Karasu West-of-Fall is a Kitsune Lacer from Ravel in Osugbo as part of The Fantasial Freeze
Titles[edit | edit source]
- Orphan of Ravel
- Charcoal Maker
- Houseburner
- Street Food Servant
Timeline[edit | edit source]
Roleplay Entries[edit | edit source]
Return from Paraska Manor
**TW for self harm.**
Please take care of yourselves.
Heat radiates to my skin, the sun scattering through the cloak as I lay on the ground soaking. Fishermen bargaining for their catches, pattern of small footsteps running along the dock. My mouth stretched in a yawn, tongue licking along teeth. I musta fallen asleep. Warmth is coming from the west, probably sundown soon. Time for dinner. Folds of fabric fall around my waist as I stand. It really is a pretty cloak, dappled in all different colors, reminds me of the small fish sailors sometimes find in their nets, skin always shifting. Can’t remember when I got this. Musta stole it from Bremer or maybe even the Lacroix. Oh well, mine now. Docks are busier than usual, ships have been coming in droves now the sea is open. Crowds bustle around eager to trade for long awaited goods. Can’t help the smile that splits across my face, we’ve suffered, but it’s over. Cavi’s cafe is booming, Seder’s got a new shipment of tomes to read through, and I’ve another arson planned tonight. I can smell the broth from the best fucking ramen place coming closer as my feet carry me through well worn paths. It’s a good day, better if it wasn’t for the blade suddenly pushing through my stomach. It’s glinting in the sun, red dripping down, feeling almost cold going in. Colder coming out, as I stumble forward to the wall. And I’m staring at the strip of sun at the top of the alley, looks almost like a road I could walk on if I knew where it started. A shadow sways into view, tongue sucking on teeth, “Huh, was sure that would have done it.” Ahhh I know him, not surprised, Aikin wouldn’t let me run around forever. But he’s staring and staring and I can see my intestines in his eyes. The sun glints wet off of them. But it doesn’t matter cuz my coat feels heavy like someone’s holding me, protecting me, like a promise, and the blood seems to be slowly moving back inside. And I open my mouth, let my voice ignite, BARTLETT…
He’s still screaming, but it’s dark and Quimbleton’s looking at me like he’s gonna burn too. And Luv’s motionless, pity in the small lines near her eyes. Isn’t she supposed to care? Supposed to help him. Some hero, huh? My lips curl in a smirk and the pitch changes. Oh. Oh well that changes things. I turn, throat raw and eyes burning. Bury myself back in the snow as they settle back into their bedrolls. I don’t fall back asleep.
The one good thing about not sleeping for days on end is you don’t dream. Everything gets muted-soft and blends together like a watercolor.
The one bad thing is your companions try to get you to talk to them.
But the best thing about being able to set someone on fire with a thought is people listen when you say “fuck off.” Well the real people do.
There’s Savile always working at the edges of my sight, smiling like she knows. She’s trimming a new coat in black fur. Little embers flare out into the cold when it’s brushed. She’s been asking me why I didn’t stay in Paraska. I let someone take my place and I would have made the warmest coat. She likes to run her fingers along the words scarred into her arm. “Back the fuck off.” From what? Why? I don’t know Luv, why’d I say it. Why’d I choose her over Savvy. Why’d I let them come into the manor, why were they up north?
Most of the Quimbletons never shut up, standing there mouths open, sound like the shells in the harbor announcing another ship spill down blue lips. The ones strung like flies in a web between the trees make the bile rise in my throat. They keep talking about the stitchers, the painters, and the oh so very important moral delineations between the good magic and the bad. None of them mention the web moving as something stalks closer. That’s usually when I throw up. Others I can’t hear unless I’m lying on the ground, thumping away, faintest screams coming from under me as earth fills their mouths.
Luv flits in and out of my vision. So many, I don’t know which to follow. I can see erratic trails of melted snow as I wander behind each of them. Sometimes she laughs and I see her hold my hand. Sometimes she’s lying broken in the snow, head and shoulders suspended as her hair is fed into Savile’s spinning wheel. They’re dancing now, kaleidoscopic, and blurring all around me. They can help, I can rest, she can keep me safe. So many promises. It’s over. We escaped. That they’re here, everything is okay now, that I can lie down and not get up. She’ll carry on for me, as me.
The real ones have hearts. They beat. They shed heat. So I look for that. If I do, there's only two of them. Theirs are the hands resting on my back as I wash sick from between my teeth. The shoulder that doesn’t rock away as I stumble. The grip on my hand as they pull me back to the fire. They rarely say anything. They cry though.
It’s under my skin. A not-there sensation. Just like that fucking manor. Fucking freezing. I’d forgotten. Just what it was to be cold. But I’m not. I don’t feel it. It’s not there. And I'd rather not remember, thank you very much.
It’s perfectly still. Pristine. Frost rims the moulding along the walls. The bright blue watching windows witness unmoving bodies. Wood creaks as the thing skulks around us. It’s kind. It could have taken them from me. Pulled them from the heap I’ve gathered them into and further into the house. It lets us lie here. Rowan on his side staring at a boy he never had the time to tell me about. Arlow smiling down at the bird clutched in his hands, Lady Paraska’s name frozen on his lips. Blumenthal staring outward looking for someone who left him. Wielder, still defiant, hammer in one hand, shadow stretched too far across the walls. Quimbleton, frail and old, gathered into Luv’s arms as she leans against my back. Savile’s head rests between my hands resting in my lap. We’ve stopped shivering at least. Breathing hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s comfortable now. It hurt, and then it didn’t. I wonder why it’s laughing. A line slowly freezes in air, arcing down. More. Cross-hatching into a wall of black ice. Mirror finish and I’m eight. Laying in the middle of a pile. The other orphans, thread-bare clothes, are warm because of me. I breathe in the reflection, I remember the heat that pooled out from my core. The frigid sleepless nights before I learned it was all motion. The satisfaction of silent slow breathing kids, teeth no longer tattooing a reminder of slowing heartbeats. We are staring at each other. Younger me looks like they wanna kill me for letting it happen again. I wanna smile, I didn’t think I’d find people to keep warm again. I stare till branching, furling ice covers my eyes.
He’s so fragile, shivering, as he turns toward Ravel. He ran, he ran away, I told him to shut up, I etched those words into his skin, it’s why he’s leaving again. Stay. Copper pools on my tongue as I bite down, lips locked tight to stop those words, can’t say it, don’t say it. Don’t leave. Can’t make them stay. He wants to separate, to go back to town on his own. What does it matter? He got what he wanted out. The Great Professorial Quimbleton returned with another breakthrough. I’d be laughing if she wasn’t standing there, looking at me, fucking voice breaking. She doesn’t even see us anymore. Never saw you to begin with. Just what we “need”. I don’t want your hug, hold me, Luv the hero, Luv the caretaker, always there to help, help me please, shoving their dreams down our throat, “may i hold you, are you okay, is there anyfuckingway I can fucking help with your pathetic fucking needs.” as if she can do anything! C’couldn’t stop Savile… always so concerned with pitching in, only needed you for the unravel, couldn’t save herself, just stood there, about to turn into a fucking coat. Their names stuck in my throat. Can’t even call out to them anym…
Oh.
I turn away. Tears pour down my face as I start walking. I whisper.
“I am Karasu West-of-Fall. I shouldn’t have lived.”
I stumble as skin reddens beneath fur. I can hear Luv calling out behind me, worried. I hold my tongue and keep walking. Walk till it’s only me. And I speak.
“I am Karasu. I scarred Quimbleton on purpose. I wanted him to hurt.”
My heads resting in snow, legs folded under me, breaths pulled into aching lungs as blood boils, I can feel an itch across my arm as words sear. Another breath, another moment. I scream.
“I am Kara. I abandoned Savile to suffer. I abandoned my friend. I watched as Lairus died and did nothing. No one is waiting for me. I am lost. I am selfish. I am alone. I am unwanted. I cannot name anyone who trusts me. I see Savile everywhere. Luv and Quimbleton too. I was ready to die.”
Flesh burns, fur chars, and words brand themselves across my skin, shining red and neat across my chest and arms. The edges of my vision blur. I turn and stare at the sky. I’ll make it back home tomorrow.
