bakerstreet | just leave it somewhere on me

( Just one mark. Definitely covered up )

[Has only 1 scar.]

[No scars... yet.]

[Only one. That one is deep though and mostly a dark, inky black that she both hates looking at and cherishes.

It's the slight scarring in parts of it that saddens her though.]

( ooc ; two marks, one black. )

( Hard to say how many scars she has, but some more faded than others. Especially love the idea of her gaining a new mark after a long time, but am open to all prompts. More than happy to put her in a modern au! )

[Had a red mark for quite a long time but it's never came close to changing color... But he swears a new one might've been forming.]

✘ ~~Aurora~~
✘ ~~Richie~~
✘ ~~. . .?~~

Edited 2020-12-16 17:44 (UTC)

[Please imagine if you will, Joe and Nicky waiting, every time, for that scar to fade back to black.]

[ comes in varying amounts of red marks depending on when/where/how you find him. you might add a new one if you aren't careful.

black marks and scars are another story. ]

[ Cecil Harvey at sixteen years of age is a much more stoic and reserved woman than the young queen of twenty. By now, she has already been a full-fledged dark knight and soldier among the ranks of the Red Wings for two years. Dutiful and unwaveringly loyal, she’s in the running for the esteemed promotion to captain and her focus on attaining that is laser-like. She doesn’t know this world she finds herself in and she doesn’t like that her armor and sword are gone, leaving her defenseless to the people around her. She feels too vulnerable without the black demon helm to conceal her emotions as they play out on her face, raw and exposed like a nerve; one prod in the wrong place and it’s nothing but pain for her.

In spite of her quietness and her tendency to forcibly school her features into a consistent neutral expression, the boy with the raven black hair and spectacles who hovers around her constantly remains ever patient with her, giving her shelter and food. And she allows him to look after her like this because for some reason she can’t place he feels familiar. She hasn’t told him and she doesn’t think she ever will, but he sets her at ease. He makes her feel... at peace.

He says they’ve come here before together, in this patch of green land amidst a massive, strange, sprawling town of glass and brick and steel, but she thinks he’s teasing her. Surely she would remember this place if that was true, right? In any case, they’re quiet together, in the grass by the pink and purple flowerbeds and a lily pond that’s lit up by fairy lights so the water’s surface looks like dark green glass in the night. He lies beside her like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do and Cecil doesn’t know what to do with herself because something in her wants to lie down with him, rest her head on his chest, but every other part of her just wants to scream in anguish.

She compromises, placing her hand palm-down on the grass next to his that lies palm-up as she sits there. The inside of his wrist is pale, but marked. In a sudden fit of what she assumes must have been temporary insanity, she asked him what the markings meant and why she doesn’t have any and he told her with a soft, reassuring smile not to worry about that— that he would tell her someday, but not today. Neither of them have brought it up since then, but she still catches her own gaze glancing down and tracing the bold color against the faint greens and blues of the veins under his smooth skin. She doesn’t like that he knows this and she doesn’t, because in this case it feels like this is something she should remember.

Cecil sighs and again has to pull her eyes from the sight of his wrist, forcing herself to look away over at the water, the humming and chirping of insects in the air giving her something to focus on other than him. She can’t think of anything but him nowadays, even when he’s not with her. He always seems a little worried, under pressure; sometimes he just seems sad. Other times, she catches him staring at her, only for him to look away quickly, and for some reason, it always makes her blush. Another sigh, this time from him. What is she not remembering? ]

[ helping people comes naturally to the bespectacled boy lying next to her. he feels a little guilty when he's supposed to be putting the finishing the touches on a summer trip for him and the rest of his friends, but he keeps telling them: just a few more days. i've got to help cecil. she takes priority and precedence over most parts of his life now more than ever, especially when there's something so terribly wrong with her: too young, too vulnerable, compared to the knight-queen he was forced to part ways with a few months ago, who he's only rarely seen or spent time with in the interim.

as soon as summer vacation rolled around, he expected to see far more of her...but not like this.

akira kurusu is—was—many things to many people at one point in time, but a phantom thief is no longer one of them, at a loss of how exactly to unravel this mystery and, more importantly, how to set things right. no amount of investigation thus far has lead them any closer to the truth, and as they lay together in the park by the pond, he's no less frustrated for it. it isn't cecil's fault; akira can only imagine what it'd be like to be in her shoes, hurtled several years back into the past, into a new and alarming environment one can't make heads or tails out of, surrounded by strangers who claim to at least know you, have supposedly fought alongside you, yet you can't place their names, their faces, their claims to fame.

how frightening. all he's able to provide her is food and shelter, courtesy of the solid relationship between himself and his (former) guardian, seemingly less eager to lend a hand despite knowing that, deep down, if cecil is actually one of akira's own, then she'll always be as welcome underneath the roof of cafe leblanc as the rest of them are. it covers the bare minimum, but every day akira wishes there was more he could do, conjure up a solution, fix the mess that they've both in and set things back to the way they were prefer.

to not touch her, be around her is torturous. he goes above and beyond to maintain the image of a gentleman that he always has, to be gentle and make no presumptions. inside, however, lies a constant struggle and frustration over how this has turned out to be. he doesn't know how to explain the marks on him which have little to do with them as a unit and everything to do with how this world operates any more than how to bring up that she was the wrong responsible for the crescent moon shape carving around his pectoral, jet-black once upon a time, now faded to a vivid shade of red he constantly looks upon with something resembling scorn anytime he undresses, just like the other handful of unrequited shapes and slashes dotting his skin. she isn't ready for that responsibility. she may never be, at this rate.

it isn't her fault. he has to bear this mind while deliberately not inching towards her hand, her open palm, no matter how much his fingers itch to close the gap, to hold it, hold her. cecil is the same and very not the same, and it frightens him, too. akira has to put on a calm, brave face, and his heartfelt sigh betrays him. he misses her; he misses how it used to be. cecil harvey, at age twenty-one, is going to miss out on sightseeing the rest of japan, witnessing more of what akira's home country has to offer her. he's not so sure bringing her along with everyone is going to be such a good idea, but the alternative unnerves him even more. regardless of what may happen, he refuses to leave her alone. ]

...what do you think?

[ they don't always speak much, speak often. tonight is no different, and rather than speaking his mind, akira opts for something more neutral to break the ice separating them, as is common to do. ]

About Inokashira, I mean.