simj26
Awful, Terrible, No-good Layabout
Trombone
Space_Kaiser
“Dea?”
He froze. A chill ran down his spine when there was no reply from November, the lady whom he knew would say something to deflect this brazen accusation. It had been almost half a decade since anyone saw Dea November, and most humans, besides a certain few, would be like to forget faces after only a couple of years, especially those not of family. And yet, this woman knew just who his partner was. He swivelled around and made his way back to the living room. She was a threat, that was the first thing on his mind.
“Dea, that’s you, isn’t it? A lady’s voice doesn’t break, it doesn’t change much. You know you can’t fool me.” Octavia Makato's voice said.
“Octavia.” November finally spoke, if a little stiffly, as if she didn’t know what to say.
He stepped out to find the two women standing just a ways across from each other. Octavia Makato was facing November, but her eyes were still unseeingly staring past her, while November looked towards the window, one finger idly tracing a line across a framed photograph.
“You left.” The tentacle-haired woman said, in an almost matter of factly tone.
“I did.” Dea replied with a near similar inflection.
“You never told anyone.”
“I’m sorry.” November picked up the photograph and made to look as if she was examining it. Keeping one eye on Mrs. Makato, he moved to November’s side. “Toujou really makes a dashing groom, doesn’t he?”
“Dea--” Octavia started, then sighed, one hand brushing down one of the locks of tentacles that was her hair. “If you had attended the wedding, you could have seen him too.” She ran a finger down the side of the tentacle, which followed the direction of her hand, before it laid itself to rest on her shoulder.
November set the frame down with a heavy clunk. It was intentional, every sound she made, he realised, then it slowly dawned on him, just why Octavia always seemed to look past them, and why, for a nice, roomy flat for a couple, the place was only barely decorated and fitted with furniture. He, unintentionally, mimicked his partner, picking up the framed photograph himself. It was a simple image, a dark-haired man carrying Octavia in his arms, with hers around his neck, both of them in their wedding clothes. Even from the picture, he could see the elation on the groom’s face. Simple as it was, he was simply happy, overjoyed, that, perhaps, he finally won the hand of the one he loved the most in this world.
Feeling a certain heaviness from this man’s joy, he set the photo down himself.
He froze. A chill ran down his spine when there was no reply from November, the lady whom he knew would say something to deflect this brazen accusation. It had been almost half a decade since anyone saw Dea November, and most humans, besides a certain few, would be like to forget faces after only a couple of years, especially those not of family. And yet, this woman knew just who his partner was. He swivelled around and made his way back to the living room. She was a threat, that was the first thing on his mind.
“Dea, that’s you, isn’t it? A lady’s voice doesn’t break, it doesn’t change much. You know you can’t fool me.” Octavia Makato's voice said.
“Octavia.” November finally spoke, if a little stiffly, as if she didn’t know what to say.
He stepped out to find the two women standing just a ways across from each other. Octavia Makato was facing November, but her eyes were still unseeingly staring past her, while November looked towards the window, one finger idly tracing a line across a framed photograph.
“You left.” The tentacle-haired woman said, in an almost matter of factly tone.
“I did.” Dea replied with a near similar inflection.
“You never told anyone.”
“I’m sorry.” November picked up the photograph and made to look as if she was examining it. Keeping one eye on Mrs. Makato, he moved to November’s side. “Toujou really makes a dashing groom, doesn’t he?”
“Dea--” Octavia started, then sighed, one hand brushing down one of the locks of tentacles that was her hair. “If you had attended the wedding, you could have seen him too.” She ran a finger down the side of the tentacle, which followed the direction of her hand, before it laid itself to rest on her shoulder.
November set the frame down with a heavy clunk. It was intentional, every sound she made, he realised, then it slowly dawned on him, just why Octavia always seemed to look past them, and why, for a nice, roomy flat for a couple, the place was only barely decorated and fitted with furniture. He, unintentionally, mimicked his partner, picking up the framed photograph himself. It was a simple image, a dark-haired man carrying Octavia in his arms, with hers around his neck, both of them in their wedding clothes. Even from the picture, he could see the elation on the groom’s face. Simple as it was, he was simply happy, overjoyed, that, perhaps, he finally won the hand of the one he loved the most in this world.
Feeling a certain heaviness from this man’s joy, he set the photo down himself.
