see what you did there
[The Mansion won't let anyone keep their secrets for long. Mikami should have remembered that. There'll always be a room that isn't the kitchen, right when you need it the least.
His body is covered in words. Covered in names, scrawled over every inch of his skin, dense and overlapping but most of them all too legible. The ink is wet. It won't ( Read more... )
His body is covered in words. Covered in names, scrawled over every inch of his skin, dense and overlapping but most of them all too legible. The ink is wet. It won't ( Read more... )
::As she opens her eyes after the changes occur, she notices the room is red and many of the inhabitants have numbers and letters floating just over their heads...::
What happened-where am I?!
::there's a bit of panic in her voice, the voice that is still generally Misa, yet with a strange twist to it - haunting.::
::Suddenly, she feels a breeziness through her. Upon looking down at herself, she finds her chest cavity open, with two grated doors swung wide, like an ornate birds cage. Spilling out of opening is a tangled mess of thorny branches and dead flowers. Her hair, while still long, has turned white with just the barest hint of a yellowish/golden tint, as if very ages and dried out. It looks as if it would crinkle if touched, like paper mache.::
::Further down, her hips wear a bone dress with large gapes in it. She can feel, by the breeze, that there isn't much skin covering her pelvis or thigh bones. Near the middle of the thigh, petrafied skin re-appears, slowly making it's way over the rest of her legs, parts of which seem to have bandages on them.::
::Reaching her hands up, which seem detached from her body, held on by long strings yet still seem to move in an eerie way, she touches her face, wondering what it looks like. To others, they would see it is still rather Misa, yet her eyes are a golden red now, the pupils slightly narrower, and it almost seems as if the eyelashes are simply dark parts of her skin...::
Is this...really me?
((ooc: Took a few pictures as references as well as throwing a few ideas of my own in. :P Here's some of the reference pictures in case you're interested:
http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h120/Narcissus---/Manga%20Covers/BeautifulPeople.jpg <-Hips/legs thing.
http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b227/darkside1124/bizenghastart.jpg <-Pretty much the rest of her, the eyes, chest thing, and also her arms are like that, too :D Enjoy! She won't have much of her memories, but she's likely to get feelings from others. Also, she has sharp pointy teeth, much like Ryuk, if one were to be able to see passed her lips.))
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*He tries to say her name -- questioning -- but no sound comes out; his fingers twitch in her direction.*
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::When she reaches him, she kneels down in front of him so they are more of less at the same height. Looking over his head, she notes that his lifespan is not by any means short, so whatever is hurting him, it seems it will not kill him. Wait, how did she know that? And the letters...why are they so familier::
You are in pain...I'm sorry. But it seems it will not kill you.
::her voice is sad, but truthful. Her gaze holds on her face, slightly confused, expression pained::
...why are you so familier?
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Misa -- it is -- heart. Dying. You --
*His hand moves, again, as he tries to reach for her.*
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No, no you're not dying...I can plainly see your lifespan, it's no where near finished.
::at his movement, as he's trying to reach her, her head tilts slightly, confused. Why would he want to touch her, the way she looks... but, gingerly, she reaches her slightly detached, strangely petrified skined hand to his, the long, bone fingers curling delicately around his palm. She waits for his reaction, her pained, nearly unearthly voice passing over her scratchy looking lips::
Please be still. Perhaps, the pain will pass with rest.
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It is -- failure. You can see?
*He refers to his lifespan, but somewhere in his mind, he is putting together what has happened to her.*
What are you?
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Yes, I can see. I can see your name too. It's a strange one...just a letter for your first name...
::His words sting slightly, and she lowers her eyes a bit::
I am a shinigami, but...I feel strange. As if I am not complete. I don't know how I got here...or...how I came to be this way...I'm not sure why I am telling you, but, something about you makes me feel comfortable.
::It's then that she remembers he used her name::
You knew my name. How did you know my name?
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*His grip on her hand grows tighter.*
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::She thinks a moment and the tightness on her hand increases. He wanted to hold her hand..he wanted her to be near her, and he knew her name. He must be someone close to her, what else could explain it. The thought of this makes the ache grow larger, and suddenly she's sobbing slightly, without tears. Sitting on the floor, she gently takes him in her arms, cradling him against her like a child::
I'm sorry. You must know me, I'm sorry I don't remember. I'm surry you're hurting, I wish I could stop it for you.
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We -- out.
*He thinks that getting out of the room will help both of them, but he is unable to move more than an inch or two at a time. The cost, in agony, is excruciating. He now feels as if something is trying to claw its way out of his chest. An attempt to touch her face results in his hand falling back against him.*
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and there is no door.::
::She continues to cradle him against her chest, sadly::
There seems to be no door. I'm sorry. Is there anything else I can do to help make you more comfortable?
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Sit.
*A thought runs through his head -- she's nothing but skin and bones -- but he can't articulate it, so he clings to her as much as he can. Then, at the back of his mind, he thinks, I am seeking comfort from a shinigami, because of a heart attack that would have been caused by another shinigami -- it is ridiculous. The dead flowers in her chest rub against his arms, where they crumble to dust.*
*He makes a strange noise -- a dry, strangled chuckle. It causes him to wince.*
Not always like this.
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What is not always like this? The door? ...my skin?
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*His hand falls back against his chest again. Her dry, skeletal fingers are still her fingers. Her presence does nothing to reduce his agony, in the physical sense, but he likes knowing that she's there. It has become customary for him to reach for her when he is weak.*
Stay.
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It is alright, I won't leave you.
...I hope we can leave here soon. I want to know more about what I used to be. I cannot remember much, only feelings. I feel a strong attachment to you in particular.
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Yours.
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