[[hpoc]] as if nothing changes.

Jamie hovered.

Never mind that it has been seven years–seven entire years–and that neither of them are children anymore. Never mind that Tam had been living on his own for most of those seven years, and had managed to hold his own the same as any other member of the underworld. Quite frankly, it came down to four little words.

Jamie didn’t trust him.

Of course, Tam wasn’t sure if he would trust himself either, had he been in Jamie’s shoes. Look at him. All Spain had done to him was chew him up and leave him with more knowledge of illegal substances than he cared to know about, a criminal record the size of one of his old NEWT-level Transfiguration essays, and alone. What was Jamie more afraid of, Tam asked himself idly as he moved boxes into his new apartment, who Tam was, or if he would slip? A easy lifestyle was tempting, of course, and Tam was inherently a lazy man. The easy money and respect that had come with his previous…occupation had been nice. It might have been easy for someone else to slip, but he was done. He was done with mouthing off at police officers and dealing with addicts so far gone that they were beginning to lose their minds. There was nothing more that Madrid had to offer Tam, nothing more that Spain had to offer him. Madrid had taught him that the world was more than he thought it was, and he had fallen deep enough to understand that. Spain had taught him that he was not the man he thought he was, and that he could be his own sort of hero, if one wanted to call Tam’s side job heroism. And with these lessons learned, the younger Findlay followed his brother back to Britain–not out of obedience, but out of a sense of his newfound freedom.

Of course, Tam knew that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Don’t just stand there,” he rolled his eyes at Jamie, hovering in the doorway, “pick up a box and help me.”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine here, Tam?” Jamie asked, picking up a box and not managing to hide the wince that came along with it, “Mum and Dad have plenty of room in their house, you know. I’m sure they’d understand if you moved back in with them…to save money, you know.” Tam just rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” Tam said for what seemed like the thirtieth time this hour alone, “I’m not going to run off and get myself killed.” Or start dealing drugs, or shoot someone, or get shot, the young man added silently. But still, his brother hesitated.

“I just…worry about you, sometimes,” Jamie said, slowly, “you know, because of everything.”

“No shit,” Tam shot back, dropping the box he had been lugging and fixing Jamie with a look. “Look. Jamie. You’ve been worrying about me before you stopped wearing diapers. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the brotherly concern, but you know, there’s a point where it goes too far. I’ll be fine.” Tam turned, picking up the box again and plodding haphazardly to his room, his path wobbling slightly to and fro as he tried to adjust to the weight. Jamie watched the back of his retreating brother with a mixture of resignation and…well, no. There was nothing but resignation. The thing was, Jamie had come to realize, was that Tam was like putty. He could bounce back to his original form no matter how bent out of it he was, and he could fit into any place and crack. The truth was, Tam in Spain had scared the living shit out of Jamie, and not only because of the way his brother was acting. Tam had just seemed so comfortable being some sort of drug kingpin, smiling and joking as if he had been in the Gryffindor Quidditch locker room and not some seedy bar in the middle of Europe. It scared Jamie. Had he ever known that his brother was capable of this? The answer to that question was yes, but Jamie wasn’t ready to admit it quite yet.

It was like Tam Findlay was blessed by fairies or something. No matter how he was knocked down, he always got up, and rolled along, relatively unscathed. Tam had all the luck in the world. Perhaps, in a way, that was good. His little brother’s luck had gotten him that job at the Spanish Ministry, and now, his job at the British Ministry–home. Really, Tam was lucky. Mr. Figgins was never in a good mood, and never inclined to helping out anyone’s relatives–until Tam. But he had, and his little brother was home, in Britain, irritated at Jamie as if nothing had ever changed. That was Tam’s nature. Jamie was sure that one day, it would kill him. Either that or his recklessness. But in the meantime, all the older Findlay could do was pull his brother out of whatever mess he got himself into, if he would let him, and let Tam yell.

2011
12/28
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[[angst]] because hope is a tiny-winged thing

The most inconceivable thing was that he had given up. But it wasn’t merely the fact that he had given up that was inconceivable, but the fact that when he realized that he had given up had not been a realization of that moment then and there, but something which had built up inside him. He had given up long ago, as much as he hated to admit it. He had given up long ago that he would ever find love, as fast-holding as Icarus and Yume. Now, those were two people who were meant for each other. Every move they made was like a mirror of the others, although not quite so pronounced. But there was just something in them that screamed, I know you, and you know me, and we are a part of each other for the rest of time.

They couldn’t possibly be like that–not when he was what he was, and she was the exact opposite, and it hung between them like some sort of grim reaper–it was the grim reaper. And at the beginning, he had tried to reach out–to hold on to her as Icarus held on to Yume, enclosing her in his arms. But she was more fragile than he had imagined, more fragile than Yume ever was, and every time he reached out to touch her, he found instead that rather than be comforted by protecting her, he was afraid he might break her in two–or she would disappear before he could get a real look at her. She was moving faster than he could ever hope to catch up with, strength and speed or not, and somewhere along the line, Shuichi had just given up completely.

But maybe his expectations had been unreasonable from the beginning. Icarus and Yume were one in a million–no, a trillion. They were that ideal love, perhaps–how could he possibly expect to find something like that. Was it even love, the way he was so reluctant to even touch Keiko the wrong way, let alone change her? Icarus hadn’t hesitated to change Yume, when it came down to it. With Keiko–every time he thought about it, he just couldn’t do it. So instead, he gave up. He gave up hoping for love, he gave up on forever. He let now come as it would, but now was cruel, and soon, he was giving up in more ways than one, until the day came when he had to hold her hand in his, and tell her that it wasn’t her, it was him.

Him, unchanging, and her, the wrinkle-lines beginning to appear. Him, repeating high school for what seemed like the thousandth time over, and her daughters, entering the same grade for the first and only time this year. He had given up, perhaps, because he couldn’t bear to think about what would come after.

2011
11/07
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[[nano11]] jack and lynn.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he says to her, approaching her from behind like some cat, silent before startling. She doesn’t even blink, however, instead just curving her lips upwards.

“Shouldn’t I?” she says cryptically, the cigarette limp in her hand, cool and refined. She lifts it to her lips, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke slowly, like a dragon not quite breathing fire. He frowns, and reaches up, plucking the cigarette right out of her hand, throwing it onto the ground and grinding it out with his foot.

“What’d you do that for?” she complains, frowning and stuffing her hands back into her coat, although she doesn’t reach for another cigarette.

“You don’t look cool,” he replies, “and you’ll be dead before you’re fourty.” She snorts.

“Don’t talk about stuff you don’t know about, Jack. You’re still a kid.” He snorts in reply, giving her another skeptical look.

“What are you talking about? You’re not that much older yourself,” he says, before taking a step out and tilting his head up to look at the sky. “What do you think we’re here for?”

“We’re the lookouts for this mission,” she says, “didn’t you pay attention during briefing? Some star agent you are.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Jack says, “I mean, why…why are we alive? Why are we here, and not at the other end of the universe? Is there some reason for everything to be the way it is?”

“What?” she looks at him strangely, as if she cannot believe he is asking this question. And she can’t. “How old are you, Jack, to be thinking about this? I don’t know. No one knows, I guess. Except maybe those scientists down in Research, and everyone knows how they end up.” She laughs, hollowly.

“I’m serious, Lynn,” Jack says then, “are we here for any reason at all? All there is for us to look forward to is heartbreak and loss. There’s no other reason for us to be here.” She falls silent once more.

“You really are talking nonsense,” she says, before pausing. “Is this because of your parents? Or that sister of yours?” She pauses again, wondering just what to say to someone who has lost two of the most important people in his life, and was now in charge of the last remaining one.

“She’ll be fine, you know,” Lynn finally settles for, “June’s a strong girl. You know she’s coping just fine. She’s got your blood, after all. Anyone with your blood is a stubborn bastard with enough curiosity to kill Schrodinger’s cat.”

“Shrodinger’s cat is already dead,” Jack shoots back, but the hint of a smile is at his lips. “It’s not that, but thanks anyways.”

“No problem,” Lynn says smoothly, reaching into her pockets and pulling out the carton of cigarettes once more. Jack lets her get as far as lighting it and taking one long, deep drag before he snatches it out of her hands once more.

“No cigarettes, Lynn,” he says in mock-sternness, “it’s bad for your health.”

2011
10/10
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[[shingumi]] circles.

The world is round.

But what is she saying? The world has always been round, with no corner for her to sit in, with no straight lines to rest her back against. Just curves, and a bed placed squarely in the middle of a round world. The world is round, and her bed is a square. She knows it is a square because squares are not circles. Squares have edges and sharp points, and unexpected corners that poke when she least expects it. But she prefers squares to circles, because straight lines support her back better than curves do–they give her less cramps, anyways. Her room is a never-ending circle, with no doors or windows to mar the line.

He is round.

But not really round, in that sense. He is lithe and light-footed, full in all the right places and thin in all the other ones. But he circles things like she paces her room, and his smile is the kind that she could never trap in a corner–because, there is no corner to trap it in. He is round, like the world, and she supposes that if she were to follow him, she would end up where she started, just as if she made her way around the real world–the outside world. He asks her if she would like to see the world. She pauses, and she laughs, and she tells him that there is no time. He smiles and tells her he can make time.

She is square.

But not exactly in that sense. She has always been slight and angular, with enough sharp edges to put a corner to shame, but she is surprised by how little she knows, and how little she thought the world was. And he, the circle, shows her everything, rolling her along whenever her sides hold her up. He shows her everything and she learns so much–can squares become so fat that they turn into circles as well?

Circles do not fit into squares.

This is not obvious so much elsewhere as when they do fight–when she will not move and he rolls along with out stopping. But he always comes back to her, in the end, and she is nice enough to stay in the same place until he does. Apples and oranges, black and white, the sun and the moon, squares and circles. Each is more different than the other, and yet, they fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces placed together, interlocking firmly and never separating.

Circles may not fit into squares, but the square fit into a circle.

2011
10/09
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[[royalty]] forgotten.

He grows up forgotten. He grows up hidden in the center of the maze of a palace, although, because he is forgotten, he is allowed to stray further away from the center of the maze than his brothers, two strong, fine soldiers who he looks up to, who leave the maze and come back with even more praise and honor than they left with. And everytime they come back, he gets put back even more towards the center of the maze. Keep out of the way, young prince, they say, and the servants mimic pushing him into rooms. He is not allowed to leave.

There be monsters out there.

Instead, he makes his own entertainment. He reads books and watches the servants, and wanders the maze at the center of the maze, rooms upon rooms, covered in red and lacquer and dragons that were supposed to protect him from monsters. He learns not to become interested by parties or other fleeting entertainments, at which he is shoved aside and his brothers are lauded. Everyone expects one of them to become emperor, and he, while a third son among many others, is the spare. And yet, he pays attention. He listens to ministers talk, he finds hidden corners in the war council where he can sit and listen–he watches his father, solemn and strict and utterly unapproachable, rule.

He is forgotten, but he is not unnoticed. It is his father who finally notices him, sitting in the corner of a meeting.

“Huang Zhang,” the emperor’s voice booms, causing all the ministers to pause midsentence and follow the gaze of their god on earth, to the corner, where he sits.

“Father,” he rises to his feet, quickly but not scrambling, and bows, low. There is an amused expression that flickers across his father’s face for a moment, replaced by one that he has never seen before.

“Well, at least one of my sons is interested in matters of state,” the emperor says, and the ministers laugh politely before they return to matters of war and the kingdom and Important Issues.

He is forgotten, but the one who is most important remembers him where everyone else does not. And he is emperor, and he is not forgotten.

2011
09/17
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你,我。

Sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of me like I think of you. If I creep into the corner of your dreams, if I’m the one standing there, with the hint of something at the corner of my lips for you to reach out and try to touch. Sometimes, I wonder if I should give up. I can’t claim any importance, after all. But still, I continue to wonder. One day, dreams will cease to satisfy me, and then what will happen? What realizations will we come to? The same, or a different one? I wonder. And I continue to dream.

2011
09/10
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the honourable emma of richmond

They were having tea.

His accent was clipped, but precise, revealing his Middle-Eastern roots, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued. And at the same time, she had just noticed how Anne had once again taken her gloves without her permission. There was just the slightest wrinkle to them, and a tiny, almost scrubbed out stain that looked the faded color of the tea she had in front of her. And suddenly, Emma was sure that the general in front of her could see it. He could see the wrinkle in her gloves and that dratted stain, and he thought less of her for it.

She wanted to scream–to stand up suddenly, and flounce out of the room and throw the door open to the nursery and give Anne a right scolding. How dare she take her gloves without asking? Anne knew how Emma felt about her gloves, and this pair in particular. Did she even know how much a pair of gloves cost? Money was no problem for them–any of them, true, but at the same time! One might think a princess of England had better sense than to handle a pair of fine gloves haphazardly. Internally, Emma seethed.

Externally, she beamed charmingly, and tilted her head just so.

“More tea?” she inquired, her movements graceful as she lifted the teapot–no easy feat–and the general nodded once. Carefully, Emma poured, intently watching the brown liquid flow out of the pot. This was around the time that she should have asked the general another question, or inquired about the matter that her oldest brother had asked her to look into. But, still smarting from her gloves–if she turned just so, he would be able to see the stain, and that would not do in the slightest!–the thought fled Emma’s head completely. It wasn’t until later, when he had bowed and left, that she realized what she had forgotten to do. Emma scowled then–or rather, pouted. The pretty expression fell off her face, and she did flounce to the nursery then. The scolding she had been intending to give Anna never got off the ground, however. Emma only got a few words into her lecture before her little sister burst into tears, sending the nanny running, and the older girl soon found herself comforting the girl she had just meant to scold.

And as for the gloves, they ended up a present for Anna when her older sister was allowed to take a trip into the department store and came back with two new pairs of gloves, along with three new dresses and a pair of gorgeous shoes.

2011
09/08
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huang di.

It all started when he found out he was king.

No, not king. Kings were even lower than he was now. Kings bowed down to him now, as he had once bowed to them as a prince. Kings bowed down to him now, as they had once bowed down to his father. That was when everything changed. That was when the palace seemed to hush around him, whenever he walked into a room. He was getting sick of seeing the tops of people’s heads as he passed them instead of their faces, even if it was written within their faces–doubt. Doubt, in his ability to be emperor, in his ability as prince.

It was all unfounded. He knew more than all his brothers combined, and what he hadn’t learned from a book he had quickly picked up in what little practice his father had given him. Why shouldn’t he rule the empire, and rule it well? He would do as well here as he would in the little principality that would have belonged to him had another one of his brothers been named emperor instead of him. But at the same time, no one had expected him to be emperor. There were plenty of candidates older than him, stronger than him, and more accomplished than him, and he had never been a particular favorite of the old emperor–at least, not that anyone who had been watching had seen. But his name had been the one to come out of the old emperor’s mouth with his very last breath, and even on the brink of death, the emperor’s word was like that of God himself.

So he was emperor now. He was emperor now, and people refused to meet his eyes or talk to him. He was emperor, and everyone addressed him as such. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, but it did bother him. How long had it been now, since he had had a decent conversation with someone? Even all his advisors, minus the old man, agreed with everything he offered at their councils. He was Emperor, not God. And yet, the same were intertwined in a way, and even he realized that. Those who aspired to God either failed, or they succeeded to isolation. To be emperor did not mean one was surrounded by those who loved him.

He remembered his father’s birthday. He and his brothers had all produced gifts for their father, in what he did not recognize then as an attempt to curry favor and potentially the throne, as orchestrated by mostly mothers and nannies hoping to gain some power from wherever they could. And so, the late Emperor was presented with jewels and gold-encrusted peacock statues from all his children…except, of course, for one. He hadn’t known what to get his father, never having spent more than a few minutes with him and usually at a distance, and that was what he had told his father when the late emperor, up on his gold and red throne–the one he himself sat on now–asked him. Looking back, it could have gone two ways. His father could have been offended, and banished him or disgraced him, as so many in the court were sure would have and should have happened. But instead, his father laughed, agreed, and he spent the day with the late Emperor–an opportunity that not many of his other children had. Perhaps that had been the reason for his inheritance and ascension to emperor. Perhaps it had been for an entirely different reason completely. But he was emperor now. And he had just gotten used to being emperor–loneliness, ceremony, silence–when the letter had come, borne in on a gold platter. An envelope, cream-colored, stamped with one of those ink stamps from the west–smooth and blood red, as if someone had offered a sacrifice to the letter–came to him.

Did he have any choice in the matter? Perhaps not. But, he was still emperor.

2011
09/06
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[[original]] but then again.

She was the one who called me, in the end. I had long since deleted her number off my phone, which is why it came as a complete surprise to me when I picked up one morning, not quite awake yet as I answered with a groggy “Hello?” and heard her voice on the other end

“Can…can we meet today?” I would recognize that voice anywhere, sharp and objective, even after months of nothing, after months of hearing that voice everywhere. I missed that voice, the person connected to it. But at the same time, there had been months of nothing between us—months? Years, now?—and now, this

“Jess…?” I questioned, sitting up in my bed, the blankets rustling around me. Through my early morning haze, I was too tired to question motives or reasons. Perhaps she knew this. She had always known I wasn’t a morning person. Maybe she was using this fact, picked up after years of friendship, to her advantage as well.

“Look, I just need to talk to you, alright? Just…just ten minutes. That’s all.” There was something in her voice I couldn’t place, something desperate and wanting. It was the kind of voice that had never been there before, which was probably why I agreed. And after she hung up and I had thrown my phone back on the nightstand where it landed with a clatter, I fell back onto my bed, too awake to go back to bed, and too tired to get up. But then again, she had always been tiring.

And yet, I managed to get up and get dressed, pulling up to a little café we used to frequent often, back when we still talked to each other. The exterior, at least, hadn’t changed. The interior was another matter entirely. As I cut the engine, I took a deep breath, smoothing out my dress. If I closed my eyes and ignored the anxiety that was beginning to rise up in me, I could almost pretend we were still friends. I could almost pretend that we were having our regular weekly meeting, where we’d sip on coffee—I took mine black, she preferred two creams and more sugars than I could even count—and talk about everything we could think of. But then again, I had always sucked at pretending.

The café door jingled as I opened it, and I spotted Jess immediately. She was sitting in one of the corners, where the light was dimmer, but where there sat two oversized, stuffed armchairs—our favorite, usual spot. There were two coffees on the low table nestled between the chairs, and as  I walked over, Jess looked up.

“You came,” she said, as if she had doubted whether I would or not. And I have to confess, for a second I considered it. But in the end, I was here, if only because, as cliché as it was, for old times’ sake.

“I did,” I replied simply, settling myself on one of the armchairs a bit awkwardly. Before, I would have just kicked my shoes off without abandon and tucked my feet under me as I leaned back against the soft stuffing, and Jess would have laughed. But I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself this time for someone I didn’t even know anymore. There was a bit of silence, and then Jess pushed the coffee closest towards me even more towards me.

“That’s yours,” she said, “black, right?” Should I have been surprised she remembered? It was little things like that that I still did. I remembered that Jess hated all socks, had a knack for coming up with weird mnemonics for class that always worked, and could tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue. There were lots of things that months of nothing couldn’t erase.

“Thanks,” I replied, “yeah.” Another awkward silence fell over us, as I raised the coffee to my lips, sipping slowly. Secretly, I watched Jess, across the table, as she—with her legs tucked under  her and looking infinitely more comfortable—plucked at a loose string on the chair, her face conflicted, unlike the rest of her. I just kept sipping. She had called me here, after all. If she was going to call me, she might as well be the one to talk first. But then again, I had always been the one to initiate apologies.

But not this time, it would seem. Jess looked up at me, slowly, and took a deep breath, not unlike the one I had taken in the car.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

I was tempted. I was tempted to brush off her apology, just as she had brushed off mine so many times before. But I didn’t. I, more than anyone, knew how much those two words could take out of someone. It never got easier with time. So I just sipped my coffee, letting the hot liquid rush down my throat, and met Jess’ eyes.

“For what?” I asked. I wasn’t going to blow off her apology, but at the same time, I wasn’t going to let her get away easy with it, either. I was only human, after all. And she was human, too. She squirmed.

“For—” Jess smiled wryly, “for everything. We were good friends once. Maybe you were the best friend I ever had. I’ve come to realize, lately, how much that matters.” She looked down at her coffee.

“I understand if you don’t believe me, but I really am sorry. I just wanted to say that,” she stood, then, scrambling out of her chair and finding her shoes all in one smooth motion, her own coffee in hand, unspilled, “I’ll just—”

“I forgive you.”

She paused at the words, as I sipped my coffee too, not moving from my seat. And then, slowly, she smiled, hesitantly.

“That’s all I need,” Jess said quietly, and then she continued on her way, walking out the door once more. I stayed, finishing my coffee, turning over her apology in my mind. I didn’t know what had brought it on, but at the same time, did it really matter? It was what I had been waiting for for so long, before I had given up. And yet, now that it had happened, just as I wanted…it was strange. What had I been waiting for? A few minutes of something that was clearly awkward for both of us? I laughed, and then stood up, throwing my empty coffee cup away. But then again, it was over now.

2011
07/28
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[[50sentences]] megumi

01. walking

She had just been walking when they first came into her life, the two vampires who had taken a liking to her and never stopped.

02. waltz

It took a phonograph, three glasses of wine, and nine hours before Megumi finally mastered the art of ballroom dancing, but it was worth it—at least to Shin.

03. wishes

Gumi had long since given up on hoping for things, which is why she was baffled whenever she caught Shin wishing on stars.

04. wonder

She wondered where the boys went sometimes, leaving her and Yume alone in the house by themselves.

05. worry

While Shin wrung his hands every time Gumi so much as took a step in the other direction, she pretended not to care when he strayed away from her, even as she pounded away at the piano in distress.

06. whimsy

Gumi was firmly rooted in the real world—the strangest thing she had ever done was to splurge on a grand piano that was wired to light up one year.

07. wasteland

France, after the Revolution, was chaos within order. And the alleyways of Paris were desolate, and nowhere for a little half-French girl to live.

08. whiskey and rum

She didn’t drink, and yet at the end of the night, she was the only one who could still somewhat stand, at least.

09. war

While many of the others had lived through more wars than she had, Gumi was the only one who had really come out worse as the result of a war.

10. weddings

Sometimes, Shuichi asked her if she wanted to get married—she always snorted and asked him why she would ever get married.

11. birthday

It was the one day Gumi let Shin touch her, to smooth out her hair and hold her, whispering nothing and everything in her ear.

12. blessing

It was a stupid meaning, and yet she found herself growing attached to her name, and used to the idea of being one to Shin and Shuichi.

13. bias

Gumi was biased against Shin in all things except one: the decision to vacation in France every year, without fail.

14. burning

She had seen and witnessed her share of fire, but there was none quite so frightening as Shin’s voice, unusually serious and scathing.

15. breathing

In and out, over and over—that was how Gumi kept herself from snapping and beating Shin over the head with a broomstick even more than she normally did.

16. breaking

After Hito left, it was so hard to keep herself put together, and keep herself from letting the cracks in them all get to her.

17. belief

At the heart of it, she did trust Shin—he had always done right by her. Always.

18. balloon

When he handed her a balloon, Gumi just stared at it, completely baffled by Shin’s actions yet again.

19. balcony

It was Yume and Icarus’s, first and foremostly, but Yume was always willing to share.

20. bane

Shin, despite what others might think, was not the bane of Gumi’s existence.

21. quiet

Gumi was rarely quiet at home, although in public she was much more subdued.

22. quirks

Everyone knew that when Gumi started playing funeral marches, it was a bad idea to ask her for anything.

23. question

Sometimes, she questioned their sanity, but then Gumi realized if she did that, she would have to question her own as well.

24. quarrel

Gumi could argue things into the ground, picking fights and details with Shin until both of them were fed up.

25. quitting

She didn’t like living on blood—but then again, not living on blood meant not living, and that meant giving up at life. Megumi did not give up.

26. jump

For all her impulses, Gumi was the girl who did not jump.

27 . jester

Like everyone else around her, Gumi saw Shin as a complete and utter clown fool.

28. jousting

It, and the accompanying medieval movies, reminded Gumi of Arthur, and what might have been under another set of circumstances.

29. jewel

She preferred emeralds to diamonds, and then, not even emeralds.

30. just

She gave the humans she drank from an equal chance to live, just as Shin and Shuichi had once given her a chance as well.

31. smirk

It was Arthur’s crooked smile she thought of sometimes, always royal, but with the hint of something not quite full-grown about it just quite yet.

32. sorrow

She didn’t cry for the father who had taken her away from her mother, but she cried for all the other poor souls, caught up in the intrigue and resulting consequences of France.

33. stupidity

It was quite clear who Gumi regarded as the stupidest.

34. serenade

When the group of rowdy schoolboys had finished their hastily composed song under Gumi’s window, she finally deigned to open it, only to tell them flatly that they had been sharp the entire time.

35. sarcasm

She was the queen of it.

36. sordid

When they first found her, she was like a street urchin—and smelled like one, too.

37. soliloquy

Shin had a flair for the melodramatic—Gumi listened to his speeches with half an ear.

38. sojourn

She loved the sea as much as Hito did—it was no surprise that they took day trips and even longer trips there together all the time.

39. share

Shin never knew how to share, especially when it came to Gumi.

40. solitary

Gumi had never been a solitary person, whatever her demeanor might otherwise say.

41. nowhere

“I’m not going anywhere!” she told Shin, when he told her to run and hide.

42. neutral

Gumi was never neutral—she always made her opinions known and took sides.

43. nuance

It was the way Shin played piano that Gumi could not imitate that reduced her to tears.

44. near

Her favorite places were close to the sea, so close she could feel the spray of the ocean through the window.

45. natural

Of all the places the world had to offer her, the coast was her favorite.

46. horizon

It was cliché, but Gumi really loved watching the horizon, and the sun rise over it at the break of day.

47. valiant

Gumi was sure, secretly, that Hito was a knight of some sort underneath all his silence.

48. virtuous

She chose not to answer when Shin ran after her, screaming as he asked whether she was still a maiden or not.

49. victory

It was Hito, coming home with them again.

50. defeat

It was Arthur, the whisper of something unsaid on his cold lips.

2011
07/10
CATEGORY
writing
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