Log; Complete
When; Late evening of Thursday, December 20th, sometime after this.
Rating; PG to PG-13
Characters; Takani Megumi [foxy-physician] and Akechi Mitsuhide [silk-in-ebony]
Summary; She did not want to be alone anymore.
Leave me out with the waste . . .
This is not what I do.
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you.
It's the wrong time
For somebody new . . .
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse.
Is that alright?
Log;
Her hands were shaking when she knocked at his door. It was late at night, she knew, and it was perhaps a poor excuse to say that she was coming to see to his health-but a physician’s work was never constrained to the hours of daylight, she knew, so perhaps no one would question her or her motives excessively. Besides, Mitsuhide-san needed the assistance, and she was more than happy to give it.
She needed an occupation, or she would run herself into madness.
“Mitsuhide-san?” she called out, her voice steady, belying the tremor in her hands.
She looked down at the sleeves of her kimono, the heavy brocade dampened and darkened by the snowfall.
She could always say that she was trembling from the cold.
Rating; PG to PG-13
Characters; Takani Megumi [foxy-physician] and Akechi Mitsuhide [silk-in-ebony]
Summary; She did not want to be alone anymore.
Leave me out with the waste . . .
This is not what I do.
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you.
It's the wrong time
For somebody new . . .
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse.
Is that alright?
Log;
Her hands were shaking when she knocked at his door. It was late at night, she knew, and it was perhaps a poor excuse to say that she was coming to see to his health-but a physician’s work was never constrained to the hours of daylight, she knew, so perhaps no one would question her or her motives excessively. Besides, Mitsuhide-san needed the assistance, and she was more than happy to give it.
She needed an occupation, or she would run herself into madness.
“Mitsuhide-san?” she called out, her voice steady, belying the tremor in her hands.
She looked down at the sleeves of her kimono, the heavy brocade dampened and darkened by the snowfall.
She could always say that she was trembling from the cold.