits as he leans in closer.

“Sparring was always my favourite game with you,” Kakak Ib smirks, her rapier sends off a rainbow of sparks. “You think you’re fit enough to be the wife of my brother!?” with the roar of his voice crafting a crescendo across the moors, I see explosions going off in unpredictable directions. They might as well be clashing teeth to teeth by now. “I don’t think, I know!” she breaks off for what I assume is meant to give her rest; but I couldn’t be more wrong. Veiled as a dance, I know she’s actually preparing her next attack. That’s a faery for you, “And that’s not the main thing here-it’s whether he can catch up as my husband!”

I can’t tell anymore is this is battle of skilled strength or who has the most powerful voice. Regardless Ott-nii and Kakak Ib continue with their ‘sparring’, each to his or her own delivering more impactful declares with even more ground-breaking attacks.I really should be focusing on getting myself out, but I can’t help but focus on them instead.

It’s just there, in my sight and practically within my reach! You want something? You bloody work for it. Now I’m working for those heirlooms with my brother standing in my way. “We can handle this like one of those old west showdowns,” Abang jabs at me. “It think-”I skin my brother with an ice dagger, “That’ll be more to your advantage with this one.”

I know him, I’ve memorised his limits. There’s only so much he can do with his time-traveling magic. Besides, what’s good old fashioned sibling rivalry without a few punches and scratches?

I force myself to a stand-still and produce spiderweb-like attacks of ice in a rotating circle. All at once, I’m also crafting a gradual wall of ice. If all goes as plan, then- Within a heartbeat, I find my brother’s now carried me on his shoulders. To an outsider, we’re not that much of a sight, with both us of having petite frames. But this is just what I needed, as he pants and produces trickle of sweat. “You’re time-traveling for this?”I tease him “Even if you’re just my little sister, I’m not holding back as a mage,” he responds as shivers run down our joined spine. Yes, I said ‘joined spine’. He realises this as I‘ve delivered a streak of ice from my spine to his. Entrapping both of us in this frozen cage. “I’m going to be mature about this.”

“That just means you’re a loser,”he clenches his grip, hoping to cause some kind of physical damage or have me forfeit. I retaliate by drawing the spiderweb ice cage closer to us, until it freezes his body and keeps my front exposed. “That little trick of yours was enough to drain an inch of your stamina. But an inch of stamina in a whole battlefield is a hazardous trick.” “And I can see that your little cage will drain me out more by keeping me frozen, causing me to lose my warmth and senses in a frozen state. But I didn’t just use my time-traveling magic to teleport myself,” he chuckles a little, I’m puzzled. I finally look around to see a outer circle of weapons over history targeted at both of us.

He could have used a wrestling move on me. When that time-travel trick looks like a quick trip to make me vulnerable, at the same time he’s gathered weapons. Just how self-destructive are the two of us?” “Bit of an ugly trick if I’m the one getting myself hurt too.” “Well,your face is ugly,” I’m panicking, I need a plan.

“You two have the same face!” from a distance Ott-nii catches wind of this. The weapons come charging at us anyway; I retaliate by forcing spider web cage onto us, thus freeing. Abang realises this strains my stamina and the ice streak on our spines breaks away. He takes advantage of my panic and runs full speed at heirlooms, with me still on his shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? I’m just dead weight here,” I call out on him. “Are you now?” he has me questioning his choices.

I can still see Ott-nii teleporting around to gather the frozen weapons; at last the second, Kakak Ib drags him all with what he’s gathered.She throws Ott at his us, dust clouds forming and we’ve all finally gathered, individually she impales us with her rapier to invoke trauma. “You-Ott-carrying the blood of Antarctic mages? Hyo, you want to join the British fairy soldiers? You’re always going to let men shadow you, Fik? While you were playing fairytales, I’ve trained rigorously and mercilessly disciplined myself to become only the elite of living war weapons!”

My brothers relentlessly tussle at each other, shooting all sorts of attacks that’ll send anyone to the hospitals of Timbuktu.This is my opportunity, this is my chance: I’ve worked for this. As erratic as a hare, I launch myself into the air with ice as my ramp support. The winds become stronger and almost send me flying, which is actually perfect for this scenario. Just as I’m an arm’s length away from the heirlooms, our faery soldier unsuspectingly rushes in with her rapier in action. An explosion conjured by intense force and surreal fiction sets off a nuclear-like trigger. A mushroom cloud erupts and with this overbearing hurricane, waves of heat has me scorched. I keep myself sheltered with attempts of ice barriers, that too cracks under slices of swift dart-like weapons. I produce my ice to at least help me grip onto any stable foundation, but this bomb of white blinding light catches me off guard with an indiscriminate piercing banshee-like screech assaulting my eardrums.

My body temporarily freezes from the inside out, as if an armour of ice was trying to protect me from that blast but the cold temperature would still cause damage. I grow numb and unstable, a throbbing headache coming and all my joints hurt so much I want to scream. In a rush like blood to your head, my senses return but I almost experience a blackout. I say almost because the shock of this wasteland sends nerves crawling under my skin.

An abysmal apocalypse extends before me as far as the horizon can touch. The skies are drenched in a red more striking than a sunset and patches of black darker than any dead night. Fire erupts and delivers disfigurements. Lasers of what I can tell are magic strikes send destruction. I recognise this area, it’s my grandparents’ house. This, this is a war; the one I’ve heard stories of growing up. The rival war between the Hoshizora and Kusanagi families; the zenith of conflict between mage legacies in Kyoto.

Breathe, breathe, breathe: don’t force yourself to keep pacing around. Your head and world are only going to keep spinning, focus on yourself-that’s what matters. There must be a rational answer for this, don’t rush, you have time to re-evaluate. I was just about to get the heirlooms, then Kakak Ib came in full swing with her rapier. This must be reopening a trauma, but whose? Or rather, what’s? Furthermore, this war takes place in the past...a work of my brother’s time-traveling magic? There must have been a clash of separate magic forces, resulting in all of this.

With risk in hand, I try waving my hands around. With much hesitance, I stretch my arms too.There’s no impact on me, and with that unintentional combination of trauma and time-traveling magic...I can assume only my soul or part of my conscious is actually here. That must be the other mages can’t see nor touch me, which solves any issue of injuries from this battlefield. That little heirloom game has already got me battered.

These mages are just going on an all-out war with each other, it’s mental. Bloodshed becomes somewhat of a norm, I hear sirens going off in the distance as this catastrophic fire has just emerged. I want to help, but that would cause an unnecessary butterfly effect. As it’s just my mind that’s exposed, could I actually do anything here? Every magic under the moon and each name under the sun is being thrown around like there’s no tomorrow. These people are fighting for honour, the right to claim their spot as the very best. My ancestors are against each other, causing all sorts of magical rifts, inflicting pain and wreaking havoc...without the slightest clue of a future where children are born from both families.

Roars as mighty as lions’ erupt from the battlefield, putting any other army to shame. Flashes of light and rivers of blood dance before my sight, you’d think I’d get desensitised by just how much there is...but there’s just so much of it I become nauseous. Spells chants from various walks of life, gestures that are foreign to my experiences, weapons of mass destruction used so aggressively...absolutely anything deemed warfare goes here, everything that hell itself would take pride in is happening here.

With blurred vision and an ominous chance of hyperventilating, I make my escape. I head to the only source of assurance, the actual house. I push aside everything and cast every inch of mental effort of finding a peace of mind. I hear voices in a vacant hallway, cloths drawn with silhouettes emerging like a shadow puppets dance. With my eye I spy an all too familiar couple, my grandparents in their youth. It’s funny to see how how this is younger versions of themselves, but scary to pinpoint the characteristics that would eventually be passed onto my brothers and I.

“Kiwako-dono,” Sofu calls her name with a soft voice. “Mashiro-sama,” Obaasan dashes to his side with longing gazes. Even during a time of war, these lovers can exchange shards of promises; shards that would eventually gather under undying oaths to become a shimmering glass of their future.

Perhaps it’s because of the war itself that they can spark such light to dance along the rippled rivers.As revolting as humans can be, there’s something exquisite of how comfort can be found during the most damning of hours.Although their circumstances are far from favourable, the duo that stands before me have brought both the worst & best out of each other. To the ends of the earth and beyond, how they’ve endured the piercing shards of glass, how they’ve breathed through this ablaze battlefield, how they’ve looked past their blood titles to join in unity. No mage nor magic could conjure this relationship, this is the purest form in which human hearts can share their efforts.Everyone wants to leave behind their legacy, any proof that they’ve existed and their work is worth the creative recognition: my grandparents’ legacy is not their acclaimed family history. It’s the reborn family they’ve claimed for their own , with three children and five grandchildren so far- this is the glass ornament that needs no rose tints nor shimmering light to exposure its beauty. For it shares so much more than mere beauty; grace, passion and imagination: this was how I was born out of war, much like how any piece of art is born out of suffering. But by the beings above, are the shards ever worth the journey.

“Birds of a feather flock together-you’re both alive!” their reunion is cut short by another mage I recognise as Abang’s and Kakak Ib’s Bruneian grandfather, Naqiy. Close by his heels is his sweetheart who has the most concerned expression written across her dainty face. It’s the same one I’ve seen in my brother and his cousin. “Are you two ready?” the female Bruneian mage enquires, my grandparents exchange a look of determination and without any shred of doubt; take each other’s hand in one another. “What’s out there, it’s a utter warzone.” “What’s out there is my family,” Obaasan takes her eyes off her sweetheart and address them all, “What’s out there is Mashiro-sama’s people too, the most devastating of wars are fought between families. They say every death has meaning in life, that each painful lesson is worthwhile experience. Then I plead to the foreign voices, what is the value of this rival war? The Kusanagi and Hoshizora families have been at each other’s throats as long as the sun has risen and as deep as the ocean can touch. Escape to the air and even there you’ll find clouds of dismay. If this war has brought Mashiro-sama and I together by the red string of fate; then my wedding vows will be a soldier’s declaration.” “Speaking of the red string of fate,” my brother’s paternal grandfather gathers parchments to read, dipped in blood and ink, “Even since our ancestors left Ambivalent, it is common practice to betroth mage children with one another,’’ he looks up at everyone in the room with the gentle eyes I’ve witnessed from his grandchildren, “Are you sure you want to continue with this?” “We’ve also agreed that it will be their free will to decide whose hand in marriage they’ll take,” Sofu reminds the group with a roaring voice , “I’m positive Kiwako-dono’s and my fathers are rolling in their grave by our unity. But our unity is our choice. Perhaps the brutal enforcement of this rivalry stirred a rebellion in our youthful hearts to seek solace in each other. In any case, I have her and she has me, then we met you two. If our children are to be betrothed to any other mage family, I rather that family be yours- the very catalyst for our unity.” “Oh,” Naqiy’s sweetheart has a smirk all over her beautiful face, “These two are definitely ready to talk out there.”

Hands entwined, my grandparents make their way to a tattered balcony. They prepare themselves for shelter, yet what beats their timing is the dead silent reaction of their men. One by one, gasp by gasp, everyone stops and focuses on the forbidden couple before them. I can feel the tension myself as a heavy weight unloads itself onto my chest. Just from the balcony’s entrance, I can still see Naqiy with his young lady standing from the shadows; keeping smiles to themselves.

“Hoshizora men. Is the legacy of my predecessor, Kenzin, meant to be painted by lost mortality and exposed graves? Is your duty represented by passing on the legacy of our bloodline? What do you consider to be the cost of a ‘hero’, or as I see it, ‘fallen mages’? Wake up! You’re doing this for the Hoshizora name?”

“I-am-the-head-of-the-Hoshizora-bloodline-and this is nothing that bears honour to our name! I do not live in a fantasy realm where conflict is pure evil nor is death the embodiment of nightmares; I have grown far from my predecessor’s teachings. Not just as a mage, but as a man; and I can tell you that I value the necessity of each darkness to every light-but not like this! Would or ancestors smile upon the wrath that has possessed us now? Will our descendants celebrate the greed that channels our efforts? Is this how you wish our name to be shared, through sin of war!? By an immature rivalry? Being the best isn’t all there is to life, gaining respect through fear and dreadful victories is not what you’d want to carry to your grave,” Sofu’s snow-white hair remains untouched by the destructive ashes yet the coarse winds continue to blow it.

“My Kusanagi brethren.Are my men fueled by such envy that they would willingly stride into Hell; to not only inflict suffering upon yourselves, but also to those bystander lambs around you? Why must pain to brought to the pacifists when they are still healing? Why is that to those who decide not to act must be severely punished too? To be dragged into this misery of futile battles. What use is of pride if it means the death of your brothers? Do you not feel the sins tainting your heart? Or have you already be blinded by the flickering promise of dirty glory? A promise that is an insignificant flame on a harrowing winter’s eve, the shadows that are produce resemble lingering demons while the wax is as vulnerable as Icarus was to the sun. Can you wholeheartedly tell me you feel even a sliver of warmth from that? All I can truly feel is unjustified envy and blind pride fueling a flame of self-destruction, contributing to magic’s malady.Have you all lost your humanity or is this a result of war robbing you of sanity?”

“My father, Tetsuya, was not the most reasonable of men. As his daughter and heir of the Kusanagi family, I can’t begin to apologise on his behalf for encouraging such ludicrous ideals: to the point you’ve all registered them as lifestyles. But I implore you, this Kusanagi Kiwako speaks to you of a reality beyond mirrors; I am speaking to you now as a human. End this rivalry and war, ” Obaasan’s turquoise eyes dance along the red skies and are ignited by the enchanting light.

There’s a peculiar phenomenon that pays a visit; and now I’m being winded up through that. Like clockworks, I feel my gears turning and churning, twisting at every nook and cranny. It’s on the tip of my tongue yet I can’t express it, which is why I suppose it’s called ‘tip of the tongue’. On that bleeding vein, why do they call it ‘cat got your tongue’? And what of ‘got your nose’? I’m sure there’s some dialect origin, or one of those folklore-esque nursery rhymes. Would this relate with the ‘catfish’ instance? For one of the most pivotal events in my grandparents’ youth, I sure am giving full attention.

Sofu clears his throat and runs his eyes across the warzone, I watch the flame and fear consume him. Obaasan takes note and runs her bruised fingers along his scarred hand; I continue to watch the same flame die out as solace envelops him. He releases exacerbated gasps as she unleashes easing whispers. I tune in to the crackling fire of his breath and witness the swaying waves in her eyes. “You don’t need to prove yourself to any knucklehead. You were born into this path for your own sake, with your personal purpose and are so deserving of happiness. Even if my stars weren’t as fortunate, I am blessed to have come across yours and in my lifetime; can with no rebuttals : declare the human beside me is a collection of hand-crafted love and infectious hope. Go on, it’s this world that doesn’t deserve you. Maybe that’s why our time is nearly up : because you belong with heavenly perfection and that doesn’t exist where my brethren are slitting each other’s throats. And if my sinned soul is to ever touch your soaring spirit wherever this war takes us- remind me of this hour. The one where smoke doesn’t escape as easily as lost dreams, the one where ablazed battlefield resurrects these ghosts that continue searching for miracles. For once, with my watery eyes: it didn’t hurt to look at such a passionate fire that braced itself for the burn.”

I watch my grandfather breathe through his flames and finally speak.

“Lucifer himself could not damn me to any torture compared to what you ask of me now. I am not blind to realise the soul that inhibits this body is meant to be my enemy, but it is that very soul where I am blessed with paradise before death. I could roam this Earth for a thousand years, forsake me back to Ambivalent if you must- as long as she remains by my side, Hell itself is where I belong. Now you ask of me to rip myself of her essence, starve myself of her grace. The heir of the Kusanagi family isn’t a perfect angel-to me, she is human and for that she is my utopian partner. I need not of exotic jewels and pristine weaponry to catch my fancy: with her raw heart of honesty, she captures every breathtaking sight and mind blowing thought that the galaxies could ever craft. Tell me again to separate myself from her as a sacrifice to your wrath and greed-even the white hair in our genes conveys as much warmth as a winter’s corpses in comparison to your unworldly demand,” Sofu has his say, returning to a strange stage of relief and anxiety. Proud that he’s finally got it off his chest, but also very self-conscious of his words with what impression it may leave.

Confusion spreads itself like wildfire. Grudges are already forged as inextinguishable hazards.My grandfather would hardly look the way of this smoke’s trail.

“You dare call yourselves my brethren when the grief of this man is enough to welcome my sins? Who is it that breathes of stardust and slays ignited wastelands behind these turquoise eyes? My destiny doesn’t settle itself for a Shakespearean tragedy, my fate is not engraved along gloomy moors. While the loss of Mashiro-sama may devastate me, it will not be the tempest that sends me into an abyss nor will it be the flame that sets my stability ablaze. I was capable of fighting my own wars prior to encountering him; and through meeting him too, I have discovered battlefields beyond my wildest nightmares. Perchance the same way ocean tides begin to ebb and flow by the moon’s touch; the head of the Hoshizora family has been a catalyst to my own dewy flourishment,’’ Obaasan takes centre stage and out-stretches her arms as vast as the horizon can touch. She’s but a small, lone lion-cub standing her guard against a stampede of wild-beasts.

Tiny but mighty, even the fastest of heartbeats tremble with anxiety. I watch her uneven breathing, listen to her little yet noticeable gasps- her whole being shakes as her eyes fleet for focus. Fleet for a reason to stay, fleet for a purpose to muster her courage and continue speaking.This time around, her male significant other taps onto her wrists, pressing ever so gently onto her veins. All it takes is one miniscule exchange and she has a macrocosmic leap.

“I am not another miserable soul lost in a lover’s malady: for what may taint me with disease is the foundation of my stout-hearted soul. I am the accretion of years’ worth of a Dunkirk spirit rebelling against the ordeal of misfortune. It was through that very misfortune I’ve found solace and inspiration in the shape of my supposed rival. I would lay my life down for my own heart’s drive; but never for those that have driven my heart. I’d be a fool to waste this existence behind watery turquoise eyes and under a grave that doesn’t even welcome my sins,” she almost staggers and trips, but makes a quick recovery and clears her throat as a cover up.

Concerns are being harvested as sheepish-shifting grows. I spot one Kusanagi member open his mouth in an agape manner. I spy Hoshizora person hesitantly tap or at least catch the attention of another, but alas neither of my distant ancestors actually do anything. It’s all well and good to have the plans, the urge, the utilities to change. But unless you actually change, and I mean actively do something about it: you’re about as good as fish on land and a cat in a tree.

Imagine a sheep, goat and ram all journeying towards the same mountain. The goat stops at the hill. The ram takes a break because its bruised its ankle. The sheep goes , “Screw this,” and morphs into an elegant eagle gliding into the sunrise. That’s what detailed plans and burning passions are unless you make a start to work of them. Any start is better than a dormant volcano.

“This war has roasted our families: for it has not only brought grave pain, but to the brink of death as well? Look at those homunculi that reside in the back of our minds that are as corrupted and dark as our hearts! This isn’t how our mage ancestors from Ambivalent would have wanted it to come to be!” Sofu and Obaasan chant in unison.

Looks of panic at fluttered and flickered if I think my grandparents are going for the decoy route they’re going for. Obaasan unleashes a banshee’s shriek while clawing at her scalp. She bends backwards in an arch shape, almost fainting until Sofu catches her. But he too drops to his knees and begins violently coughing. The combined members start another riot and instinctively try entering the building. But from where I’m standing ( or celestially hovering if you’d call it that), Naqiy and his young lady are purposely holding the door up. Locking and blocking the entrance from men blind of status and so-called ‘sworn enemies’.

Men start violently ramming into the building, pieces of rubble deteriorate as sparks of magic whirl in a hurricane. From above, the once Kusanagi Kiwako continues to choke as the former Hoshizora Mashiro coughs up blood. Truly an oscar-worthy performance for these two.

“...homunculi…,” I hear someone weakly mumble under their breath. “Hisao Clan...demons,” another hesitantly widens his eyes.

I couldn’t stay long enough to see if Hell would break loose again.

I return back to the present of Spring 2012 as I hear pigments of familiar voices. As I feel the touch of which I’ve been deprived of.

“..t, your attention to detail and meticulous planning has its fair share of benefits. But when things go as you’ve strategized, you blow like a fuse and enter a beast-like stage of aggression.”

I slip back and forth between dimension. I slip in and out as if I’m part of separated souls. “-z, you’re an average man. But once you set yourself to it, the limits don’t even restrain you. You are the limit and go over, with only something ever so personal to encourage you.”

I’m nauseous, everything hurts-someone’s missing. I’m numb but my insides are on fire. I’m going insane, losing grasp of reality. I see my grandmother’s reflection in a piece of glass...or is that my own reflection? Perhaps even...no, mo- “Fik. You take time, yet-once you’re officially in the ring, are you ever agile as a perk of your petite stature. Impact may not cause earthquakes, but that height and swiftness is ideal for what exists beyond eyes.”

I’m pleading for breath and any semblance of consciousness to return. Kakak Ib cradles me in her arms, I can almost swear my grandmother smirking in my direction.

“Either your grandmother’s a sadist or has great sarcasm,” she whispers, my brothers look at our cousin in confusion. “From Eri , I thank my lucky stars that at least two of you have inherited my humor,” Obaasan chuckles then turns melancholic with bittersweet smile, “Now only three remain.”

She now takes me from Kakak Ib’s embrace, “ Dear, would you tend to my grandsons? I need some one-one-one with my last granddaughter.” I can’t even tell if they’ve left, or if I’m being taken elsewhere. I shiver and jitter, but it’s not as lonely or sad when she’s here. She’s here. She is not here. He was never here.

“Rather graphic, wasn’t it?” Obaasan settles herself by the tree, I sit myself on the ground beside her. “It’s not that I didn’t comprehend their need to be the very best. Our respective families were already at the zenith of their prime hour. Although it feels like centuries, to some, it was just yesterday that our ancestors left their original world. They weren’t naturally born with that strength either, those mages worked from rock bottomed and did everything within their universe to maintain that hierarchy. Pride didn’t corrupt them, but there are more peaceful ways to live.”

“Being the very best family means respect,” I add my own thoughts and think back to all the times my brothers have outshined me , “You appear wiser, skilled-worthy. No one takes you for granted, you’re more likely to be treated more seriously and live with recognition. You can even give your future family what you had been deprived of, all because you’ve placed that much effort and dedication.”

“Then you must clearly empathise with your uncles,” she takes a sip of her tea and gazes longingly at the sky, “Your prodigious mother must have gotten on their nerves. Even with all the love in the world, my sons secretly resented their only sister. Because no matter what they did, they were always outshined. But even the greatest of stars fall, if not by pressure-then great calamity was bound to follow in her trail.”

There’s a lot of things that could refer to. I rather not search my memory for what that exactly could refer to. Regardless of the truth, I’m in favour that one of those calamities was my birth.

“Did it make a difference?” “My birth?” “I’m sorry?” “I mean-what did?” “You heard that very preachy speech your grandfather and I came up with last minute, but I’m sure you had a glimpse of the homunculi.” “The catalyst of the war between our Kusanagi and Hoshizora families.” “The reason I need your and your brothers’ help, the purpose why you’re living in Japan. They’ve returned, your grandfather and I are far past our golden age. While my last son is occupied, you three as our remaining flesh and blood will be the last hope.” “I won’t disappoint you.” “In this world or even life you just owe it to yourself to try to meet and exceed your own expectations of yourself. Other people should be content with the knowledge that you're doing your best. More than content.”

I stare at her in disbelief for what feels like an eternity. Oh my days, I can’t handle it any longer-I’ve been bottling it up for so long it hurts as much as the root. I break down and weep, clasping my hands over my mouth and position myself into a fetus position. I hear her humming, I meet him again in my memories and pass that onto tonight’s dreams.

“I realised he’s said those exact words to you before, which is why I chose them. My crescent moon, your fostered star was watching over you as best as he could. Don’t let the life he’s saved until that goodbye go in vain. Live through this world for the boy you’ve loved with what little humanity you had left.”

[From Fuyukioku’s perspective.]

Briefly shuffling near the entrance of my apartment, I collect myself and lock the door. One last check wouldn’t hurt. “Ah, Io-chan,” from the hallways emerges my ‘front door neighbour’. Shoulder length auburn hair tied in a half up half down hairstyle, eyes the shade of a sunset shielded by spectacles, she greets me with an endearing smile-it’s none other than Ashitahime Natsumi. I chuckle to myself while fiddling with a book in hand.

“What are we? Elementary students?” I tease her. “That’s nothing wrong with the way I address you at this age,” her expression turns melancholic and I wonder why , “I heard from Tsu-chan that you’re away for the summer.” My heart sinks. “Apologises for not being around for your birthday,” what kind of weak response is that? “It’s not that at all, it’s-” “Our final summer together? Hey now, we’re still ‘front door neighbours’.” “I saw the application,” I never meant to hurt her , “It’s a terrific school, Io-chan-you are the brightest boy I’ve ever known.” “There is an option to not stay at their boarding house.” “But can you imagine the hours commuting? Especially during exam season.” “O-kay, let’s say I do go their. What about Mitsuyo? There’s no way I’m leaving him alone.”

“I overheard my parents the other night, they said they’ll be his legal guardians while you’re studying,” I hear her fake a laugh, “Now he can actually be my younger brother.” “Who’s to say you won’t get accepted? You can’t assume the worst or predict the future, y’know?” “It’s not where I want to go.” “Wrong, it’s not the high school your parents want you to attend.”

Even if I took that too far, she’ll remain passive. She does look at me, her eyes going watery. Yet, there’s always that flame, a silent one that burns behind her shell. “What are you now? A puppy? Am I supposed to go soft because you shed a few tears?” that seemed to lighten the tension, for she’s forcing herself to blink away her misery. “Haha, that’s just like you, Io-”

I take it to myself to remove her spectacles and wipe away her tears with my sleeve, “May I never be the reason that you weep,” I mutter under my breath. “No promises from this broken bird,” she declares that no louder than a whisper of the night.

(The next day, 23rd July.)

There’s other ways I could be spending my summer. More productive projects I can dive into. There’s a hundred, thousand more enjoyable activities I could engage with. This, is most definitely, without any restraint on positivity; not even a smidge of those hundred, thousand that’d come close to stimulate my cognition.

“Shouldn’t a brat like you be good and home with his parents?” Jounetsu Genji has the audacity to complain in this overbearing heat. “Don’t assume, I’ve got a relative’s son living with me but he’s on a trip this summer. How about a freak like you? Bet you’re a hikikomori* with a dakimakura** you drag along for dinner,” I toss back at him, “Ouroboros.” “For your information, I’m a working man with a stable income. Bet you don’t even have a girlfriend,” he appears confused then makes a hissing noise, “And what on God’s green earth is ore-ure..that, ouwar-” “I don’t plan on wasting my youth on someone who’s just going to turn it sour.” “Ouch, well you’re bitter.” “I’m simply being realistic, you weirdo.” “I ain’t the one spouting poetic lines like some kind of pretentious twat.” “I’ve just have a more defined vocabulary than you.” “Bet that’s the only thing you’re whacking out and it ain’t even that impressive.” “At least I’ve got facts and don’t go running off like an incompetent buffoon.” “That was one time already, will you give it a rest!?” *Hikikomori= reclusive adolescents or adults who withdraw from social life, often seeking extreme degrees of isolation and confinement. **Dakimakura=Body pillow

“And will you stop trespassing on my property?” an elderly woman appears , “Young men, this is private land...mere mortals should be veiled by the magic,” she whispers last part. Ouroboros nudges mei like a deer caught in headlights, “Psst, what do we do?” “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult here!?” he cracks his voice but clears his throat, “Excuse us, ma’am, there must have been a misunderstan-” “I’ll have you hanged if you come a step closer.” “Excuse me?” I blink with immense fear. “She said she’ll have us ha-” “I know what she said!” I lose my cool but eventually calm my temper , “I’m in no position to talk, but that’s rather extreme-”

I actually feel like a deer caught in headlights.

The last thing I see before losing all consciousness is that stupid Ouroboros falling face down. But more importantly, this elderly woman; it’s almost as if she’s..”

“...Fashia…”

[From Fikriya-Mikazuki’s Perspective.]

I read through family documents, birth certificates, arranged marriage forms. Bittersweet memories come flooding back then extinguish themselves as fast as the sparks can be ignited. Unexpectedly I hear familiar voices; I attempt to hide in a neighbouring room to listen. I peer through the sliding door’s gap. As if my eyes are deceiving me, there sit Shiori-senpai and Jounetsu-san. But a factor I can believe is that they look- ‘drowsed’. The more I squint, it’s as if they’re tied up or being physically restrained- a matter I can actually believe my grandmother doing.

“I believe you’ve already met my granddaughter?” Obaasan begins, yet I have the feeling this is tying up the end of their conversation.

“You have a granddaughter?” they question in unexpected unison. I slide open the door with great force, the two of them stare at me in confusion.

“Khalid Fikriya…-Mikazuki-kun? Wh-”

“My God, you’re a girl!?” the older of the latter shouts in alarm, my senior’s eyes grow as he jumps in shock.

“How is this possible?”

“Good to know my mum went through all the trouble of giving birth to me for this,” I mumble under my breath.

“He’s a girl!?” Jounetsu-san continues shouting.

“How the bloody hell did I not see this!?” Shiori-senpai moves about.

“Surprise, I don’t come from Mars,” I mutter followed by a sigh.

“IT’S-A-GIRL!?” gee, can never get enough of that beloved shouting.

“HOWINGOD’SGREENEARTH!?” great news, it’s just my all-time favourite stages of grief from my beloved senior.

“This isn’t the first time its happened,” my brother adds for the first time, I notice he’s here too.

Dear November Star, are you still watching this?

Sincerely, Your April Moon.

#Hinaga Moizaf #oddity #Oddity club #creative writing #english literature #Fantasy Story #Japanese inspired #poets on love #Wattpad #Ren'ai

0 notes