[ The city is foreign; the fortune teller’s shop is familiar. An apothecary haven, with wooden shelves lined with musty bottles and clumps of weeds reminding Rokurou more of the Midgand empire than hollow grocery stores and blank neon lights. Beams creak beneath their weight as they step inside. The daemon’s gaze furtive in search of the woman herself.
What he expects is a slender figure cloaked in silks and scarves to greet them with a flicker of candlelight and incense. Reality is quite different: his footsteps stop altogether when aniki greets the creepiest doll Rokurou has ever seen. It is trapped inside a box, dripped in a drapery of backlight and shadow, shades that embellish features gone uncanny with weathering.
The way aniki offers the gifts to it is too genuine. Rokurou’s excited expression melts into a withering look, directed at the back of Nansen’s head. How often has he said “Who am I to judge” before? Now, now he’s finally someone to judge. Aniki, this is not a woman! It doesn’t even have legs!!! He’s a leg man, damn it!
Pain cuts across Rokurou’s chest and he swallows back to urge to cough up blood. Is his poor bro so desperate, so untouched by a woman, that he can even get it up for a weird doll with no face? Aniki, bro… Rokurou rubs his chest, pain refusing to abate as his ‘understanding’ of Nansen’s ‘plight’ deepens.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he clasps a reassuring hand on Nansen’s shoulder. ]
Don’t worry, aniki. [ his voice is a little rough with emotion, ] It’ll be alright … I won’t abandon you.
[ Not until he makes sure that Nansen can at least meet a fine woman in person and breathe the same air she does. Ideally a dark haired beauty, fair skinned, mysterious, with a bit of an edge. Surely he’ll see the error of his ways and will realize that a creepy as fuck doll is no object for his undirected lust. ]
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What he expects is a slender figure cloaked in silks and scarves to greet them with a flicker of candlelight and incense. Reality is quite different: his footsteps stop altogether when aniki greets the creepiest doll Rokurou has ever seen. It is trapped inside a box, dripped in a drapery of backlight and shadow, shades that embellish features gone uncanny with weathering.
The way aniki offers the gifts to it is too genuine. Rokurou’s excited expression melts into a withering look, directed at the back of Nansen’s head. How often has he said “Who am I to judge” before? Now, now he’s finally someone to judge. Aniki, this is not a woman! It doesn’t even have legs!!! He’s a leg man, damn it!
Pain cuts across Rokurou’s chest and he swallows back to urge to cough up blood. Is his poor bro so desperate, so untouched by a woman, that he can even get it up for a weird doll with no face? Aniki, bro… Rokurou rubs his chest, pain refusing to abate as his ‘understanding’ of Nansen’s ‘plight’ deepens.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he clasps a reassuring hand on Nansen’s shoulder. ]
Don’t worry, aniki. [ his voice is a little rough with emotion, ] It’ll be alright … I won’t abandon you.
[ Not until he makes sure that Nansen can at least meet a fine woman in person and breathe the same air she does. Ideally a dark haired beauty, fair skinned, mysterious, with a bit of an edge. Surely he’ll see the error of his ways and will realize that a creepy as fuck doll is no object for his undirected lust. ]