(Tsurumaru has enjoyed tea for almost a long as he can remember but he's never seen tea like this. It's different from the smaller and more intimate tea ceremonies he's used to observing and taking part in. This looks like it's more for a party.
It isn't in his character to stick strange food into his mouth but suddenly, there's a feeling in his mind. It's like an electric signal urging him to try a cup and objectively, he realizes how careless that is, even for him. The impulse is too strong to fight off even if he knows better and he pours himself a cup. Even when he brings the tea cup to his lips, he keeps thinking this is a bad idea but he can't seem to stop himself.
Black tea is more bitter and stronger than the green teas he's more accustomed to drinking but he doesn't dislike it. He thinks something like this would go well with something sweet and rich. When he sets his cup down on the saucer, there's a delicate clink…
… and a small chip of something falls onto the table.
Maybe it's the sound that makes Tsurumaru flinch and bring a hand up to his face. His fingers trace something on his cheek and his first instinct is that he's some how been cut but then he feels that tiny, little piece that is missing. It's so small, it's barely noticeable but he knows what's wrong. He isn't cut. His skin is cracked and has begun to shatter just slightly.
On the table, the chip flashes in the light— a piece of not flesh but metal.)
Unaesthetic Repair (cw: body horror)
(After the tea party but before finding the antidote, Tsurumaru can be found in the city proper. He's going through the shelves of a convenience store or a pharmacy until he finds a packet of bandages. When he tries to open it, he drops the package onto the floor and looks at his hand.
It looks like his hands are covered in scratches but the cuts are too straight. A closer look reveals the cuts are shatter lines. Some of them are shallow but others look quite deep but there's no blood. In fact, it's almost like it isn't really skin but something more inorganic— like ceramic, perhaps? It's minor but one of his nails just broke trying to undo the seal. Maybe it's because he has to use his hands so much… the shattering is much worse on his fingers than it is on his face which still remains shallow.
He picks up the package very gently and looks over to you,)
Could you help me open these? (And he smiles naturally, totally light and perfectly relaxed, the cracks on his face obvious for anyone to see,) I can't use my hands well.
Wildcard
Also happy to play around with other effects or deal with other people's suffering. Come at me!!!
(He's used to being talked about. From the moment he first became alive and gained awareness, he was aware of his beauty because it had always been a topic of discussion; one of the most beautiful swords in Japan, beautiful enough to rival Mikazuki Munechika, a perfect example of craftsmanship, a highly desirable treasure.
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for." "— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?" "— The only thing he brings is grief and misery. "— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name." "— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
Wildcard
Also down to have Tsuru fight with some flowers or overhear gossip about your characters instead!
open: tea party (cw: body horror)
It isn't in his character to stick strange food into his mouth but suddenly, there's a feeling in his mind. It's like an electric signal urging him to try a cup and objectively, he realizes how careless that is, even for him. The impulse is too strong to fight off even if he knows better and he pours himself a cup. Even when he brings the tea cup to his lips, he keeps thinking this is a bad idea but he can't seem to stop himself.
Black tea is more bitter and stronger than the green teas he's more accustomed to drinking but he doesn't dislike it. He thinks something like this would go well with something sweet and rich. When he sets his cup down on the saucer, there's a delicate clink…
… and a small chip of something falls onto the table.
Maybe it's the sound that makes Tsurumaru flinch and bring a hand up to his face. His fingers trace something on his cheek and his first instinct is that he's some how been cut but then he feels that tiny, little piece that is missing. It's so small, it's barely noticeable but he knows what's wrong. He isn't cut. His skin is cracked and has begun to shatter just slightly.
On the table, the chip flashes in the light— a piece of not flesh but metal.)
Unaesthetic Repair (cw: body horror)
It looks like his hands are covered in scratches but the cuts are too straight. A closer look reveals the cuts are shatter lines. Some of them are shallow but others look quite deep but there's no blood. In fact, it's almost like it isn't really skin but something more inorganic— like ceramic, perhaps? It's minor but one of his nails just broke trying to undo the seal. Maybe it's because he has to use his hands so much… the shattering is much worse on his fingers than it is on his face which still remains shallow.
He picks up the package very gently and looks over to you,)
Could you help me open these? (And he smiles naturally, totally light and perfectly relaxed, the cracks on his face obvious for anyone to see,) I can't use my hands well.
Wildcard
unaesthetic repair
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cw reference to depression/death wish/attempted murder
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Tea Break
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open: poison garden
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for."
"— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?"
"— The only thing he brings is grief and misery.
"— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name."
"— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
Wildcard
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1/2
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