“I am sorry to disturb you –– have you seen a little dark-haired boy wandering on his own? I completely lost sight of him”.

       Not only that, but, even though she had explored the place as soon as she arrived, she hasn’t learnt yet the possible places where a little kid could hide; the fact he was no normal kid didn’t need to be mentioned, and perhaps her reaction before had been a bit exaggerated –– no, she wouldn’t apologize, he asked for it thus she had no reason to feel guilty. However, if he didn’t plan to return on his own, she would find him and force him to come back, whatever mess with which he surely involved himself.

       “Any information can be of great help”. 


   —Being in Japan, plenty of folk had dark hair, were tiny ( tinier than him, at least ), though not necessarily on their own. In any case, he’d like for the lady to leave him be and not bother him with her folly questions; on very few occasions Camus went out ( properly disguised ) to find a quiet place to consume various sweets. Now was one of those occasions, and he was very well capable of enjoying them thoroughly in solitude.

     Nevertheless, kindness was expected from him, in case his fans recognised him ( he’d discovered that obsessive fans were a threat as grand as spies & saboteurs, and just as capable — oddly enough ). Camus was not one to take needless risks. Smile graced his lips as he responded calmly, courteous as ever ( she had been most polite herself, after all ):
                      “Several, milady. Apologies, but I cannot say which you may be aiming at, frankly speaking.” 




A frown furrows candy-pink brows after his first words, but after the male has finished speaking, her lips mirror his own bright smile. Such a quick change from irritation to innocence was simple.
"Mm, it was an exaggeration, fear not: I’m not really going to melt. Even so, I really don’t like the heat." Though she may not melt, she could overheat — the robotic version of a heatstroke.


"Likewise. I favour the winter season above all others, meaning summer is the least liked. Especially on scorching hot days like this." He wondered —a brief, fleeting thought, not being quite that interested — whether the robot ( woman, lady, he assumed she preferred ) was able to withstand colder temperatures as well. In any case, she was — along with her many friends, brothers ; the other VOCALOIDs — an exquisite piece of work, her synthetic voice being quite pleasant to the ears. 

Personally, he preferred a more natural tone ( not to say he deemed them superior ) but, all in all, her songs did appeal to him, much like Mikaze’s songs did.
          ” Do you have a preferred season yourself, miss Luka — if that is what I may call you—? “ 

isuzu-ringo ;  
Camus is not gross, not be a long shot. He is beautiful and majestic and his reaction to butt touch is funny as heck!

Except he doesn’t agree ( with the latter )


Amy Tan, The Hundred Secret Senses

filed under→ ·{ frostbits } ·;q


if u want a starter / thingy the same still counts: send me an ask (very much preferred) / reply to (preferred) or like (fiiine, if you really dont want to do the other two)  this post & we’ll see where things go yeah~

❄ || ωнαт ιѕ α ≻₭ η ι g н т≺ тσ α ⊀ℚ υ є єη⊁?




              She knew she had heard footsteps getting slightly closer.
Her auditive sense was highly sensitive—coming from being a supernatural creature people always spoke, wrote and even made movies about, trying so hard to make common humans believe that they did exist—with the sole purpose of “opening their eyes” to one of the few real deals walking on the same ground. Desperately trying to make them believe that humans were not the only thing walking on Earth;
                                                       a v a m p i r e.

      So she did hear the footsteps, just not who’s.
                                                                  Or what was approaching her.
Then again, what’s to be expected. She was not on her homeland. And probably won’t be or a few. 
But it was only a matter of time before the approached each other. So much for some alone time or pure reflection— not that she was going to do some anyways.
Sakura just liked to think she did and was gone for the better good. 

Either way, it was not possible to do any of her plans with a hound on a leash—mind you that she was certainly not the dog person—and a person on her way. Typical. There was really no peace anywhere she went.
           Or at least there was peace until she arrived.


     So,  trespassing. Something completely illegal; to enter someone’s property without permission.

Then again, who was the so called owner? Where were the signs? Not that she cared much about it.They were probably set somewhere close, but knowing the pinkette, she probably ignored them.

That’s just the type of person the female was— reckless. And surviving another century with her own rules.
   Rule number one:
                     There were n o rules.

                ❝—If I’m really trespassing, then please point out a few things. Where are the signs?❞ The first stupid question blurred out.


            A pause was made before her glossy lips formed a smirk, continuing her trial, childish games.

                                         ❝—And on top of everything, who the hell are you? I am certainly no commoner, dear. And I do as I well please.❞

Maybe if things got dirty with her answering that, she could just make the male forget using her compulsion abilities.

Some things; you just got to abuse the power of.

Brows knitted together; expressing a cold indifference — unimpressed, if not disappointed, and certainly ticked off by the lady ( nay, woman, as she clearly disgraced the more elegant, polite term) and her clear lack of respect. Sheer ignorance was condonable, but her attitude went beyond ignorance — even if that was, presumably, the main reason for her behaviour.

  “Alexander,” He beckoned his pet softly, ignoring the other’s questions. She did not seem to care for what the answer may be. Intolerable, but Camus had been taught to keep his cool in situations as these— and so he did, without failing to stand proud despite his shorter height, despite the boyish features and voice. The result remained a somewhat queer sight to behold.

   He lowered chin and torso in a curt, gracious bow, expression nevertheless haughty — making the gesture sardonic, almost mocking, despite the still fairly courteous words that followed.
    " It is doubtful you care for my answer, miss, but I shall respond regardless, as is appropriate. You are nearing the Palace of her Majesty the Silk Queen, ruler of this land. It is forbidden for foreigners, commoners, and strangers alike — commoner or not — to walk here, as various signs as well as guards earlier on should have mentioned. I shall send word to the guards that patrol here to have spotted you, miss, and order them to remove you if they find you here again. "
He bowed yet again, this time as a goodbye.
  " Even if you have an audience with her majesty, this is not the path to take. The main road lies further to the south. If you are lost, I suggest you head in the direction of that village. " A nod towards the pallid group of buildings, and he turned his back to her as Alexander walked ahead — excited to return home, much as Camus was. The woman was beyond unpleasant; her presence alone was aggravating, a test of his patience. Who’d have guessed that a simple stroll outside could ruin his mood so easily.

    ” Farewell then, miss. ” A cold goodbye that communicated his wish to never see her again; Camus was certain that would benefit them both.

isuzu-ringo ;  
butt touches the not gross muse

Not tolerated.

{ Icy Ballet }



Haruka thought that it would be exhausting, to talk like Camus all the time. Well, it probably wasn’t for him since he was no doubt raised that way, but for her? Just being around him made her want to ‘mind her p’s and q’s’ as the saying went, which made her somewhat nervous of erring. This in turn almost always ensured that she would err somehow, and round the cycle continued. Such was the case with her description of ice skating, though she would have been pleased to know that she had surprised the earl in a good way for once. 


"I thought you might be," she replied, offering him a warm smile. "And while it’s a shame—I’m sure everyone would love to see you in action—this isn’t the best venue, you’re right. The, ah, rink I use for practice isn’t as large as this one, but it’s also never this crowded. I have it to myself a lot… which is probably a good thing, considering how much I used to fall." A self-deprecating laugh came from the composer’s lips, but it was all in good humor. She acknowledged her flaws. Perhaps her senior would be interested in a less populous venue for ice skating in the future.

She was pleasantly surprised by his offer to skate with her. It hadn’t been something she was expecting, but perhaps she should have? He did make a concerted effort to appear chivalrous and polite, after all. Oh, but she didn’t want him to feel pressured!

Haruka had mostly missed the forming cluster of irate fans behind them. While it had occurred to her that Camus was making conversation to avoid further interaction with the group, she hadn’t considered that she would be the focus of their envy now that his attention was directed elsewhere. Doubtless, she would have been grateful for the protection implicit in his offer, if she had.

"If you’re sure you don’t mind," she began, "then it would be an honor to have you join me. Please don’t let me hold you back."

And with that, she took his hand, fingers curled loosely around his warm palm. Behind them, a thousand invisible daggers shot from the eyes of Camus’s fans.

Everyone' — aye, he was certain they would. Once again gaze flickers at the girls behind the pianist, inwardly sighing at this unforeseen complication— though the fault was his, obviously, to be so thoughtless to not take things as these into consideration. He assumes that the thrill of practicing a sport dear to his heart had made him a little… careless. Naturally, Nanami’s presence here was nothing he could have predicted, but he should have disguised himself better.

A single blink before he answers ( time he takes to let her words reach him, as his thoughts had occupied him while she’d explained ). A shard of genuine, a multitude of less heartfelt curiosity makes him pose a friendly:
                “Truly? Where is said rink then, if I may inquire?”
It occurs to him just in time to add a compliment, encouragement of the sorts, knowing it will lift her spirits about her ( lacking, but not more so than the average skater present ) skills. "—If what you say is true, you must have spent a considerable an amount of time there, as you seem better balanced than half the folk present here. One may think you have been skipping work.”
A jest, he proves with a small chuckle — even the person behind his farce was aware that the pianist would rarely, if ever, choose to put her work aside. One of the few things he can truly appreciate about her.

A second, courtly bow follows after the chuckle, when her her fingers curl around his hand, and he gently pulls her along as the blades of his skates scrape the ice, describing smooth, long lines. Camus has not turned his back to her and advanced only steadily so far, knowing the crowd he was now blind to would not pay heed to them.
"You shall not. In fact, you could be of great help, miss Nanami, if you’d steer me in the right direction." An indulgence, so to say, to show off his skills in a less showy manner, as she has requested.
Barely are his instructions uttered or a sharp turn ensues when they nearly collide with a dreamy, doe-eyed couple ( nauseating ), though he has not glanced back once.
Raised brow, widening smile and a curious glimmer in his irises communicate the wordless, amused warning to be swift in her observations, lest she’d want them to crash with others.

     —Unperturbed, he goes on: "That way, our conversation can continue." Not that he finds it a terribly engaging one. "It would be impolite of me to turn my back to you, would it not?"
Curious it was, because the earlier, brief glimmer had not been one orchestrated by him in order to appear gallant. The indulgence is not one for her alone, this once. Even the smile lies less strained on his lips.


Franny Billingsley, Chime