Ayane Sawada. 15. Namimori.
So, trolling gets me on here. Tells you what a flake I am.
I need to do so many posts, oh my fucking god.
Somebody beg me to do theirs first or tell me to drop something or idek because i’m whAT DO I DO?!?11?1
Every month is Oktoberfest.
I mean, do mine. o w o /
It was here that the boy paused in his movements. A wave of heat passes over his cheeks, quickly. Embarrassment? Guilt? The brunette pays no mind to it; after all, it was only a fleeting expression. Here one moment, gone in the next; too short-lasted to notice. Of course… if this guy had already noticed his penchant for theft, even the slightest waver of expression would be notable.
Guilty as charged. The brunette offers a crooked smile, tilting his head under the scrutinizing blue. “Ah? You noticed it, then?”
No use in continuing to hide, then. Delicate fingers trail upwards, over the button linings of his shirt as he reaches for the chest pocket and fishes around for a single bill. A fifty. “Close, but no cigar~
“I’d give it a four and a half, out of five.” The boy favors him with a mischievous wink, as he slips the bill into the other’s front pocket. There’s no use in continuing this charade, now that he’s been caught. He supposes he should quit while he’s ahead, before his little night on the town takes a little turn down somewhere far less appealing.
After all, it’s not as if he’s actually interested in the man before him— no more so than the others, at least —but he’s drunk enough to at least feign politeness and finish the dance. Just another minute till the song ends, right? The brunette arches into the other’s grasp, and purrs like a languid cat, as the taller leans in to whisper in his ear.
At this, Ayato pretends the discomfort in the pit of his stomach is just a remnant of guilt, or the product of too many mixed drinks. He chuckles, and uses the man’s leverage (or lack, thereof) to his advantage, as he wraps an arm lazily over broad shoulders. Straining on his tip toes, the brunette murmurs sweetly, “You flatter me far too much. Although, it’s a bit hard to discuss anything in the middle of a dance floor, I’d say…”
Golden hues flash quickly to the DJ in the far corner. Jesus, how long is this beat supposed to last?! ..new strategy it is, then. The boy inhales slowly, and whispers tight against the stranger’s ear, “…how about we go somewhere more… private?”
A small frown cast upon the girl’s features at the stranger’s retort. She should have expected that to be his response. Wasn’t that the way it always began, each time without fail? A little bell, or whistle… a little chime. Like clockwork. ‘Cute.’
Instantly, her back stiffened, shoulders held a bit higher up as she crinkled her nose. It was admirable, really, the amount of willpower it took for her to force back a scowl; her tone remained even thus, though the quiet only masked the fair warning beneath. “Young enough for the wrong touch to land you in jail. Don’t get so familiar with me.”
Of course, no sooner had the warning been uttered, when the stranger found himself upon her bed. Just as suddenly, had Ayane’s sense of agitation subsided into a vague state of alarm. Lips parted under instinct to call for her father’s men, though the breath that followed only held question.
“You’ve… missed me…?”
He had struck a chord with her, now. Unfamiliarity, condescension, tassels… no, no, none of that mattered now. How odd… was this man suggesting that they had met before? Her mind was spinning, entertaining the realm of possibilities. A fellow time-traveler? The odds were likely enough, given the right technology or enough money to bribe. Her eyes drifted over his coat once more.
…tacky. But well-made. At least, he looked rich enough.
Perhaps, he was a member of the Bovino family, and had both money and the technology? Perhaps, he was a potential suitor, and thought such talk might impress her. Ayane shuddered; her father would have never allowed such a significant age gap.
Of course, there was also mention of a time before. Ten years ago… she would have recently turned six. Presently, Ayane had not yet travelled back to a point in time in which another “her” existed. Even with her grand success thus far, time was too unpredictable, too unstable of an element, to take such a risk.
So, time-travel was a no-go. Then, how exactly had they met?
The brunette tilted her head into the preferred hand, unconsciously. Golden hues studied his facial features intently, as she racked her brain for any information on the matter. Any sign of a prior meeting, an introduction from her father… her palm lifted slowly to lace her fingers between the spaces of his own hand. She smiled weakly at the point of contact, before gently grasping and leading his hand to the sheets beneath. Her sights followed, gaze distant, introspective… perhaps, even a bit apologetic as she murmured,
“…I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
She squeezed his hand tightly, thoughtfully admiring the significant size difference between each of them. The comfort was short-lived, however; she pulled away just as quickly, and clasped her hands politely in her lap.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m the girl that you’re looking for.”
The world was dark, when she awoke.
Nothing but a silent, soundless stillness, as the last remaining shreds of former (or future) surroundings flittered out of sight, until they were nothing but white flecks in an endless black void.
The process of time travel had always left Ayane groggy and disoriented, and this time was no different. Well… at least, from a general standing point.
Whereas it usually took the brunette a few good minutes to regain full consciousness, this time, she was on her feet in a matter of seconds. The cold was startling, stung against her nose and cheeks; bit the insides of her lungs with every slow, unsteady inhalation. The mission had been assigned instantaneously, the details left unaddressed. Golden sights widened with alarm and discontent, the brunette sought for any sign of her surroundings. Snow… grey, dilapidated brick… a small poster pasted upon the wall, corners crinkled and worn from the wind. Legible, all the same.
“Harte Zeiten… Harte Pflichten… Harte Herzen…”
Foreign tongue. That would certainly explain the accomplice, then. Someone assigned by Irie on the mission - a partner, from this day and time, who was to meet and give the brunette a full breakdown of the situation. All she had to do was wait a few moments and—
She heard footsteps. Calm and measured, calculated. A weary smile lifted upon her expression. Crossing her arms for warmth, the girl turned and headed for the mouth of the alleyway.
“Good evening, sir. I’d give a more eloquent greeting, but I’m afraid I don’t have any idea where I am…” The murmured, hesitant greeting was lost in a strong current of the wind.
Hard times. Hard duties. Hard hearts. In the shadows of the alleyway beyond, the corners of a poster bent and crackled to reveal a swastika.
…alcohol is not good for my writing ability no
I’m going to bed.
x.x;;;;
It was that time of the year again.
The time of year when the days grew long and weary. That time of year, when pleasant blue skies were replaced by a foreboding darkness. When a stroll down the street required three layers of clothing, at the least, and added up from there. In the winter, the chill of the air seeped into every crack and corner — the inescapable demon, that one could only hope to appease with mass amounts of hot chocolate or tea.
This year, however, the town of Namimori came fully armed, ready to—
“Combat The Winter Blues Greys! 50% Off!”
Ready to fight back the monstrous chill in the air, the local pet store had taken upon the role of raising warm, fuzzy demons of their own; then, docking the sale price of those who did not sell over the holidays, by half.
All puppies were sold by February. Charming individuals. Fortunately, the store was more than generous in their supply of kittens, and displayed them eagerly in the front window.
There were brown kitties, black kitties, and white kitties. Orange kitties, yellow kitties, gray kitties, and then there were the kitties with different color paws. The kitties that had a spot on its tail, or two spots just above the eyes. There were kitties of every color, breed, and size… large kitties, small kitties… and then, there was the smallest kitten.
Tiny; pale brown, with dark stripes that lined the spine and tail. Like the other female kittens, there was a small red ribbon wrapped around her neck with a bow, and a small golden bell. Snoozing peacefully in the corner farthest from the window, she slept peacefully, curled up and content in her warmth, even as the weather began to wane outside.
The sky was beginning to pour in sleets outside. Hopefully, the warmth of the store (and the appeal of playful kittens) would attract wary wanderers of the cold streets.
And earn the store a purr-etty penny, or two.
“Younger..? So.. I’m in the future, then?”
Her brows furrow with uneasiness. Providing a quick glance-over of the male’s body, he looks human enough. No robots here. And judging by the absence of exhaust fumes in the air, she’ll assume there’s no flying cars around either. At least, in her own uneasiness of her current surroundings, she doesn’t have those things to worry about. The future’s just as bland as the present.
She glances over her shoulder, at the thick brush of the trees. Seems there’s still an effort for conservation, at least. Yay, environmentalism!
Her attentions return to the male, studying him with a look of faint worry. If anything, Ayane’s experiences in the past have taught her to be wary of anyone she may happen to stumble upon in the aftermath of her journey across time and space. Particularly men in a forest. Especially, men in a forest.
But that’s hardly her concern right now. After all, past experiences have proven that, in times of such pressure, Ayane was more than capable of taking care of opponents that were twice as old— and twice as large —than herself. No, right now, concern extends beyond her own. Tiny fingers fasten around the Vongola Sky Ring, hung safely on a chain around her neck. Slowly, her lips part to ask the question:
“You said there were others… which must mean there are other members of my family dispatched. Are they alright?”
She forces herself to stand upon shaky feet, quickly dusting off her uniform, golden hues eyeing this tall and mysterious stranger with a look of hesitance. She’s not entirely sure she can trust him, yet… but questions about his identity, his knowledge of and relation to her, will follow in due time.
“…will you take me to where they are?”
She couldn’t say she was pleased by her current situation.
Of course, she found herself usually displeased with any situation that involved surprises with the unfamiliar. Generally, such involved the threatening of her safety or well-being. This time…. well, the predicament was just outright embarrassing. As if being taken seriously in the mafia world wasn’t enough trouble already, now she had to face the same odds… accompanied by feline ears, and a tail.
After all, word travels quickly in the mafia community. And while many bosses would take to dispelling the rumors through use of violence and a spare few bullets, Ayane decided to resort to less… ah, drastic measures. Unfortunately, traveling back in time could help her none this time; after all, not even the unique fashion trends of the past had included such…. realistic features. If the Vongola Eleventh truly wished to remain out of public sight and mind for two weeks, she would have to take to hiding.
And so she had resorted to such, by relocating herself in the home of the Daemon Spade. She figured, of course, who better to turn to than the master of secrecy? Even if he did also happen to be the master of perversion and grating chauvinism, sometimes you had to take the bad with the good… or, with just the bad. For two weeks, she could deal with anything.
Except herself.
The transformation had taken some getting used-to. In an attempt to remove herself from any of the annoying ghost’s antics or jabs, she had kept to herself, wandering about the house on her own accord. Often, upon finding a small nook or cranny, she would make the attempt to explore such spaces by fitting herself within them. For several minutes thereafter, she would sit and try to contemplate what exactly she was doing there, the “why”s and the “how”s, until she simply became bored, and moved on.
This wasn’t the only time she found her attention divided; along the rest of her journey, she had taken an unusual interest in many of the smaller items laying around the house (or in aforementioned nooks). All relatively simple, of course; small enough to fit in her pocket for future hoarding study. Discarded buttons, a bundle of string, a few shiny trinkets here and there.
Her newest addition, however, was by far the largest.
She had found it when trying to squeeze herself into the top shelf of Spade’s personal closet. It was dark, and she had nearly brought down the whole damn shelf trying to pull herself upwards. And that’s when it hit her - quite literally.
His favorite maroon t-shirt.
Her ears twitched under the sudden weight. When her fingers reached upwards to remove the material, she remembers how she had at once leapt upon the fabric and hugged it to herself. It wasn’t as if it was of particularly high quality, or rare making… and yet, her striped tail whipped with interest.
Soft and warm… and with a few strings loose right on the inside seam! Even though it was now her job to pick up the variety of clothing items that had fallen in her “venture to the havens”,she could not bring herself to release it. It was hers now.
She pressed the fabric tightly to her chest. This close in proximity, she swore she could even catch a whiff of the pervert’s scent. Her ears twitched with disgust, as she purred in result. Inwardly, she cursed her predicament. Witchcraft this was — this sort of madness must be stopped!
…right after her afternoon nap.
… ✩ POOF! ✩
Probably what he should have expected from the daughter of the Decimo.
It was a cute room, all white, obviously Millefiore. Vaguely Daemon wondered if Byakuran even knew about her lineage; then again, he was a very clever man. There was very little chance that he would have taken someone under his wing, especially as closely as he had taken in little Aya, without knowing everything about them. With his ability, too, something as glaringly obvious as Aya’s origins would have been simple for Byakuran to find out.
And she must certainly have been special to the boss, because who else would be given such an opulent bedroom, complete with large, comfy canvas bed and all the wonderful furnishings? It was a luxurious place, and he had to pause at the size of the mattress. Fit for two… Was there something else beneath the surface of that particular relationship or had he simply spoilt her like he had the cute little brat in the wreaths? What was her name again? Something to do with flowers.
With his hands folded on his crossed knees, he offered Aya a wide smile that was rather polite under the circumstances. Very slowly he lifted a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with amusement. She was such a cute little thing, too, so tiny, the perfect size to pick up and carry to bed…except for the fact that he didn’t need to carry her to any bed. She was already in one.
And nowhere near as annoying as her father, was she? She didn’t have that squeak when she yelped at the sight of him; nor did she flail and fall off the other side of the bed. A certain grace on her part, despite the youthful charm. Her father never could have wormed his way into the Millefiore, either, of course. He wasn’t clever enough for that. But he was alright in bed, when he was younger, all considering…and who knew the taste of that Gesso besides? Ha!
Lips parting in a little grin that might have been predatory, he leaned back in the chair comfortably. “Hello, Aya-chan,” Daemon purred sweetly. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Did you realize the ruckus you’ve created in the Vongola, running off as you have? It’s not a very fun place to be right now.”
“Has it ever been…?” she retorts, quipping a brow at her own dry humor. Apparently, not even this kind of surprise had driven away her usual case of the morning grumpies. With a low groan, she lifts a hand to wipe at her eyes, before turning her gaze back upon the man.
“I’m not sure what kind of ruckus you’re referring to. As I understand it, the ruckus was all contained, and cemented, in the past. Returning to the present… was no trouble at all.”
Well, that’s not entirely true, she supposes. Returning hand-in-hand with the same tyrant who had tried so desperately to rid her family to waste, didn’t come without its own fair share of backlash from the aforementioned. Unfortunately, trying to sell their friendship as anything more than ‘a profound bond’ didn’t quite cut it, when it came to her family’s choice in potential suitors. But Ayane was far from giving up hope; after all, her trials in the past, and present, would soon pay off in leaps and bounds.
“The gap between the Millefiore and Vongola families should be bridged any day now. Seems you’re a bit behind on the times, stranger.” Her gaze shifts downward, carefully studying her bedroom intruder with pursed lips. It may be early, but that doesn’t mean Ayane’s been knocked entirely off her game. A careful analysis, an unbiased deduction may tell you all the information that you need to know about a person from the beginning. And right now… she was gathering a whole lot about tassels. And, oh dear, was that suede, or pressed velvet…?
“…in more ways than one.”
She can feel the wrinkle in her brow, when she lifts those curious golden hues to meet with clear blue. Foreign. She had pulled a tug of some distinct accent when he first addressed her: European, for certain… now, was it Eastern or Western? Ah, perhaps if she can pull a few more words out of him…
“It’s Ayane to you, by the way.” Her tone remains affable, despite the cut. She’s still not particularly fond of the way he chirped her pet name; who does he think he is, anyways?! Getting so familiar with her… when she’s never seen a man dressed so tacky in her life! With a tilt of her head, and subsequent cascade of brunette locks in disarray, she directs her attention to him fully.
“Who are you, anyways?”
