She's not alone for long: A tall young man with violet eyes, who likely looks like a countryman of hers is just turning into the hallway when he spies her and hurries to her side. "Whoa, whoa, are you all right?" he says, kneeling beside her.
He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's gonna be all right: you're in a safe place now," he says. "Are you hurt anywhere? I know a doctor who could help you."
He's being polite: he can sense that deep despair that accompanies the soul of a suicide. It's something he's felt from the inside out and he doesn't want anyone to feel that way, much less a cute girl.
Perhaps sometime later, if she ventures into the kitchen, she might find a young man a shade older than her, clad in a black suit with a strange, Far-Eastern yet Victorian cut to them. He's currently trying to make himself a cup of tea, and making a bit of a mess of it, since he's trying to make it with matcha, or powdered green tea.
He looks up from the scattered powdered tea covering a good section of the table. "I'm afraid that I do, I'm not much good in the kitchen, and I've never made tea this way before," he says. "I am Titus Groan, formerly the seventy-seventh Earl of Gormenghast."
If she finds her way out of doors to the lake shore, she will find Hisoka Kurosaki there. He is in his jeans and boots, and wears a heavy sweater under his jacket. His sword is slung at his back. There is a shallow blanket of snow lying on the hillsides, and the pines whisper a little in the wind, and the lake is frozen.
Here comes someone gentle and friendly, though Guinevere is sad, these days. She has been left without Sebastian, and she does not know why her incubus lover no longer haunts her dreams or her waking hours.
She can be come across in her room, though the door is ajar, and she can be seen embroidering in silence by the frosted window.
She might be hoping for a visit - even from a stranger.
If Yukio takes to exploring the Mansion, in one of the smaller reading rooms, she might come across a feathered Frenchman who is writing, pausing, re-reading, scratching the page, writing again.
Cyrano might be willing to take a break from his hunt for inspiration, though. Nero's lines seem to be refusing to work, for some reason.
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She remains silent and still.
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He's being polite: he can sense that deep despair that accompanies the soul of a suicide. It's something he's felt from the inside out and he doesn't want anyone to feel that way, much less a cute girl.
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"No. Not at all." On the outside.
Ginji isn't here with her... she's never felt so lonely.
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She does notice the mess though.
"Pardon me, but do you need any help with this?" Despite her common looks there's a air of importance around her.
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She grabs a towel and starts to clean up the mess.
"I'm Yukio Washimine by the way."
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She notices Hisoka.
"Good Day."
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"Yes I am." She bows. "I am Yukio Washimine."
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She can be come across in her room, though the door is ajar, and she can be seen embroidering in silence by the frosted window.
She might be hoping for a visit - even from a stranger.
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"Hello? Should I close this door?"
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She had a moment of simplicity, but her manners came back very quickly.
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"I'm sorry for making you prick your finger, will you need any help with that?"
Yukio: totally owning to responsibility.
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Cyrano might be willing to take a break from his hunt for inspiration, though. Nero's lines seem to be refusing to work, for some reason.
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"Mademoiselle..." and bows, politely but flamboyantly, in the fashion of seventeenth century France.
It involves waving a plumed hat around several times, for some reason.
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"Good day sir."
Seventeenth Century French heroes go to hell too?
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