Word count: 10649
Warnings: NSFW
This is oc content right here u guys it's a banger I promise
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Tsubaki writes. She knows she's filling out some sort of report, but it's not as though many circumstances have changed. A man walks and she stops his heart and then he dies. And that's what she scribbled down repeatedly on some parchment paper. She liked the way her mechanical pencil sounded, it was the only thing keeping her from falling asleep, she's sure of it. If she writes out her words in a certain speed and rhythm, the feedback sounds like a song. The only things that truly changed about the reports were the names of the victims, their descriptions, and their time of death. She wished Mori would just accept the list of names of people she had taken out for him that day. There were so many. It wasn't as though he needed the times of death for them. The names and descriptions, perhaps. But he had asked her to kill them while sitting right beside her. He knew who was dead and who wasn't, unless she had somehow underestimated him and Mori Ougai was simply an idiot who was good at acting. That can't be true; Yokohama would be in shambles.
Tsubaki continues to listen to the soothing feedback of her pencil on paper. She attempts to recall the last time she went to sleep. The thought seemed incredibly random and she realize it was because she was slowly losing consciousness. She guessed she had the answer to her question as her pencil fell from her hand and her head slumped forward on the desk, uncomfortably. Oh, her neck would ache after this, for sure. Passing out always left Tsubaki with her thoughts. Passing out alone told her she hadn't slept for well over fourty eight hours. She supposed that was her own fault. She only went home a couple times, showering and eating and then returning to her office. Tsubaki, within a moment, wakes up. She hates passing out because it wavers her concept of time. For her it may be for a moment, but for others it may be minutes. Hours. A coma, even, if worse came to worse. She assumed it must have been one or two hours, seeing as she wasn't where she originally passed out at.
Tsubaki felt that her body was in a different position when she awoke, and she was sitting on a slightly larger and more velvety surface. Opening her eyes, the ceiling was on the ground and the ground was on the ceiling. The room was lit from a light behind the chair she was laid down on, the large window wall showing nothing but a pitch black sky illuminated by city lights and stars. Her neck was craned over the armrest of the fancy chair, uncomfortably. It was incredibly sore, and it annoyed her a bit. Her arm was positioned so that it was hanging off the side of the chair, and her hand touched the cold floor. That arm had fallen asleep; a feeling she could deal with but could do without. Her other arm had been lifted up, the back of her hand against the top of the chair, bent at the wrist. From being bent for so long, she knew her wrist would be sore as well. Tsubaki slowly lifted her head, in turn her neck hurt like a bitch and she felt a bit dizzy for a moment. One leg was over the armrest on the other side of the chair. Not too bad, her leg was hardly asleep, tingling only a bit. However, her other leg was resting on it, and was much more asleep than the other one. She felt much more uncomfortable than she did when she'd fallen asleep, and she felt this must be intentional, and she knows the culprit behind it.
Oh, and then lastly, of course, not connected to her body and not a description of her annoyance with how she was placed, but the man who placed her there in the first place. Two arms, distinguishable by the black coat sleeves covering them and white gloves obscuring the hands, crossed over one another on the top of the chair, a familiar hovering figure with a smug grin on his face leaning over it. Perhaps if Tsubaki's eyes were open, she'd be glaring at him, and it wouldn't bother him a bit.
"I suppose you find this amusing." Tsubaki states, not in her normal tone, which always seemed so joyous no matter the topic, but instead a tone reserved for specific people; one being the man hovering over her. A tone that would reassure those who heard it that Tsubaki was, at least, partially human, capable of expressing another emotion with her voice. Whatever tone this phrase took place in, it wasn't all too mad, which might be more terrifying than when she sounds happy all the time, and so he paid no mind to it. Tsubaki moves to sit up, despite the pains and sores in her body. She sighs, sitting with her back to the back of her chair.
