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Jul. 13th, 2016 01:22 pmThe dance goes by about the same as expected. It's the way those things always go: they get invited to some fancy event or another, Michiru plays violin, sometimes accompanied by Haruka's piano; they go mingle with the crowd, and are instantly circled by a flock of guests telling them how wonderful they were, asking for a dance. Haruka is never one to turn down such an earnest request from a lady, but then one request becomes three, and when three threatens to become thirty she ducks out and goes to look for Michiru.
The key difference being that she's usually much easier to find. The dark cloud of suited men surrounding her is a dead giveaway. But when Haruka scans the dancefloor and comes upon no such sight, she feels a slight pressure building up in the pit of her stomach. Nothing like concern or jealousy, mind, but if Michiru left with one of them--
No. Absolutely not. Jaw clenched, she pushes her way through the crowd to the double doors leading outside. Michiru must've just needed some air. That's a far more logical conclusion. She has to be there, right?
The key difference being that she's usually much easier to find. The dark cloud of suited men surrounding her is a dead giveaway. But when Haruka scans the dancefloor and comes upon no such sight, she feels a slight pressure building up in the pit of her stomach. Nothing like concern or jealousy, mind, but if Michiru left with one of them--
No. Absolutely not. Jaw clenched, she pushes her way through the crowd to the double doors leading outside. Michiru must've just needed some air. That's a far more logical conclusion. She has to be there, right?
(no subject)
Jun. 3rd, 2016 01:04 pmEverything's kind of a blur: the battle, the pain ripping through flesh, the grail's blinding glow, and the way back home, after. It all happened at such a dizzying whirlwind-speed, and the two of them could do nothing but be swept along, images and sensations and sounds smeared together to near-incomprehension.
It's only when Haruka steps into their apartment at last, and finds it just the way they'd left it, that her mind can begin to process.
It's only been a day, hasn't it? And it's as though nothing had happened at all. The light of the waxing moon filters in through the window, coating the room in gentle, peaceful silver, with not a single thing out of place. When she looks over to Michiru beside her, her skin is whole and unmarred save, at worst, for a few scraps and light bruises.
It's quiet. A single car sweeps by in the empty street below.
Haruka isn't hurting, either -- the steady pump of adrenaline has kept a solid barrier between her mind and body, but even now, as it begins to wear, the only sensation to seep in is a soreness in her muscles. Her hands ball into fists, as if to reaffirm the realness of it: fingers squeezing against palm, then loosening. Squeezing, and loosening.
Her eyes have yet to leave Michiru's face.
They're both alive. Michiru is alive. Michiru is right here by her side, not pinned to the wall by limp arms and legs, not ambling towards her in a cloud of smoke pouring from dozens and dozens of bullet holes, not crumpled into a broken bloodied heap on the floor, not--
Haruka's chest seizes up, a surge of panic uncoiling where before there was nothing but warm, airy relief. Suddenly she can't remember how to breathe at all -- her head flashes hot, her legs are nailed through to the floor -- and it's a stumbling struggle of half a step forward until her fingers can hook into Michiru's shoulder, pulling her hard against her chest.
Haruka's arms are as rigid as iron poles, and they are trembling.
It's only when Haruka steps into their apartment at last, and finds it just the way they'd left it, that her mind can begin to process.
It's only been a day, hasn't it? And it's as though nothing had happened at all. The light of the waxing moon filters in through the window, coating the room in gentle, peaceful silver, with not a single thing out of place. When she looks over to Michiru beside her, her skin is whole and unmarred save, at worst, for a few scraps and light bruises.
It's quiet. A single car sweeps by in the empty street below.
Haruka isn't hurting, either -- the steady pump of adrenaline has kept a solid barrier between her mind and body, but even now, as it begins to wear, the only sensation to seep in is a soreness in her muscles. Her hands ball into fists, as if to reaffirm the realness of it: fingers squeezing against palm, then loosening. Squeezing, and loosening.
Her eyes have yet to leave Michiru's face.
They're both alive. Michiru is alive. Michiru is right here by her side, not pinned to the wall by limp arms and legs, not ambling towards her in a cloud of smoke pouring from dozens and dozens of bullet holes, not crumpled into a broken bloodied heap on the floor, not--
Haruka's chest seizes up, a surge of panic uncoiling where before there was nothing but warm, airy relief. Suddenly she can't remember how to breathe at all -- her head flashes hot, her legs are nailed through to the floor -- and it's a stumbling struggle of half a step forward until her fingers can hook into Michiru's shoulder, pulling her hard against her chest.
Haruka's arms are as rigid as iron poles, and they are trembling.
(no subject)
May. 13th, 2016 07:47 amHaruka Tenoh doesn't say things she doesn't mean, so when she said she was going to pursue Michiru in earnest, it was with every intention of carrying it out. As for her great courting plan -- well, she doesn't quite have one; never before has she had to work for a girl's attention, nor has she ever craved it the way she does now. But Haruka's gotten most places in life by following the wind and trusting her gut, so as far as she's concerned, there's little reason to play this any different.
Her newfound assertiveness means, for one, that she won't keep her run-ins with Michiru up to chance, or bother pretending like she is. Their weekly art lessons at the park are one thing -- a solid start, to be sure, but perhaps a bit too... scholastic. (Even with the way Michiru's fingers brush her thigh when she reaches for the sketchbook, or wrap around her hand to tilt it at a better angle.) She needs something with a different atmosphere -- something with clearer intent.
So for the time being, Haruka decides they can have lunch together.
When the bell rings, she strides over to Michiru's classroom -- not that its number is information Michiru ever volunteered, or that Haruka asked for, but that much is common knowledge among the student body -- and greets the students inside with an easy salute. "Yo. I'm looking for Michiru Kaioh."
Haruka's well-used to being greeted with a wave of mumblings and whispers, but this time, something is off. It's not the light, bubbly sound of girlish giggles and coos, but venomous hisses and biting stares. So it's true, isn't it? I don't get it. What a shame.
Haruka leans against the doorframe with a single raised eyebrow, and waits for her answer.
"She's already out," one girl says finally. "She always eats alone, so we couldn't tell you where she is."
"Huh." Shrugging one shoulder, Haruka pushes herself back straight. A wasted trip, then. "Well, thanks anyway."
"Tenoh-san," another girl calls after her just as she's about to take her leave, stopping her in place just behind the doorway. "Can I ask you one thing?"
Haruka doesn't respond, but doesn't walk away, either. The girl continues. "Why do you associate with her? Is it for her money and looks, after all? Because no matter how anyone looks at it, it's just a waste. You already have quite the reputation here, Tenoh-san -- would you really want to ruin it over someone like her?"
A voice at the back calls out what she presumes to be the girl's name, marked with a scandalized gasp, as if to say: that's not the sort of thing to be said aloud. But beyond that, not a single student is offering a word of protest. The whole room is staring at Haruka with the same expectant looks on their faces.
What the hell is this?
Something in the pit of Haruka's stomach simmers. The voice that comes out of her throat, however, is icicle-sharp.
"Who I choose to associate with is my own business."
And she shoves the door shut with a slam.
She can find Michiru on her own.
Her newfound assertiveness means, for one, that she won't keep her run-ins with Michiru up to chance, or bother pretending like she is. Their weekly art lessons at the park are one thing -- a solid start, to be sure, but perhaps a bit too... scholastic. (Even with the way Michiru's fingers brush her thigh when she reaches for the sketchbook, or wrap around her hand to tilt it at a better angle.) She needs something with a different atmosphere -- something with clearer intent.
So for the time being, Haruka decides they can have lunch together.
When the bell rings, she strides over to Michiru's classroom -- not that its number is information Michiru ever volunteered, or that Haruka asked for, but that much is common knowledge among the student body -- and greets the students inside with an easy salute. "Yo. I'm looking for Michiru Kaioh."
Haruka's well-used to being greeted with a wave of mumblings and whispers, but this time, something is off. It's not the light, bubbly sound of girlish giggles and coos, but venomous hisses and biting stares. So it's true, isn't it? I don't get it. What a shame.
Haruka leans against the doorframe with a single raised eyebrow, and waits for her answer.
"She's already out," one girl says finally. "She always eats alone, so we couldn't tell you where she is."
"Huh." Shrugging one shoulder, Haruka pushes herself back straight. A wasted trip, then. "Well, thanks anyway."
"Tenoh-san," another girl calls after her just as she's about to take her leave, stopping her in place just behind the doorway. "Can I ask you one thing?"
Haruka doesn't respond, but doesn't walk away, either. The girl continues. "Why do you associate with her? Is it for her money and looks, after all? Because no matter how anyone looks at it, it's just a waste. You already have quite the reputation here, Tenoh-san -- would you really want to ruin it over someone like her?"
A voice at the back calls out what she presumes to be the girl's name, marked with a scandalized gasp, as if to say: that's not the sort of thing to be said aloud. But beyond that, not a single student is offering a word of protest. The whole room is staring at Haruka with the same expectant looks on their faces.
What the hell is this?
Something in the pit of Haruka's stomach simmers. The voice that comes out of her throat, however, is icicle-sharp.
"Who I choose to associate with is my own business."
And she shoves the door shut with a slam.
She can find Michiru on her own.
(no subject)
May. 10th, 2016 08:56 pmRoutine is a powerful thing, really. There's little the human mind couldn't grow accustomed to through repetition alone. Whereas two months ago Haruka was still banishing visions of the apocalypse from her mind and fighting against an unfathomable destiny, as she is now-- that duty's become such an inseparable part of who she is, she can barely remember what came before.
There's a lot they can't account for: when the next enemy will strike and what abilities it'll wield, where the Talismans are and how they can go about obtaining them, just how long they have to carry out their task before it's too late. It all melds together into a hard, constant pressure at the back of Haruka's skull, never once vanquishing its hold. But-- as far as their day-to-day life goes?
It's... surprisingly steady.
They spar. They fight. They discuss their findings and future plans. And in between, here and there, they can even afford to spend their time on other things. Haruka won't become a professional racer, and Michiru won't become a world renowned violinist. But Haruka can still drive, and Michiru can still play, and it makes for much-needed respite.
Is it too naive to feel like they're making do okay?
Is it too carefree to call Michiru up at six in the evening with no real reason to, like they really are just a couple of schoolkids?
Maybe.
Probably.
But the breeze is calm today, putting Haruka at a rare ease. So here's your phone ringing, Michiru.
"Hey. You free right now?"
There's a lot they can't account for: when the next enemy will strike and what abilities it'll wield, where the Talismans are and how they can go about obtaining them, just how long they have to carry out their task before it's too late. It all melds together into a hard, constant pressure at the back of Haruka's skull, never once vanquishing its hold. But-- as far as their day-to-day life goes?
It's... surprisingly steady.
They spar. They fight. They discuss their findings and future plans. And in between, here and there, they can even afford to spend their time on other things. Haruka won't become a professional racer, and Michiru won't become a world renowned violinist. But Haruka can still drive, and Michiru can still play, and it makes for much-needed respite.
Is it too naive to feel like they're making do okay?
Is it too carefree to call Michiru up at six in the evening with no real reason to, like they really are just a couple of schoolkids?
Maybe.
Probably.
But the breeze is calm today, putting Haruka at a rare ease. So here's your phone ringing, Michiru.
"Hey. You free right now?"
