(no subject)
Whatever we inherit from the fortunate
We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us - a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
It's only when he's back in his office, and notices that his book is no longer in his hands, that he starts to wonder.
It takes a minute or two before the memories come back, but when they do it's as if they'd been there all along, and he picks up almost from where he left off.
The Rose Bride. Anthy Himemiya, who can somehow be enrolled and not enrolled at Ohtori at the same time, who is and is not in that bar at the same time, and who is and is not the Rose Bride -- no, is the Rose Bride, has always been the Rose Bride, will always be the -- but then how can she be there and here and both and neither?
We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us - a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
It's only when he's back in his office, and notices that his book is no longer in his hands, that he starts to wonder.
It takes a minute or two before the memories come back, but when they do it's as if they'd been there all along, and he picks up almost from where he left off.
The Rose Bride. Anthy Himemiya, who can somehow be enrolled and not enrolled at Ohtori at the same time, who is and is not in that bar at the same time, and who is and is not the Rose Bride -- no, is the Rose Bride, has always been the Rose Bride, will always be the -- but then how can she be there and here and both and neither?
(no subject)
It takes a moment for him to realise that the ground beneath his feet is not the hard, polished wood of a floor, but something oddly springy.
He slows, and lowers his book.
Somehow, he's not inside Nemuro Memorial Hall on a late afternoon. He's outside, wet grass underfoot and a starry sky above.
This would be strange in and of itself, were it not also for the fact that a short distance away is a greenhouse that looks exactly like the one
('I wonder if the flowers themselves are happy, being forced to last so long.')
in Ohtori.
He slows, and lowers his book.
Somehow, he's not inside Nemuro Memorial Hall on a late afternoon. He's outside, wet grass underfoot and a starry sky above.
This would be strange in and of itself, were it not also for the fact that a short distance away is a greenhouse that looks exactly like the one
('I wonder if the flowers themselves are happy, being forced to last so long.')
in Ohtori.
(no subject)
It's true that Souji Mikage doesn't tend to venture outside Nemuro Memorial Hall very often. Most of the time, those he needs to see come to him; he doesn't often come to them.
Nevertheless, there are some times when it can't be avoided. And it's a pleasant enough day, at any rate. So he takes his time crossing the campus on his way back to the hall, nose buried in the book he'd brought with him. He's so caught up in what he's reading that the shouts and calls of students leaving classes might not even exist.
Across the courtyard, up the stairs. The path is so familiar to him that he doesn't need to think about what he's doing. Three steps, two steps, one step more -- then six paces forward, hand on the doorknob. Push down. Push open.
(the path before you has been prepared)
Enter.
Nevertheless, there are some times when it can't be avoided. And it's a pleasant enough day, at any rate. So he takes his time crossing the campus on his way back to the hall, nose buried in the book he'd brought with him. He's so caught up in what he's reading that the shouts and calls of students leaving classes might not even exist.
Across the courtyard, up the stairs. The path is so familiar to him that he doesn't need to think about what he's doing. Three steps, two steps, one step more -- then six paces forward, hand on the doorknob. Push down. Push open.
(the path before you has been prepared)
Enter.
(no subject)
There are many levels to Nemuro Memorial Hall, few of which are used by the students of Ohtori Academy. Only those who have been accepted into the Mikage Seminar truly know the building inside and out, both its stately façade and the secrets that lie within its depths.
In one of the deeper levels, perhaps the deepest level of all, a hand opens.
A little hair ornament shaped like a leaf -- its gold paint glinting dully, unable to shine in the darkness of the room -- drops from an open palm into a long wooden box. The box is open at the top, but its size and shape are exactly the right size for a coffin.
With a loud, unpleasant grating noise, the coffin slides into the wall.
'I could simply dismiss those who are of no use to me.'
Beyond the wall lies the searing heat of a furnace, a crematorium whose fires are never permitted to go out.
'Saionji, though...'
In the fire, the purifying and cleansing fire, the coffin and its contents are burnt to ashes and then even the ashes are consumed without a trace.
'...it would be more interesting to leave the clown where he is.'
If there is any sound as Souji Mikage walks away from the furnace, it is only the remembered echo of footfalls...which are easily drowned out by the dull and hungry roar of the flames.
In one of the deeper levels, perhaps the deepest level of all, a hand opens.
A little hair ornament shaped like a leaf -- its gold paint glinting dully, unable to shine in the darkness of the room -- drops from an open palm into a long wooden box. The box is open at the top, but its size and shape are exactly the right size for a coffin.
With a loud, unpleasant grating noise, the coffin slides into the wall.
'I could simply dismiss those who are of no use to me.'
Beyond the wall lies the searing heat of a furnace, a crematorium whose fires are never permitted to go out.
'Saionji, though...'
In the fire, the purifying and cleansing fire, the coffin and its contents are burnt to ashes and then even the ashes are consumed without a trace.
'...it would be more interesting to leave the clown where he is.'
If there is any sound as Souji Mikage walks away from the furnace, it is only the remembered echo of footfalls...which are easily drowned out by the dull and hungry roar of the flames.
(no subject)
The dormitories are silent and empty during the school day, and even on the afternoons and weekends most of Ohtori Academy's student population prefer to spend their time out of doors when the weather permits.
If you are alone in a dormitory, the silence can be comforting, a welcome change from the noise and often inane chatter.
It can also be oppressive, hanging heavy in the air like the unnatural stillness before a thunderstorm.
If you are alone in a dormitory, the silence can be comforting, a welcome change from the noise and often inane chatter.
It can also be oppressive, hanging heavy in the air like the unnatural stillness before a thunderstorm.
(no subject)
There is a corridor lined with doors, all made of good solid wood and spaced a uniform width apart.
It is the sort of corridor that might give one vertigo if one tried to follow its length all the way down -- the spatial disorientation created by the rows of doors borders on unpleasant for both the eye and the brain. There is plainly a corner to turn at the far end, but it is difficult to judge precisely how far in the distance that corner is.
It is the sort of corridor that might give one vertigo if one tried to follow its length all the way down -- the spatial disorientation created by the rows of doors borders on unpleasant for both the eye and the brain. There is plainly a corner to turn at the far end, but it is difficult to judge precisely how far in the distance that corner is.
(no subject)
The room is dark when he enters.
He does not have to turn on the overhead light, though. He knows what is there, what waits for him a few paces into his small room.
Step, step - and then a hand reaches out and flips a small switch.
click
And there it is. A large, free-standing glass-walled aquarium, open at the top, and with several gallons of water at the bottom of the tank. The light illuminating the tank's contents is strong, bright enough to make the shadows on the edges of the leaves stand out in sharp relief and to make the petals glisten with a slick, oily lustre.
There is a single black rose in the centre of the tank.
It has nearly reached full blossom.
And Mikage Souji, the head of the Black Rose Seminar, smiles.
He does not have to turn on the overhead light, though. He knows what is there, what waits for him a few paces into his small room.
Step, step - and then a hand reaches out and flips a small switch.
click
And there it is. A large, free-standing glass-walled aquarium, open at the top, and with several gallons of water at the bottom of the tank. The light illuminating the tank's contents is strong, bright enough to make the shadows on the edges of the leaves stand out in sharp relief and to make the petals glisten with a slick, oily lustre.
There is a single black rose in the centre of the tank.
It has nearly reached full blossom.
And Mikage Souji, the head of the Black Rose Seminar, smiles.
(no subject)
The photograph is still on his desk, still face-up. But there is something else beside it on the desk.
A teacup. White china, like the ones the bar has been giving him.
Yet there is a small smudge of lipstick on the edge of the cup, for some reason.
And inside the cup at the very bottom, is a delicate-looking signet ring with a stylised rose crest.
Mikage only hesitates for
(an eternity)
a fraction of a second, before he reaches into the cup.
The ring slides easily onto his finger. As if it were made to fit him perfectly.
A teacup. White china, like the ones the bar has been giving him.
Yet there is a small smudge of lipstick on the edge of the cup, for some reason.
And inside the cup at the very bottom, is a delicate-looking signet ring with a stylised rose crest.
Mikage only hesitates for
(an eternity)
a fraction of a second, before he reaches into the cup.
The ring slides easily onto his finger. As if it were made to fit him perfectly.
(no subject)
There had been a photograph on his desk when he had gone down to the bar that evening. Placed face-down.
the chill ascends from feet to knees
But when he returns, the photograph has been placed upright.
the fever sings in mental wires
And it is...not the same.
if to be warmed, then I must freeze
A full minute passes as Mikage stares at it.
and quake in frigid purgatorial fires
He does not sleep that night. He simply sits on his bed, opposite the desk, and stares at the photograph.
of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars
the chill ascends from feet to knees
But when he returns, the photograph has been placed upright.
the fever sings in mental wires
And it is...not the same.
if to be warmed, then I must freeze
A full minute passes as Mikage stares at it.
and quake in frigid purgatorial fires
He does not sleep that night. He simply sits on his bed, opposite the desk, and stares at the photograph.
of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars
Room ∞-1
He is tired. Rather more tired than he should be, all things considered. He had hated to leave Roland Deschain-san so abruptly, but the exhaustion had come over him so quickly that he was more than a little concerned for his own ability to get back up the stairs. Even the journey from his table to the bar had been tiring.
Yet somehow he makes it upstairs to his room, and closes the door, leaning back against it to catch his breath --
-- and his gaze falls on his desk.
Specifically, on a framed photograph on the desk. It had not been there when he had left his room an hour before.
The room light overhead glints off the glass in the frame, obscuring the picture behind it. All he has to do is turn off the light, and he will not have to look at it. It would be a simple matter to prepare for the night without the room light being on.
But he does not turn off the light. Instead, he slowly makes his way over to the desk and picks up the photograph, tilting it to have a proper view of the picture in the frame.
It is not what he had expected (what had he expected?), not at all. There are two girls in the photograph. One is certainly Himemiya-san. The other...
('I'll beat you to a pulp and prove I'm better than you!')
...he does not recognise her. But she wears some semblance of the Ohtori uniform, albeit a strange variation on the traditional men's design.
An odd photograph. It seems to have been cut from a larger one -- there is another hand in the photograph, not quite touching the other girl's shoulder.
Carefully, he replaces the framed photograph on the desk. Face-down.
Yet somehow he makes it upstairs to his room, and closes the door, leaning back against it to catch his breath --
-- and his gaze falls on his desk.
Specifically, on a framed photograph on the desk. It had not been there when he had left his room an hour before.
The room light overhead glints off the glass in the frame, obscuring the picture behind it. All he has to do is turn off the light, and he will not have to look at it. It would be a simple matter to prepare for the night without the room light being on.
But he does not turn off the light. Instead, he slowly makes his way over to the desk and picks up the photograph, tilting it to have a proper view of the picture in the frame.
It is not what he had expected (what had he expected?), not at all. There are two girls in the photograph. One is certainly Himemiya-san. The other...
('I'll beat you to a pulp and prove I'm better than you!')
...he does not recognise her. But she wears some semblance of the Ohtori uniform, albeit a strange variation on the traditional men's design.
An odd photograph. It seems to have been cut from a larger one -- there is another hand in the photograph, not quite touching the other girl's shoulder.
Carefully, he replaces the framed photograph on the desk. Face-down.
Room ∞-1
( In Room ∞-1: First Night )With a soft squeak of hinges, the door to his room clicks shut. Hanging from the doorknob outside is a little paper sign that had not been there a moment before. In English, it would most likely be labelled 'Do Not Disturb'. But this one has three kanji neatly printed on it.
使用室
Shiyoushitsu.
Room currently occupied.