“Oh please~ don’t act like an imbecile. I know you have certain, desirable skill when it comes to flowers. To be honest, if you were not pestering me so with it, I would consider liking that quality. But I guess I’ll never like anything about you~ you’re just such a detestable being!”

But you do make a show of getting what you want. And I have a feeling that you—oyeoye~ Mukuro, he’s coming closer~ Kuhahaha~! That perv~

 He’s trying to stay strong of course, can’t have this wonderfully built facade  drop all of a sudden due to some persistent charming. Also, backing away into a corner just seems weak altogether doesn’t it? He brushes a loose bang behind his ear; he feels warm and frustrated, and most of all weak.

I see you’re holding up well~ Bravo. 

“Ah yes, I find their colour most alluring but other than that they hold no importance~ Simply another organism.”

But they definitely represent a current situation, don’t they~? Kuhahaha~!

The form was just right; the sketch lines today were flowing out naturally and at ease, it was a peaceful practice. Of course, he would have preferred to have used watercolours instead, or at least pastels, for he needed to replicate the vast array of vibrant hues that bloomed flowers displayed. Unfortunately he was deprived that option for he had yet to find his hot-pressed sketch book among many things buried within his luggage and had to resort to a fabric canvas.

“Ne, what do you fine ladies think of the artwork so far~?” Mukuro had asked this question to a group of female students earlier, an elegant and charming expression (which had been perfected over the years) had already been set in place. Now, as he turned again, he did not receive more praise. No (very not so), instead there he was, the silverette with a juvenile mind, prancing towards him with such an irksome grin gleaming in the middle of such a troubling face.

“Oh you mean those dear things~?” Mukuro lifts his paintbrush past his easel and to a garden bed before him. ‘Oh my how unexpected’ is what any normal suitor would have thought, but I guess not Byakuran. Arranged in the most delicately and unique way were the many flowers that were gifted to Mukuro. “Kufufufufu~ although they’ve already been brutally diminished of life, they still haven’t withered away. They’re a useful tool to me so I suppose..yes, I do like them~ Oh and by the way, you owe me a new paintbrush, do you not~?”

Kufufufu~ how childish~—
—but beautiful. Yes, such a laugh was to be remembered; the chilling sensation that runs delightfully through your body, the unnatural curve of the lips- such a carefree release of mad laughter. Mukuro was fascinated by the unexpected display of such raw grace. Still such an unwise and childish act, nevertheless.
“It seems that such a dramatic approach only unleashes a simple laugh. How displeasing~” His lips crunch up into a playful pout, as he slowly sprinkles the scarred petals to Byakuran’s awaiting hands. It was like watching blood trickle almost. But perhaps the more natural thing to think of was snow?
Kuhahaha~ Poetic? But he’s catching on to me isn’t he, Mukuro~~?
“Kufufufu~ Favourite flower hm~?” To think this fool actually thought he cared about flowers. How silly of him. “I actually despise everything that doesn’t benefit me. Apathy is what I feel for flowers I guess~”
He watches behind long lashes as the scented man brings himself forward, the proximity becoming uncomfortable, and most of all, unnerving.
“But I predict that I will find them useful quite soon~ I’m planning on putting some basil lilies to good use~”

He turns his back to the door and gives a slight sway of his hips to push the obstruction just that little bit he needed to enter his dorm room. Mukuro’s arms were stretched out before him, the second pile of canvasses he had ordered held preciously against his body. To him they were like pages of a book waiting to be filled with his glorious imaginings. Now all he had to do was put them with the others already resting inside.
With a single whine of the floorboards he is at his bed. Or what was supposed to be his bed. Orchids of a pure white were attacking his oddly clean bed sheets, they lay there like fallen soldiers; some were in piles, some were left alone on the whiteness as life was withering away from their luscious petals ever so slowly.
A frown swiftly takes its place on Mukuro’s thinned lips as he restrains himself from tearing apart the canvasses he held so dearly. Although the fabric was strong, his claw-like appendages could tear it away as if it were merely tissue. He strongly desired to pierce his roommate’s irk of a face with these needle-like fingers of his. Of course, they weren’t the first needles to scar such a bewitching face.
Ne, Mukuro~ Why the childish rage? You aren’t throwing a tantrum are you~?
“…kufufufu~ of course not.”
With a ‘hmph’ and a swivel of the heels, Mukuro decides to ignore such an outrageous act of love and continue on with his day-although there was now and edge of frustration about him and a dash of crimson to his pale cheeks.
But kuhahahaha~! Isn’t this kid funny? What is he thinking? Showing you love? You? Kuhahahaha! And those white orchids! Pervert~! Pervert~! Pervert~! Kuhahahahahaha~!!
“Pervert…”
(ooc; you know..since Byakuran=white orchids…and white orchids were in his bed…yeap…and all this unrequited love and courtship. Therefore…Byakuran-pervert.
and ill put the reaction to the broken paintbrush separately. ;; jhaskhdkasda otl ajlkajsdhsavdas ill redo this ONE DAY.)

sorry i haven’t been rping a lot

• due to end of term work i’ve been distracted. lol isn’t it meant to be the other way around?
• due to my procrastinating habits, i have been to lazy to be literate. otl ;;
• due to the difference in timezones not many have been on at the same time, therefore muku-chi has become lonely and reluctant to rp.

enough with excuses though!

holidays coming up in two so i’ll hopefully be back to a normal pace.

i hope many of you will be too. i really really want to rp with you all

OOC; askdlskrl; I /think/ the redhead-in-pain you’re talking about might be reference to Sho-chan?? ;u; A-ah, if I’m wrong, feel free to correct me, but if so, I’ll reply to this and Byaku’s when I finish these three papers.. ;u;

ooc; ahahaha why yes, indeed it was you~

omg yes please. i’ve been waiting for this opportunity since..forever

alsdkasjdjksadas

The silence was overwhelming; the pain of boredom was being received in sharp jabs at the young man’s brilliant mind. Mukuro was frowning in distaste; he knew the passages, the teachings, the words. He did not need to be here.

So then….why was he?

Unconscious inklings were lingering at the edges of his thoughts as extracts of passages were no longer projected onto the screen as words but lines forming mysterious shapes. His artistic side, the side full of passion and meaning, took hold of his train of thought and began forming the tracks of walls building up into tremendous skyscrapers. The ‘e’s where the bolts and screws, the ‘o’s were the windows, and those tall, lanky ‘l,’s…well, they formed the walls of course.

He could be seen as any normal student drifting off during class, except for that delighted grin stretching to the corners of his lips and those eyes which fluttered to and from half-lidded to peacefully shut.

But, his pure fantasy of art was rudely interrupted as a muffled groan could be heard from the classmate sitting beside him.

Mukuro dares to glance (after all, he’s such a daring character) at the man that is making a show of such incredible pain. How dramatic. But instead of a simple glance, he stares. He stares for he sees yet another student with flaming hair; perhaps all redheads at this school were destined to be the end of Mukuro.

((ooc; ajksdnaksjds sorry, i was taken away from my computer until now. apologies since i missed the first day. but here’s my post anyways D; its so dodge. please ignore aksdkasd ;;;;;; i shall edit later.))

The chime of a melody can be heard faintly, drifting as a muffled breeze among the clouded thoughts swirling wildly within his skull. A sickening sweet smell has travelled its way to the sensitive nose of Mukuro, the rancid smell slowly picking away at his subconscious state.

Wake up silly, that thing is returning. Snap out of it.

Now, buoyant foot falls can be heard approaching, the monster returning to its den. The vibrations of the motion pounds against Mukuro’s ears like drumbeats, it reaches him within his broken shell.

The voice in his head sighs as the soulless life returns to Mukuro’s body.

You’re like this every time you crack. You’re so fragile dammit. I’m not always going to be here for you, you know. You are a madman walking, a demon that is on its way home. I’m not following you back to hell. Nothing up here will. The countdown has already begun, Mukuro.

“Kufufufu~ Shut up.”

The weight of the clay mask can be felt in his hand as the palm is brought up to his bared teeth, the menacing smile disappearing beneath layer upon layer of synthetic emotion. The helmet was now set on his crown; the sword had now been drawn. Now to take down the dragon in which lair he now stood in.

The perfect clone turned to the voice of Byakuran.

“Kufufufu~ Oh yes, quite. These anathemas you have laid before me show unexpected, appreciable attributes, Byakuran.” He reaches over to snap the head of the flower from its body, its life force thinning away beneath his thorn-like fingers, “They bring me to a thought, a very gruesome thought if I may add.” He brings the broken petals to the same height as Byakuran’s head, his arm outstretched with admirable strength.

“The thought of your head lying crushed, lifelessly on the pavement, as blood oh so drowns those bleached waves which rest so freely upon your broken crown.”