[ closed ] catchall

[picky]

WHO: marcille and you maybe!
WHAT: catchall!
WHERE: all over
WHEN: april and may
WARNINGS: delicious in dungeon spoilers. will update as threads progress!

Comments

ISHMAEL 🍽️ DOWNTIME MINGLE #2

[picky]

( from here! )

[ Thankfully Marcille understood most of what Ishmael was saying aside from the "PR-friendly" part. (What's a PR?) The simplified explanation is appreciated though!

The shock is clear on her face when she hears about the disappearances, but the thought settles relatively quickly. Nanami had disappeared, didn't he? What exactly did he do that fulfilled his duties? What constitutes "fulfillment?" Ishmael might not have a clear answer for this either; if she did, there's a chance she wouldn't be here right now.

The apology pulls Marcille out of her thoughts. She gently squeezes her arm again and offers a reassuring smile. ]

Hey, we've met a few times already, right? I don't think you'd share all of this if you thought I'd go around telling people. Your secrets are safe with me.

[ Her smile drifts off naturally. ]

I talked to someone on the network about this too. It's true that we can disappear from this place any time, but aren't all relationships like that? Things can happen any time, to anyone. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to get close to people at all.

[wheft]

[ she resumed shoveling food into her mouth as marcille speaks, the color in her freckled cheeks starting to return. marcille is... kind. very kind, like most of the people ishmael's met here so far. it probably means that the world she came from treated her well. ]

I know. I'm... trying to have faith in people again. It's hard when most of them keep dying around me.

[ she puts down her spoon. ]

He's also someone I rarely encounter in the City. Someone who makes you feel safe and sound. He may be annoying and he rarely if ever talks about himself, but... he's sincere and loyal. I didn't think I want a person like that. [ she rubs at her eyes. she's not crying, dw. ] It's weird. All of this feels weird and new, and it's been driving me crazy. Is this normal?

[picky]

[ IS SHE CRYING?? If she is, she's getting a small hug eventually. Right now, Marcille is giving her space. She lets go of Ishmael's arm to let her eat; her health is Marcille's priority right now, as important as it is for her to empty her thoughts and feelings. ]

It sounds like this might just be your first time having feelings for someone. [ Marcille smiles softly. ] You've been told not to have them for anyone at all. Of course it'll be really debilitating. But it's also nice to be around him, right? He makes you happy?

[wheft]

[ she nods. no hesitation there. ]

The problem is... it's hard to figure out how he feels, sometimes. Or if I even want this to go anywhere. I mean, should I?

[ is there water nearby. she's going to reach for it and take large gulps. ]

What do you think? As someone who clearly knows how this goes.

[picky]

[ There is now! Assume Marcille is keeping it on hand for her. Hydration is important. If she's done with her soup for now, Marcille can also set that aside on her desk.

She stops abruptly at the question, again reminded that she's never been in love herself, but she is also still!! an expert!! She holds her chin and shuts her eyes, thinking. ]

I mean... Why shouldn't you want that? What's wrong with wanting it to go somewhere?

YUWON 🍽️ DOWNTIME MINGLE #2

[picky]

( from here! )

[ Well. It's too late to do anything now, unless she wants to transfer kryptos to him somehow (which she still doesn't know how to do yet). ]

It's not dragging! I was the one who offered to help. If I couldn't come, I'd just say so.

[ She'll walk with him over to a table and slide into the seat across from him. ]

How long have you been here for?

[yuwon]

[ to be honest, if he knew what her preference was, he would have ordered in advance and had the drinks come out when she arrived. he didn't really like wasting others time as much as he also didn't want his time wasted.

which... in a world where downtime was more commonplace, it was a conundrum for sure. but, at her words, he does find some semblance of ease in the idea that she didn't necessarily feel forced to be here. ]

About five months. [ is it six already, i forgot, but pretend yuwon knows the right answer. ]

[picky]

[ So efficient... ]

That is a long time. You must have been here when the Kaiju battle before this one happened too.

[ Like Raidou, she thinks, although Yuwon may not know him. ]

Anyway, thanks for getting my drink for me. [ She smiles. ] If we do this again, I'll treat you next time, okay? Then we can be even.

[yuwon]

[ he nods at her words, as if to confirm he had. ] Though, it feels like a long time ago already. [ however it worked out, it's true that they also were supplied a decent amount of downtime. ]

... If you want. [ he doesn't deny her if just because he sees her mentioning that as an act of good will. similar to her original offer. hence, from under the jacket he's wearing, he pulls out the garment of clothes in question. ] But, I might owe you another one depending how this goes.

[picky]

[ She lets him spread the two pieces out over the table.

Yikes. The picture was definitely blurry. She picks up a piece and examines a few holes. ]

You really did rip them, huh? What happened to these?

late april!

[memors]

[ Perhaps Marcille had shut down his attempt to ask her out on a date, but that won't stop Ryoji from going out with her as a friend, and indulging in her company. Even at the best of times, he's become a social creature, but he's been particularly keen to keep himself occupied with company this week. It's a more deliberate push for something he typically leans into naturally, even if he doesn't fully comprehend why.

He's lost something, someone dear, and in turn he is all the more eager to hold fast to the bonds that he's made here. This is uncharted territory for him, so better that he sticks to what he knows, while he attempts to process his very human emotions with a very inhuman heart.

All to say, today he's invited Marcille to the cat cafe with him. He's been here a number of times with Yuji, but as one of his favorite places to visit, he evangelized its perks and benefits the whole way here. As though it being a cat cafe doesn't speak for itself, but as they share drinks and treats surrounded by felines, one black cat even going so far as to curl right up in Ryoji's lap. It took some convincing, but the cats here finally seem to like him! This one in particular. It's the small things. ]

So, do you have a favorite yet? Don't worry — I won't tell them if you do.

[ Is he talking about the cats or the desserts? Yeah. ]

NOT THE CATS

[picky]

[ Marcille has met the cats around the city and near the onsen, but she's never visited the "cat café's" before. Despite hearing about them, she was convinced that these cafés were either cat-themed or served actual cats (DON'T ASK) or something else completely foreign to her. Since then she's learned how to search on the internet for answers, and up until now, she just hasn't had an excuse to visit one.

Now she's here with Ryoji, herself seated on a cushion on the long bench lining the window. Her strawberry milk tea is on the table in front of them—and mostly untouched, given that her attention has been on Ryoji and the cats.

She thought that being exposed to the kitties at the onsen would help her be less emotional in front of friends. Then she saw one in particular—a large, bicolor female cat, more on the distant side. Since they arrived, though the other cats are much smaller and friendlier, Marcille has been quietly trying to win the cat's favor with treats and toys. She's had a few victories so far.

Ryoji's question might be facetious given that Marcille has been glancing and pouting at this cat periodically. She looks back at him and sighs, finally reaching to take a sip of her drink. ]

They're all adorable. I just can't get that one to like me... What's with her? [ Siiip. She points over to Ryoji's lap. ] That black one you have is really cute especially. What's its name again?

[memors]

[ His own victories with the cats have been hard-fought, and only after spending ample time at the cafe did they start to warm up to him. Something about his otherworldly nature had seemed off-putting to them at first, but even cats can only put up so much resistance against toys and treats. Ryoji had worked particularly hard on the one who now sits in his lap — particularly after a certain someone had disappeared, because something about the kitten's disposition just...reminds him of his wayward friend.

...And Minato is about as cat-coded as they come. It was an easy leap to make. ]

This is Sir Clawrence. I usually just call him Claw-chan, though. [ Rubbing Clawrence between the ears, Ryoji takes a sip of his matcha tea and glances back at the evasive cat Marcille has been trying to woo. He hasn't had much luck with that one himself, but he will take his victories where he can get them. ]

The ones at the onsen wouldn't give me the time of day, but these ones are a little more forgiving. [ A beat. ] Except for that one. You really have your heart set on her, don't you?

[ Yeah, he noticed. ]

[picky]

Aw, Claw-chan... [ Having been in Neo Tokyo for a few months now, she's starting to catch onto honorifics. She tosses a small smile towards the cat in Ryoji's lap before she looks back at her problem child.

The cat just keeps staring, loafing inside of a circular compartment of the nearby cat tree. She blinks at the slowly, so that's something. Marcille just knows that the moment she tries to approach it, the cat will bolt. ]

Mistress Meowser actually reminds me a lot of someone I knew back in my world.

[ She looks back at Ryoji. ]

Her name was Izutsumi. It took her a little while, but she warmed up to me and my friends eventually.

[ She looks back at Meowser, looking wistful. ]

I took care of her a lot myself. She was really young, after all. Deep down, she was really sweet.

MEGUMI 🍽️ MAKEOVER

[picky]

[ A bell chimes as Megumi steps into Izumi, Marcille's workplace. Unlike other salons in Neo Tokyo, this one is more homely and less technologically advanced. There are some standard hairstyling machines (likely unfamiliar to Megumi) gathered near most salon chairs, and at the moment an AI bot mans the front desk, but otherwise, the place seems like any modern-day local business.

Small vases of dusty, fake flowers sit on either side of the front desk. Three quarters of the walls are painted pale yellow, the bottom quarter a withered white, cracked in certain areas if you look closely enough. The dresser beside each chair and mirror is decorated with trinkets from each stylist, showcasing their varied personalities and preferred products. Marcille's chair is in the corner closest to the window, devoid of any intricate machinery aside from a standard hairdryer, curling iron, and straightener. (She's learned how to use these over time.) On her dresser is a small plush of a blue rabbit, various unlabeled bottles, and a set of brushes and combs laid out on a dark blue towel.

At the moment, Marcille is the only stylist in the room. When Megumi enters, the AI bot will sound a greeting and ask if he has an appointment. Marcille turns towards the sound, broom in hand, and her eyes instantly catch on the new customer and.

That hair. Her eyes blink wide open, adjusting, trying to parse exactly what she's seeing. What kind of products is this guy using? Is his hair crunchy to the touch?

She hears his name. Megumi. This is her new client. Oh.

Marcille quickly brooms up the dusting of hair on the floor and feeds it into the automatic vacuum nearby. Then she rushes to the front desk, beaming as she addresses the AI bot. ]

Ah, wait, this is my appointment! This one is free of charge. No need to scan.

[ The AI bot acquiesces, and Marcille offers her hand to Megumi with a smile. ]

It's nice to finally meet you! [ Her eyes flicker briefly to his hair. She can't help it. ] I'm Marcille. You can take a seat over here.

Phone tagging....

[seaurchin]

[ It's not often that Megumi comes into a hair salon. Growing up poor, Tsumiki has always tamed his unruly locks for him when they got too long. They never stopped that arrangement even after Gojo started paying for their living expenses. He wouldn't be putting any effort into his appearance if not for the fact that he's curious about whether it would affect his cursed energy.

Walking inside, he can admit that the rustic decor had some charm to it. Many of the salons were equipped with the hottest new technology and it all looked like overkill to a person like him. If he has a good experience here, he can see himself coming again.

He feels intrusive getting a free session from Marcille. That's why he's prepared to pay, showing his wrist chip before she stops him. Megumi did notice her eyeing the mop on his head but he's not putting too much thought into it. If she looks closer, she might also notice the family resemblance to another Outsider on the base. ]

Marcille-san. Good evening. I wouldn't want you to work for free, so I can pay if you need me to...

[ but he's very much unlike Toji in many ways. ]

[picky]

Don't worry about it! You're Yuji's friend.

[ And you watched him die in front of you! Nevermind that this might be the most difficult cut she's ever done. She'll figure this out somehow.

Fortunately or unfortunately, she didn't spend much time around Toji. She met him for only a moment or two in the middle of the last Kaiju battle; his threat was unforgettable, but she doesn't remember much about the details—only that there's a sword in his room and when he said he would kill her if she tried to hurt it again, he definitely meant it.

Anyway. She seats Megu down and turns his chair until he faces the mirror. She gently runs a single hand through his hair, from the nape of his neck to the top of his head, searching for where his natural part begins. ]

Do you use any product in your hair? I don't really feel much on here.

[ She was expecting hairspray crunch, maybe some sculpting/molding hair product. ]

[seaurchin]

[ He still feels bad for getting free service, so he makes a note to repay her somehow at some point. Maybe she might appreciate a snack or some food? He isn't particularly great at cooking, but the people he's cooked for seem to like it well enough. It sounds like she's gotten close to Yuji, which isn't too surprising at all given the way that boy is. He's already made so many friends here.

Not used to being touched on his neck, her fingers make a shiver run up his spine, but he tries not be too obvious about it. Come to think of it, has he ever had a haircut by a professional? Tsumiki would just cut it for him, and after she went to sleep, he would trim it himself. It helps when you seriously do not care about how you look. ]

Just shampoo? [ He washes it, but that's really the only thing he does. The bizarre texture is genetic. ] It's always looked like this.

yippee

[fastpaced]

[ things might have cooled down (metaphorically - it's still uncomfortably hot out in the desert) but Sonic is rarely one to sit still for long. Sure, there's no more monster to fight, but there's still plenty of damage to help clean up and people that need a hand or two. He's been making himself useful as a delivery boy, just as his fake ID proclaims him to be: grabbing supplies and ferrying them from place to place at suspiciously high speeds, though he's careful to keep the populace from catching a glimpse of him at work.

The hospital's in near-constant need of supplies with all the injured after the attack in the city. It's not his first time visiting - it's not even his first time today - but it is his first time seeing one of the critically-injured folks up and about. He'd been taking a break, crouched down outside in his cloaking device with a water bottle in hand, and barely bats an eye at her at first - then does a double-take and yelps, leaping to his feet. ]

Woah! You sure you're supposed to be standing?

[ does she know you sonic ]

[picky]

[ SIB HE IS SO CUTE

Marcille be out here! She successfully convinced ("convinced") her nurse to let her have a moment just outside of the entrance, where the rest of the staff can still see her.

In her hospital pajamas, Marcille looks miserably exhausted. Dark purple bags hang under her eyes. A large bandage is wrapped around her head, pressing a pad of gauze near her temple. She's holding onto the metal pole of her IV drip with one hand, but she seems to be standing just fine otherwise.

She's seen Sonic running in and out of the hospital lobby a few times since her arrival. At one point during her stay, she put pieces together that he reminded her of one of the newer Outsiders. One of the stranger ones. Or most strange ones, honestly. ]

Oh! Yeah, it's fine. I have permission as long as I don't leave the entrance.

[ She furrows her brow at him and sets a finger on her chin. ]

Hey, um... This might be a weird question, but do I know you?

sorry i fell into elden ring after writing that.....

[fastpaced]

[ poor thing. The fact that she's got to walk around with the IV stand is exactly why Sonic figures she shouldn't be, well, walking around, period. Not that he can blame her - when he was supposed to be on bed rest a few weeks ago, he snuck out the instant he found an opening. Laying around feeling bad is the worst. So he eyes her general appearance briefly, then looks back to her with a shrug. ]

Okay, I gotcha. Just don't go getting any new bumps, or you'll get stuck in there for even longer.

[ waving his free hand mildly. ]

As for your question: nope! Well, maybe you've seen me around. I think we're coworkers, if you catch my drift. [ a beat; he leans in conspiratorially. ] Name's Sonic, but out in public, I'm "Oggie." Which is totally lame.

backdated angry despair lore memshare

[penaltypoints]

Isn't it funny? We've degenerated into a department that destroys and manipulates information as ordered, yet somehow we're still called the "Information Team." Whenever I introduce myself as the Sephirah of the Information Team... I sometimes feel something bubbling up inside of me.

[ You're in the middle of another conversation with Yesod, whose appearance on the monitor screens in your office occasionally shifts between his robot form and his human avatar. Briefly, he wears a mirthless smile that disappears again as he speaks, replaced with careful neutrality. On the heels of his admission, Angela enters the Information Department's main room to address Yesod, reminding him of his task to handle today's documents to expunge, more information to strip from the records, including all details identifying the listed employees and their deaths.

Turning to Angela then, Yesod has a question for her: ]

Ms. Angela, what do you think it means to remember someone's name?

[ She doesn't hesitate to reproach him, given that this is routine work for his department, questioning his unusual behavior in turn. "Why are you so emotional about it today?"

Undeterred, Yesod remains pensive. ]

Maybe names were marks that atypical beings gave each other, to engrave each other upon their memories. Someone might have named you Angela following the same concept.

[ Their exchange ends soon enough, and Angela leaves without acknowledging Yesod's remarks beyond suggesting that his current mood is a sign of fatigue. Alone, he faces you once more, now to elaborate on the discussion. Evidently, there are still gaps in your knowledge as the manager. ]

Referring to employees by name is not recommended here. When employees first enter the company, each one receives their own unique identification number. This is to allow the company to identify them using the minimum amount of personal information. We have their numbers in our data storage devices. Malkuth has never called the employees by their names ever since she started working here. Maybe she is the most ideal Sephirah amongst all us Sephirot.

[ Here, cracks in his composure become apparent. What follows reveals not only the facts, laid out one by one, but more glimpses of his own views and emotions. ]

This is not to say that Malkuth deserves to take all the pain as well. None of us do. What kind of poor taste is that, to lock us inside metal bodies, and throw us into an endless loop of days that feel just the same as yesterday?

[ Yesod's brows draw together; his eyes narrow. The look he levels at you is sharper than ever. Though he has barely paused, he isn't voicing his thoughts aloud rhetorically. ]

I'm talking to you. What's with that oblivious expression? I heard you might be one of the architects responsible for our creation. The only thing I could do here is remember the names of a few forgotten employees, and eternally despair... Feeling nauseous from even a single breath of air... Have you had fun watching your guinea pigs run around in circles?

[ Cutting himself off there, Yesod covers his mouth with one hand, as if his machine body has a mouth, as if the unbearable things that he feels can affect him physically. Here is the truth laid bare. ]

...See, I told you, I have been rotting from the inside for a long time...

[picky]

[ Marcille is here! Or maybe she isn't Marcille at all. The disconnect between herself and whoever she embodies is palpable—different hair, different hands, different life. She's staring forward at a blinking screen and watching Yesod in his clear emotional turmoil, his image glitching from robot to human projection.

Marcille tries to fathom all of this. She's still herself, even in this different body. She feels like Yesod is more desperate for understanding than he lets on.

She tries to speak back to him, to somehow scrounge words to ease him. She just doesn't know how. ]

Yesod...?

[penaltypoints]

[ Marcille's efforts to reach Yesod in this memory, the present instead of the past, don't go unheard. Thin cracks begin to spread their way across the surface of the screens, too, lengthening, distorting the image displayed. The room's lights dim as these surroundings become less tangible; in this space, the wall of monitors may not be a solid barrier in a location removed from the rest.

And the manager's form forced upon Marcille here slowly fades as well, the more she seeks to make sense of what she sees. The dream reacts to it: her presence is something that alters that day's events.

Yesod's gaze focuses on her, perturbed. ]

[picky]

[ Marcille's heart leaps into her throat as soon as the screen begins to shatter. She staggers behind into that unknown space on reflex, eyes squeezed shut. Her arms come up to shield her face from glass that's near to shattering.

But first, the lights go dim; Marcille can see them fade behind her eyelids, red to black. She opens them again and sees only her sleeves at first before taking in the rest of her clothes. She's herself again—and it's really her, wearing her clothes from the dungeon. She pats herself down, reminds herself that she's real, and then looks back at the busted screen.

There's Yesod's distorted image behind it, anxious and unsettled and staring back at her. An innate protectiveness burgeons in her chest. She steps forward, hands balled into fists. ]

It's me, Marcille! I-I don't know what's going on, but maybe I can help you!

[ All of these terms she barely understands, the dehumanization and itemization of this company's workers, accusations of cruelty and Yesod's bone-deep guilt and frustration—she can't fathom these things on her own or why they're being shown to her in the first place. What she can understand is that her friend is in pain. ]

Are you trapped? I can get you out!