[open]

[missingache]

Who: Roxas & you
Where: Far Shore, underwater & Near Shore
When: June 3rd
What: Cheer-up fairies are annoying, getting stuck underwater to drown isn't fun, but hey there's fireworks
Warnings: Drowning, possible mentions of death other than drowning

( It's time to bring you down )

[closed]

[theunluckygirl]

Who: Jennifer & a couple people

What: Jennifer's nora'd, and talks to a couple friends about some memories she regained

When: June 1st...I GUESS??

Where: The temples for Hijikata, Sharak, and Masaki's god

Summary: points to the 'what' section. I might add more starters for people later ehhh



( If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me )

(no subject)

[reformedsinner]

Who: Cho Hakkai, Guy Cecil, Kozukata Yuri
What: Settling into a new household as a shinki means talks with the current residents... and with the people who sneak into the place at midnight, for that matter, too.
When: May 30 & June 1
Where: The temple of Mahakala
Warnings: TBD. Hakkai and Guy's conversation is probably going to stay fairly G-rated, though.

[smile like nothing has changed -- hakkai & guy, may 30th, evening]

[Hakkai's trying very hard not to develop a new nervous habit of rubbing his throat where the name rests. It doesn't itch; the skin isn't raised or irritated, like it would be for a real tattoo. There's no way to feel it there at all, but knowing it's there makes his skin prickle nonetheless.

It's probably just because he knows that other people can see it. He's never been fond of that.

And it's past time for him to make his introductions, even if he's spent most of the day working with Asshole on the abandoned temple he's repurposed into a school. He's back, now, padding down the hallway of Ukoku's temple to knock lightly on the door of Guy's room.

He steps back, and crosses his arms before he can raise one hand to rub his throat.]

Excuse me! Guy, are you there?


[whose room are you going to for coffee? -- hakkai & yuri, june 1, around midnight]

[He should be asleep, considering when he woke up. He's not; he's tired, with a day's hard work and years' worth of memories weighting down his bones, but it can't overcome the itchy restlessness that keeps him moving. Reading doesn't really alleviate it, either. In desperation, at last, he's headed for the kitchen, and is scrubbing the counters clean of every speck of debris. The light from the single swinging bulb overhead is dim and yellow, and he's sure in the light of day it'll have to be redone.

Anything, at this point, is better than lying down and letting himself think.]