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First note: This is tied to The Magician's Apprentice Exchanged Cups With an Oni (>>65260) and is ideally read after chapter 9 (>>66514), but can totally be read on its own.
Second note: Archaisms abound.
Third note: This will be updated once a day for six days.

Let's begin.


I grew too soaked last night. After I washed the wood from my mouth with the river’s water, from Yuugi I departed, and to find more sake I went. Not yet am I used to alcohol’s back-bite. My skull is in chaos, cacophony. I run my hands through my hair and stop at my budding horns. I touch them, feel them, and confirm. Aye, this is me: oni.

Now to know what it means, young Ibuki.

[ ♫: http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=rzpsp4KiW3s#/4;133 ]

I groan and grit my teeth, growling bitterlike and unsure why this emotion boils inside me; regret from the sake washed down my throat, or regret that my sweet ignorance had been washed on way? My stomach is wet. What is this, now?
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>I know she tried to cheer her up, but that really wasn't the best thing to say to someone who is trying to escape their nature.
As I see it, Suika loves being an oni, but she's not technically an "ideal" one. Part of this was exploration as to why, and I'd say that line was Yuugi trying to remind her that even if she doesn't fit all the ideals, she's still what she thought she wasn't (but nonetheless wanted to be... while also not wanting to be). Girl's conflicted!

As for "exile"... It may be better to interpret her as a simple aberrant oni according to her original Japanese description in her IaMP ending as being, eh, an "outcast". Outcast is an off the mark reading of what she's called, although "異端児" can carry a heavy, but accurate connotation of "heretic" (some sources will tell you it means "maverick", and more readings seem to support that idea https://dictionary.goo.ne.jp/jn/12267/meaning/m0u/ ). For what it's worth I won't be going from a perspective of her being a cast out of society oni (especially given according to Satori, Yuugi is jealous of Suika's freedom to abandon the Former Capital and do as she pleases), but she is undoubtedly unique for better or worse. She was a ruler at one point in her past, as one of the Four Devas, so she probably had the respect of her fellows. That's my interpretation!

And finally, thank you~. I'm happy you really liked it, it was a fun exercise.
Tracks used:

Title - Album (Circle)

[笛子]東方Project 碎月 (cover of FELT's "CLONE") - (Dizi)
CLONE - Blue Drop (FELT)
And Other - Blue Drop (FELT) [bonus]
華は春に還り - Crystal Stone (ShibayanRecords)
Drunk As I Like - Distant Phantasm 6th (Distant Phantasm)
砕月 - Aoki Touhou Komoriuta (TAMUSIC)
Otherworld - Final Fantasy X
幻想郷への扉 - LUNATIC EASTRONICA (Fluid Stance)
Memory of Forgathering Oriental Dream - Immaterial and Missing Power (NIGHT DISC)
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That said, there really is hardly any difference: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822070

I think I added like two ellipses, I changed three words and that was about this. Does make sense--I spent quite a while on this short in the first place.

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Parsee didn’t particularly like humans. Sure, they’re the main source of her sustenance, as the fleeting desires of youkai are not particularly filling meals for the hashihime, but she often finds ones that know to resist her provocations, and while she’s envious of their willpower for doing so, she’d much rather not interact with such persons at all.

As such, she was incredibly annoyed when she found the small boy, dressed in the casual attire of the Outside World, knocking on her front door.

“So there is somebody in this house!” The boy beamed up at her with an irritatingly gleaming smile, “Hello, misses, what are you doing living under this bridge?”

“How even did you get here?” Parsee asked, her sheer disbelief at this entity finding its way down there overriding her immediate disgust and envy at his cheerfulness.

The boy’s smile widened, “Your house is always under the bridge! It doesn’t matter which bridge I crawl under, your house is always here!”

“You...well, did your parents tell you that it’s okay to knock on the doors of strangers?”

“No, but I thought that you must be lonely living under a bridge like this!” The boy fished through his grade school backpack, and produced a bottle of yellow liquid, which he offered to the recoiling hashihime. “So I thought you would like someone else here!”

“Uhh...thanks.” She said with false sincerity, taking the bottle. Her abilities were finding no purchase in the bright mind of the child, and she just wished that he’d go away to wherever he came from. “But I’m sure your cheerful self wouldn’t want to make friends with a lousy youkai like me.”

“What’s a youkai? And you’re not lousy! You have such pretty green eyes, and I really like how your voice sounds!” The child eagerly pointed out his opinions, and Parsee groaned, “And I never saw such fancy clothing, except on TV before! Ooh, and those long ears! Are you one of Santa’s elves?”

She quickly cut him off, “Kid, do you say this to everyone you meet?”

“Of course! Everyone I meet has so much good and nice things about them! I think you’ll be happier too
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A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
Well done.

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Okazaki Yumemi was missing—or at the very least, she was five minutes tardy.
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Okazaki Yumemi was missing—or at the very least, that’s how it felt to him.

Yojuu Ryu’s days of preparing lectures were becoming alarmingly more frequent. It was an unfortunate routine: On the days that he’d be heading the classroom, there would be a conspicuous pile of notes scattered across Okazaki’s desk in her office, and Okazaki herself would be nowhere to be found—as if she had disappeared into thin air. Regardless, until she came back, Ryu would wait at the graduate lab every day until the janitors excused him to lock the doors. Some times, it would be days. But other times, it would be weeks. And every time Okazaki came back, her body would be thinner, or her eyes would be wearier—whatever the case, it was normal for her to return with physical afflictions. Each time, however, her rosy eyes would be alight in passion as she spoke wildly about “dimensional barriers” and “the other place.” Frequently, too, would the professor demonstrate with rows and rows of whiteboards—on one particular day, she flooded the entire graduate lab’s boards with equations and abbreviated theorems, only to be later scolded by the head of the department. “Public space! These whiteboards are public space!” he had cried.

Yojuu Ryu worried. Though Okazaki’s increasingly frequent fits of physical intimacy tempered his anxiety, it wasn’t enough—in fact, it was never enough. Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder. Whatever his turbulent feelings, it became obvious to Ryu that he was partial to Okazaki and extremely so. She kept dangling sweet temptations over his head until he realized that she had him under her thumb.

They had moved their acts of indecency to Ryu’s one bedroom apartment. He found it hard to evaluate what was worse: the fact that they previously engaged in physical relations at the graduate lab, or that they had evolved to a more intimate environment. Now there was little in the way to distract Ryu from how she was casually taking off her shoes in his home, how her red blouse revealed bare collarbone, and how a loose strap beneath her top fell dangerously off her shoulder.

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Okazaki Yumemi was missing… until she, suddenly and decidedly, wasn’t.

Ryu was effectively moved to full-time professor, complete with more hours and more pay. Of course, it wasn’t by choice. Okazaki Yumemi had extreme bouts of disappearing, so Ryu had no alternative but to fill her shoes. How she had managed tenure, he’d never know.

It was an idle day in his apartment when Yumemi appeared. And it was exactly that: She had appeared. From his peripheral vision, the girl, as if she had always been there, was.

Yumemi, who smelled faintly of ashen fire, shook off the sleeves of her crimson jacket and flung it down to the ground, exposing a black camisole underneath. Beads of sweat dripped down her cheek and to the floor.

Frankly, to the man who was previously considering what to make for lunch, it was all too much. But before Ryu could open his mouth to question her, she spoke first.

“Time, no—another world,” she said, nodding, as if she were continuing a conversation she had with him. As if she had never disappeared for weeks on end. “I’ve found it, Ryu.”


“Do you believe in magic?” she said.

His mind slowed. “Not… really?”

“I didn’t either. But then I traversed. To other worlds. Or maybe another time, or another dimension, who knows? One where science alone does not dictate the elements. Say it is insane. Absurd, even. I could have been hallucinating for all I know. But I believe I may have been to where no mortal of our realm has been before.”

“Insane is… certainly the word for it.” But Ryu took a look into Yumemi’s eyes, and, within those ruby pools, there was clarity—an alarming amount of it. The nervous fiddling of her hands, her clear eyes gazing level into his own, her mouth which spoke words faster than her mind could process: Ryu could not make sense of it.

“Then call me ill,” she said, feverishly laughing all the while. It was a rare set of laughs that threatened to expose her age. “And embrace me. I’m giddy,” she ad
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The next day, when Yojuu Ryu came to, the first thing that the man saw was Okazaki Yumemi. There in his bed, clad in only a white undershirt and the rest of his bed covers, she was scribbling away furiously on a notepad. The sunlight from outside seeped through the blinds and trickled towards the red-headed woman. Ryu laughed to himself. She was no more radiant than she usually was—and Ryu found himself likening her more to a tumultuous storm than the sun—that is to say, he saw her as she was: Yumemi. Her disheveled hair, her voice deep and cracked in the morning as she muttered to herself, the snort she did at her own notes—they were all Yumemi-like.

Her pen slowed the moment Yumemi noticed Ryu awake. “Hello,” she said gruffly.

“Good morning.”

As good as it was, the morning was quiet.

“I have a lecture to do today,” he said to break the silence. “It’s Monday.”

“Ah,” she said dismissively. “So it’s Monday.”

Perhaps anybody else would have written off the red-headed woman’s words as eccentric. Time moved at different paces for different persons, after all. To Ryu, however, they were words of foreboding.

“Yumemi,” he said.

“Hmm?” Her pen stopped. Yumemi shuffled around the covers to face the man, and as she did, her bare thighs were painfully exposed to the man, temporarily rendering the man silent. The previous night flashed through his mind, though he quickly dismissed it.

I want you to stay, he thought to her.

Ryu, however, was a coward. “It’s nothing. I need to get ready for work.”

And as he showered, and as he made breakfast and prepared coffee, his thoughts swarmed him. Could it be today? No, it couldn’t be, he thought. She’d have the decency to tell me, right?

His distractions gave rise to a missing twenty minutes of his schedule, which had made him decidedly tardy. He’d be five minutes late to the lecture hall, at least. Ryu cursed and left his breakfast unfini
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Reimu was sleeping in a bed near the Moriya Shrine, Sanae had gave her acsess to sleep there because Reimu was very poor, Kanako saw what Sanae was doing and since Sanae had put the bed there, Kanako rushed to the Hakurei shrine and bombed it all down, Cirno and Aya tried to stop her but she procceded it anyways, Suika - being awake at the time, had managed to escaped and took refuge at Rin's cafe, Reimu woke up and Sanae told her what happened, she started to cry and run to her shrine's part meanwhile Kanako was just walking back home, Reimu attacked Kanako and won, but she had no money! Sanae had 192,681,099 Yen at the time so she donated 2 million of her money.
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Van approves of this thread
♂️ Just lube it up ♂️

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Satoru, 34, unmarried, (last name not given,) rubbed his eyes.

Two gates over, a boarding announcement sounded out. It was in the usual disembodied, wheedling, electronically-modulated voice which reminded him of a Christmas elf trapped inside a metal barrel, and also gave him the Pavlovian feeling of being a Christmas elf trapped inside a metal barrel.

He lowered his newspaper, and watched as a sharp-dressed set of epaulets and sleeve stripes chatted up the stewardess at the desk. The scrambled egg on the pilot’s cap reminded him of the breakfast he hadn’t had. He thought about a pink film he’d seen once, or maybe not only once, where the pilot had done it with the heroine while he was flying the plane. The actor who’d played the pilot had been an amateur aviator himself, apparently. Satoru only knew this because there was an article in the newspaper about how he’d flown a Cessna into a yakuza boss’ house in Tokyo yesterday.

He decided to put airplanes off his mind.

Ordinarily, this would be a tall order, given the setting—aluminum henhouses tend not to be known for the absence of aluminum hens. But Satoru, 34, unmarried, was not a complacent man, despite the impression that he gave off, which was that he worked a boxy beige device with a name like ‘CS-64RC Mathematronic’ for a living, which was true. But complacent—not so. He was a man of enterprise. When he had chosen his seat, on first arriving at the gate, he had not chosen it arbitrarily. There was a reason he had chosen this seat, which was second from the end and had no arm-rest and where the morning Sun jabbed at his eyes through the panoramic window glass which saved on electric lighting costs.

The reason was it was next to a cute girl. Obviously.

He had, by now, and with the help of the newspaper, surely established his dis-interest in her. This was a crucial step. Girls were contrary creatures that craved attention, but hated to actually receive it—this was the common wisdom among the commiserati w
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There's not much context. The first short actually came about totally by coincidence. I saw the image first and wrote the thing for fun, and everything else came because of that.
Reisen is a mysterious bunny.
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In centuries past, when Lunar emissaries descended to the Earth, they would bring with them always a cutting from an udonge tree, in order that they should remember their true home on the eternal Moon.

This tree, the udonge, is not a beautiful one, however, which inspires of painture and poetry. It is a cursed tree, with the worthless, ashen soul of a vampire: one which never grows, and never bears fruit, living only to live, and to spite the very passage of time.

But in the presence of impurity, the udonge transforms. Filled with life, true, Earthly life, the kind of life which may only be lived at the cost of another, it blossoms with scintillating jewels, which shine in all the seven colours of sin. And in the presence of the most impure, it blossoms its most brilliantly: all the better to entrap these most unrepentant of hearts. Its shining crystal branches have been the downfall of untold many, sown by the emissaries of the Moon as seeds of discord among the nations of the Earth.

Today, these branches are little more than quaint curiosities to the people of the Moon, and objects of myth and legend to those below. They were either way primitive, unsubtle means for a primitive, unsubtle age, long since obsoleted by the forged banknote, the secret telegram, and the well-timed bullet. But the lies which they embodied live on, sweet, cloying, in the hearts and designs of Earthlings yet, and the work of the emissaries has never truly ceased …

Till now.

Seiran tossed another dart at the portrait on the corkboard, and swore when it only clipped him by the crest of an ear. Had it been a bullet from a rifle, it would have cracked his teeth, but the blue-haired rabbit had never the same skill at darts.

(She was also dead plastered on scalding Lunar shochu.)

The smiling Earthling in the portrait was,
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Awesome. I'm not quite sure on how the Earthlings and Lunarians interact (because hell, I'm not clear how that happens) But I like your characters and the introspection.

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shall you be barren again this year?
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Mokou was rather bored out of her mind.

It’s been a few short weeks since she agreed to that truce Kaguya had come up with figuring why the hell not, you can only spend a few hundred years brutally killing each other before it got boring. Even before the truce, it was pretty rare to see her anyway as she had been mostly hiding away in Eientei.

And now that the truce was in effect it’s been two weeks since she has last seen her. Honestly, it was starting to drive Mokou insane, many parts of the bamboo forest had big clearing burnt to ash. Just without even the potential threat of Kaguya popping out of the bamboo for another of their classic deathmatches, everything seemed just… boring.

Yay, the first week of peace was quite nice but now it was maddening, hell, even the rabbits that usually kept track of her when she wandered through the forest was missing. And while she would hate to say this but in some twisted form of irony, she missed Kaguya company, as one of the few people in the world that could ever understand her, even if we had our ‘disagreements’ and not that she would ever be willing to admit to any living soul that she missed that smug bitch of a princess.

Hell, there hadn’t been even a single lost person in the forest these last two weeks, it’s as if the entire universe was mocking her decision!

Figuring it was like every other day and no one was going get their dumb asses lost she decided to head home early. Hands still in her pockets and slouched over as she meandered her way back home, a scowl firmly etched across her face. With her knowledge of the forest, it only took a few minutes to get to her little cottage. Arriving back her scowl only deepened when she saw her door ajar.

Mokou rushed up the door and slammed and open eye instantly locking on the only person in the room. “Kaguya! what the hell are you doing in my house.” She said.

Kaguya, who was sat at her table simply raised an eyebrow “Why Mokou, I’m simply enjoying a cup of some tea.”

Walking over to the table and taking a seat opposite of Kaguya and said. “That’s my tea yo
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“You are putting me in a difficult position Byakuren. You know I can’t agree to this”

Ibaraki Kasen drums her fingers across a table in the Moriya temple dining hall, the usually bustling room empty save for the oni-cum-hermit and one Buddhist monk sitting across for her with all the confidence in the world. If Byakuren is put off by the other hermit’s frank refusal, she does not show it.

“Come now Kasen, surely you are sympathetic toward guiding youkai into hermitage considering your own state of being. We can help you as well. Besides, you came quite quickly when I mentioned a free lunch didn’t you.”

A spot of color touches Kasen’s cheek, before she quickly suppresses it. “Even a hermit has to eat occasionally you know. I’m grateful for your hospitality, but that doesn’t mean I can easily accept joining your temple. And another thing…” Kasen’s features shift for an instant, an immense pressure encompassing the room in an instant and disappearing just as quickly as she turns to Byakuren with an unusually serious expression. “Don’t think I buy this charity act. You only want me to get a connection with the youkai sage council. I don’t believe for a second you’re approaching me with good will alone.”

Byakuren shrugs, unfazed. “It can be both, can’t it? But let’s not lose our appetites over such political matters. I think I hear Nazrin now with the food.”

Kasen gives a questioning glance towards the monk. I thought Ichirin was their cook. She was the last few times I was lured herecame here.

The door slides open as Nazrin enters, an oversized chefs hat on her head, large enough to cover even her ears. She balances a tray on two hands, teetering left and right precariously. Kasen almost moves to intercept and help her but stop halfway up, afraid that her distraction may tilt the mouse youkai’s delicate balance. Finally, Nazrin slides the tray down between the two hermits, and uncovers the dish. An array of pastries greets you, having survived the perilous journey from kitchen to table.
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* * *

The basement flooded.

The fact of it was made known to the noble lady of the manse some twelve minutes into the new calendar day, or six minutes after Remilia’s wine-soaked head had made blessed contact with cool satin pillow, or two hours after the lady Scarlet had begun indulging in earnest in the privacy of her quarters for reasons she tried hard and presently was failing to keep secret: quarters which were summarily invaded by an indignant younger sister, who felled their arcane protections as if like Roman walls before Ottoman guns, and who marched in with the heavy footfalls of Ottoman Janissary troops, and who seized her in her bed like dared none other than Flandre Scarlet, sister to and only extant kin of the Scarlet Devil, and began to shake her.

“Wake up and get your wits about you you sorry drink-sotted excuse for an elder sister why here you lay crocked in bed like a jelly like a pickled fish in aspic like the refuse of decent society you can’t even keep your own self in order much less your own house well don’t you know the basement is flooding.”

“Flandre stop it I tell you to stop it here what’s the matter the basement is what.”

Flooding, damn you, taking in water, you must be deaf as a bat, Patchouli, make yourself of some use and transport us there, do catch your breath you matchstick woman, desist with that ghastly wheezing.”

It would be well to note that teleportation, performed under ideal conditions, by a well rested magician, in clement weather, over largely flat ground, with proper equipment and time ahead to prepare, might reach just shy of gentle.

Teleportation, conducted by Patchouli Knowledge plus two flights of stairs (upward, at forced march), passing through the floors of the Scarlet Devil Mansion (stately Queen Anne style, but if the Queen were the subject of an Ilya Repin painting, together with
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* * *

“We’re lost,” moaned Dahlia. “Utterly and hopelessly lost.” The garden fairy was soaked from head to toe, and her left side was spattered with red from one close call with a fish that she knew in her heart of hearts must have been fathered by an alligator. She had shot it through from tonsil to tail, just as its jaws were about to snap shut on her arm. Life was never fair to you, Gilliam the Bastard.

At least the lantern was still dry.

“That won’t do,” said Hortensia. The kitchen fairy sported a more even, primered, coat of blood. She was chirurgical
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* * *

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One day, a group of bored writers with nothing better to do than to shitpost while dumping random Touhou pics came up to a realization:

Touhous need affection.

By which we meant that we all wanted to touch our favorite Touhou characters in an affectionate manner, be it kisses, headpats, hugs, and yes, even handholding. It predictably devolved into yet another tirade about "wich 2hu wud u fug caress". But some of us saw some potential in this topic, and started to discuss how to put it into practice. This is what we came up with:


This is a thread where anyone can post shorts about caressing their Touhou character of their choice. There are no hard rules for this topic, but nonetheless we agreed on a general guideline for any potential writer that wishes to participate.

-No R-18 explicit content. Yes, we all know how lewd handholding and headpatting is, but do try to keep it relatively clean. We are trying to aim for heartwarming here, not dickrousing.

-There is no minimum or maximum wordlimit, but I recommend keeping it between 250-1000 words. The idea here is that we can whip out a short in about a day, whenever we have free time and inspiration.

-One character per short (unless it's yuri). In keeping with the above, limiting the scope of the short to one character only should help more novice writers to not get too overwhelmed. The simpler, the better.
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The bell rang. Rather late for a customer, but they were so seldom that the human at the counter didn’t question this bit of serendipity.

He looked up and felt a flutter through his whole being. This wasn’t just any customer; a regular had come calling. Even if it was on the late side, he couldn’t help that little bit of joy he got from seeing a returning face. This one, a crow tengu named Hatate, had been in far more than a handful of times, a pitifully rare occurrence at this tiny shop.

“It’s been almost a week. I was beginning to get worried,” he chided.

Hatate greeted the human with a languid flap of her wings, bent with the weight of a long day as she steadied herself at the counter, swaying from side to side. “I’m touched. Can you do the usual, though? My feet are killing me.”

He wasted no time setting up the chair and the hot towels. When she was finally able to sit down, Hatate gave a blissful sigh, propping her stockinged feet up in the right spot without any prompting.

“Tough day of fact-finding?” the human asked, pulling the striped socks off carefully and draping them over the only other chair.

“I don’t know how those old-timers do it,” she groaned.

Testing the waters, he dug his thumbs in firmly next to the ball of her big toe. Hatate immediately winced and grimaced. She wasn’t kidding, then. This called for a slightly more careful approach. He reached for the bottle of oil, poured out a generous amount, and rubbed it all over her foot. The scent of lavender filled the tiny booth. Hatate leaned back in the seat, taking in the scent and letting her shoulders sag against the back of the chair.
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Mid-day was often the busiest time of day for most. Not so at the little shop. The noonday sun shone brightly into the shop front, casting few shadows. When had the last customer been? The human behind the counter could hardly recall. It felt like ages, in any case.

The broom was just in his hands when a shadow did fall across the shop’s threshold. There was a familiarity about it. From the roof-like cap to the protrusion of wings, there were few known to the human that the caller could be. The way this one carried themselves narrowed it down. There was only one who swung her hips that way when she walked.

“Miss Shameimaru!” he called before turning to confirm his hunch.

Shameimaru Aya, truest of crows who had alighted here, stood at the shoe rack, wings still half-unfurled from flight. By way of greeting, she proffered a newspaper to the human, and he graciously accepted.

“At your service.” She paused, then smiled at the human, eyes half-lidded in jest. “Or I guess I have that backwards, don’t I? You’re at my service.”

“As long as your coin’s good.”

As Aya sidled up to the counter, the human set the ‘menu’ down in front of her. She hardly needed to glance at it, but it was the offer that mattered; she’d jokingly complain if he didn’t. From her pocket, she pulled a coin purse, unsnapped it, and dumped a few coins out. He already knew from the amount what she wanted.

She smirked. “This coin still good?”
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Three turns cold, one and three-quarters turns hot. That was how she expected it, and I would hear no end of complaints if I didn't get it right. Something about her skin being 'sensitive'. I just thought she was a bit wimpy when it came to heat; it would certainly explain why her 'aircon' was always running.

Whatever the reason, it was my job to make sure the bath filled at just the right degree of lukewarm. She could just as well do it herself, but I was the one to do it, and that was that. So, I'd done as fine a job as my current motivation allowed. Just passable, in other words.

I popped my head out of the bathroom. "Hatate."

No answer. So she was in that sort of mood today.

"Miss Hatate," I tried.

Still nothing. I grumbled. If she was going to keep being this tart about a mild rebuke, gods forbid I ever see what a major disagreement would bring about.

Stalking around the corner, I found her still prone on her perennially laid-out futon, rapid clicking the only sound audible over the cloying noise of a 'radio' set adjacent. Her outside clothes were left in a loose pile next to the futon, leaving her in an oversized shirt and little else. Perhaps some other man would be excited by such a sight. To me, it was merely an annoyance.

'Working,' she called it. All it ever seemed to me was her messing about on that 'phone' of hers. She'd sit there half the day punching buttons if no one interrupted her.

I dodged several newly tied-up stacks of old magazines to make my way closer. Whatever counted for music coming out of that damned black box made it nearly impossible to hear my own thoughts. Steeling myself, I bent down and adjusted the racket down to a reasonable level. Hatate's pointed ears wiggled in reaction to the sudden absence of chaos in the air.

Still, she went on click-clacking. How her fingers never cramped, I couldn't guess. "I was listening to that."

"I need you to listen to
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Open the motel room door, step outside, and get blinded by the midmorning sun. Fuckin’ typical.

I squint in pain, fumble for my sunglasses, and give a little sigh of relief when I finally get them on. Walking across the balcony to the stairs, only thing I can think of is how damn hot it is.

Just another summer day in Santa Destroy. It’s less of a town you go to and more the type of place you end up in, know what I’m sayin’? What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this? Well… that would be a very, very long story.

Anyway. Bike’s still where I left it. Hop on, hit the ignition, rev the gas. It’s go time- I’ve got a job to do, and time’s a wastin’. I peel out of the parking lot and make tracks for the White Jade Mansion.


I know, I know. What does any of this have to do with anything? A lotta of readers out there don't have much patience. Least that's what Kosuzu, the dude at the book shop said.
So I'm in line at the register, right? Then I realize I got no money.

“Sorry, but you know the rules.” Shopkeep smiled apologetically. “I can hold onto your manga until you get back, okay?”

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[x] This is not who I am.
[X] I can’t explain-
You would not understand-
this is not who I am.

Just go home and watch anime buddy.
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I can’t explain why I feel this way. As I stand here, underneath the mo(u)rning sun, the old man’s blood on my hands-

You would not understand. I don’t know what you’ve been through but at least you have family, friends, a fucking life!

This is not who I am. And there’s nowhere left for me to run.

I sway on my feet before regaining my balance. Such a strange feeling, lightheadedness- but I still have things to do. I can’t be here when the police show up.

Reaching down to the ground, I pick up the Sword of Hisou. It’s running low on energy and its tassel is stained with blood.

It’s an inanimate object. But somehow I get the feeling that if it could feel, it would be sad right now- a thing of legends, reduced to a butcher’s knife.

I begin the long walk back through the mansion. The urge to pay my respects to the old man is there, but I don’t even know where I’d begin. Sorry I killed you and all your men for money. No, not just the money, I wanted to feel alive again…

It’s funny. He clearly accepted his own death. He knew how I’d feel about this. He even warned me, pretty fucking clearly, that nothing awaited me.
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It was nice to be alone. You get to see all kinds of things in a different light, when not under the influence of someone else.

Like, have you ever looked inside of one of Yukari's gaps? Inside, inside, not just looking at the Eyelid from the outside like it was a macabre painting. It's like its own alternate dimensional space that Yukari used for surveillance and the like.

This was where she actually went during her "Winter hibernation." She just spends maybe 3 months spying on everything and everyone in Gensokyo.

Like she was currently doing, despite it not being winter. Her eyes flickered between a dozen gaps in front of her, each showing parts of Gensokyo instead of the more familiar purple void. Though, one of them actually was a voided gap. And... it seems to have caught her attention, as well.

She grins like a champion about to receive their prize, striding over to a seemingly random spot in her world. She reaches out a gloved hand and- Hey, hands off lady! No! That's not-


Apologies, but I need you out of the way temporarily for what I wanted to do. No worries, I'll release you shortly, just let me finish what I want to do.

Hello there. You. On the other side of this... Boundary? No, not quite. Something similar to a boundary. A veil between worlds. A border. A... A screen. That's the proper term, yes?
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