thenearshore | She's the fire in the sin And I burn breathin' her in [Open]

Who: Mikan & YOU

When: Sep 20/21st

Where: Around both Near and Far Shore, the school, etc.

What: Komaeda's agreed to give Mikan the hand he had attached to him so she could examine it and find a way to re-attach it better. So now Mikan's running around with a severed hand and there's nothing weird about this at all okay?? Warning for spoilers for Super Danganronpa 2 if you're trying to avoid that.

[You know, she used to dream one day of holding the hand of the person she'd loved most in this world. It had been an all-consuming love. A dangerous obsession she couldn't break away from on her own. She'd wanted to hold that hand again, once upon a time. Maybe even a little bit now. Just once. She'd like to think she was okay now, that she'd broken away from those desires and all, but they're so tangled up in who she was, who she still is and will be--

Well.

She didn't think her chance would come again in the form of her beloved's severed hand held in her own.

It's Komaeda's hand, but it's also not. It's Junko's hand too. Was Junko's hand.

So: [A] Mikan won't do anything weird, but she does find herself staring too much while she wanders the Shores. Every so often, when she thinks she's alone, she can sometimes be stumbled upon, pulling the hand out to examine it. Tracing the lines of Junko's hand and the nails and remembering. She wished she could forget, the expression on her face some mix of longing nostalgia and agony.

It's fine. This is fine.]

[B]

[While Komaeda's taken decent care of the hand, Mikan can't help but think it needs a woman's touch. It's a woman's hand, after all! ...There's nothing right about that sentence, but here Mikan is, sneaking into a nail salon.

Normal humans just slide their gazes over her, which is good, because she looks overly suspicious the way she's hunched over a wrapped little bundle in her arms and keeps looking around desperately.

She looks around again and hesitantly unwraps part of the bundle so that the nails of the hand peek out and begins carefully scrutinizing nail polishes, trying to find the perfect shade of red. For some reason it feels very important to get this perfect.]

B-but, do I choose Fire Engine Red, or Underage Red... Th-they look the same. They're the same, aren't they? [She can't tell the difference at all help.]

[C]

[Mostly Mikan can be found wandering around the Far Shore across many different temple grounds on a search for a good place to sit and study; there's a suspiciously wrapped bundle held tightly to her chest with one hand, and a stack of books precariously balanced on the other. It's no surprise that eventually she loses her balance and topples over with a shriek.

For once it's not into some fanservice-y pose, but the books go flying. There's all medical texts about surgery and the like, but there's some weird ones thrown in to about.. reanimation?? Occult books on revival? A copy of Frankenstein!?

The bundle goes flying too and lands on the ground. In it is Junko's severed hand, now perfectly manicured and looking well taken care of if any brave soul decides to peek at the bundle on their way to help Mikan or something.

Even if they don't, Mikan--knowing she's likely trespassing--sits up rubbing her head with a groan] I-I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, I-I was j-just passing through, I promise! Y-you can hit me if you want, or cut my hair, or put your cigarettes out on me, so pl-please forgive me! I'll do anything, so please don't be mad!

I-I've got a good reason, I swear...!

[Wildcard]

[Hit me up at

ovals if you wanna plan something, otherwise Mikan can basically be fond anywhere trying to study up on these things. Just...carrying a hand around with her. No big deal.]

Threaded | Flat

[...He really shouldn't have been reminded of Kurotsuchi upon seeing the disembodied hand and he chooses to pointedly ignore it as he walks over to her, his expression unreadable considering how he found her wandering on his temple grounds.

The small god just looks at her, veiled curiosity behind teal eyes.]

...What are you doing?

[It's remarkable, the sorts of things one sees on a normal morning walk in the Heavens.

A familiar young woman caressing a severed hand is unusual even by Hakkai's standards, though, and he pauses a few paces away, clearing his throat, at last, to get her attention. The expression on her face isn't, he thinks, the sort of expression anyone wants to have unless they're alone.

What does he say to an expression like that? He is already prying, after all.]

Whose is it?

[ He's not really sure how she got in here. Maybe the giant iron cathedral called to her? It and the blue fire and the gravestones surely give off the best occult vibe ever. The temple itself though is under construction. Blame the cats from yesterday.

But he's hurrying over as soon as he hears the sound of someone falling over. ]

Can you get up?

[ Yuki does offer her a hand while glancing over at the fallen piles of books with a soft hum of thought. ]

...if you're looking for medical texts, I'm afraid my library's kind of... unavailable at the moment though.

[ So that's...a thing to stumble upon.

Though Obi was in the tree she stopped under, taking a nap, and he didn't really stumble upon the sight. ]

Miss, what are you doing?

[ The utterly bewildered voice comes from the tree. ]

[Forrest doesn't usually wear nail polish himself, but he does do a lot of nail treatments for his friends, so he finds himself here fairly often to restock his supplies. And when he sees Mikan standing there browsing, he approaches with a friendly smile.]

Oh, hello! Mikan, from the other day, right?

[ Why should he be stuck with one god, anyway? He'd been assigned to Ekko, and he'd picked Sharak sinply because she'd been nice to him when he'd been turned into a kid. There's dozens of gods here for a shinki to choose from!

And so that's what he's been doing, in the hours that he's free from the bar. Some of these temples are beautiful -- some are fucking ridiculous, gaudy or stark or full of cats, but some are really peaceful and pretty. And poultry-free, which is a definite bonus.

This temple might be a little too peaceful, though, he thinks, stepping over the tiny babbling brook into yet another field of tiny white flowers. Beyond there's a gazebo, looking like something out of a wedding catalog, and the row of cypress at the edge of the property. The god -- or goddess -- who lives here is probably the god of romance or something, he thinks, trying not to crush every tiny blossom as he heads back toward the road. The last thing he needs is more romance.

He hears a footstep behind him, and turns just in time to see the girl pitch forward, her stuff going flying. Goddess of klutzes, he mentally snickers. Goddess of comedy pratfalls? ]

You okay?

[ He leans over, picking up the bundle that had landed at (technically on) his foot, smile fading as she begs his forgiveness. Put cigarettes out on her? What? What the hell kind of shit temple is she from?

Frowning, he tucks the oddly shaped package under his severed arm and holds out a hand to her. ]

Nobody's gonna hit you, okay? You come tell me if they try.