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Marnyapho || Cretonia feat. UndertheWeather

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Marnyapho || Cretonia

Playing gods never was a fun game and of all people the bashed traitor, Nara Kisamura, knew it best. There are two worlds 'Cretonia' and 'Marnyapho'. If 'Cretonia' is known for the ''reality'' humans could see, then 'Marnyapho' could be seen by solely and only gods.That though isn't anything like alternative-reality. Gods live together with humans. Each god has a rank.

Manah

|

v

Kresto

|

v

Varat

|

V

Brutot

|

V

Serjat

|

V

Opast

 

The highest rank of all was 'opast'. When a god reached that rank, they could re-write fate. Hence in the history of these two worlds there were only three gods known as 'Opast'.

The last Opast was Kisa, the traitor who tore apart for some unknown reason the book of fate.

He believed that a new rank would rise and that new rank would become the fate itself.

 

Right now Kisamura is looking for 'the one', but what shall happen when he finds out - it's just a human?!

 


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{. Personal ID

Status: FREE

Name: Nara Kisamura

Nickname: Kisa

Sex: Male

Position: Seme

Race: Opast

Age: Looks around 27 years old

Height: 1.83cm

Weight: 69kg

Eyes: Shade of dark orange

Hair: Swollen brown

{. Random information

 

Character song:

「Pieces」

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UndertheWeather

It was five past four in the evening when Jirou stepped out of the lecture theatre. Only the last gleam of the setting sun was visible in the distant horizon – a cold sign that winter is nearing. He sighed and adjusted his double-breasted, military design, cashmere coat in the hopes that the adjustment might provide him with a little more warmth when he leaves the King’s Medical Centre. While the university that he attends has its own campus, the medical department was merged with the hospital situated just across the university. It was a great collaboration. Students get to learn from practicing clinicians and experience real hospital setting and use real equipments, and the hospital get to use free labour.

 

Slowly, he made his way towards the staircase, reluctant to leave the warm building. But the desire to be back at home in his comfortable shared-flat, and the hunger that had begun to set in forced him to drag his feet towards the bicycle stand where his white mountain bike was waiting. The hospital was certainly not located up in the mountains, but Jirou could not be bothered to purchase another bicycle for city use; besides, a mountain bike is better than a normal bike, or so he thinks.

 

It seemed like winter this year will arrive much earlier than usual and much harsher than appreciated. The heat of summer is horrendous, but so is the cold of winter. He would much prefer to have six months of spring and six months of autumn – but without the constant rain, that is.

 

Jirou was among the last ones in the crowd of medical students making for the exit. At the top of the stairs, his long, pale fingers wrapped around the cold and lifeless wooden railings. He sighed as he watched the younger students with rosy cheeks and glowing faces cheerfully chattered away like monkeys while making their way out through the single exit. The vigour of adolescents was in the air, and Jirou felt his heart race. He had his share of fun. But now, he has to move on.

 

Just then, he caught a glimpse of movements at the bottom of the stairs. His heart skipped a beat. He had seen it many times since he was young, something that looked unusual, yet not different the way those with mental retardation looked different, but different in a…different way.

 

He closed his eyes. 1…Breathe in…2…Breathe out…3…Breathe in…4…Breathe out…5…Breathe in…6…Breathe out…7…Breathe in…8…Breathe out…9…Breathe in…10…Breathe out…

 

Slowly he peeled away his eyelids, revealing a pair of burning amber irises. Whatever that was, was no longer there. It always worked. He had looked it up on the internet, and had discovered that there is a huge possibility that he was schizophrenic, albeit a mild one. Some dodgy-looking websites had suggested that he roast himself under the sun and sacrifice a sheep to the God of the Earth, while others had suggested that he bank in a certain lump sum of money into a certain account and he would be cured at once. There was no way that he would do anything so ridiculous. Fortunately though, he found the breathing technique and it seemed to help him every time. It does not cure him of the disease, but it helps him get through one of the twists in his messed up life.

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Saga

The afternoon was slowly parting and yet greeting the upcoming evening. Kisamura was, as usual, on his daily routine - the convenience store to buy cigarettes. The opast couldn't do much as for now he was hiding, so pretty much his search for the new kind of god was in a state close to frozen. Ages passed and he couldn't find what he was looking for. Little by little his excitement was dying. To be understood though, after all he was older, much older than the mortals that walked down the street.

 

Fate had a tricky way of dealing with things; Kisamura knew so much. If there was a chance for him to find what he needed, it would be most probably on the most unexpected place. So he gave up on the thought to look foolishly around the world. And mostly because he was tired already. The Marnyapho god flicked the lighter on as soon as he walked out the store. The mortals had the habit to smoke when bored, nervous, angry or whatever other emotion involved. That, he copied it. Well, Kisa couldn't risk to give away that he wasn't among their equals. But then again, whenever he wished to be alone he could use his powers to switch to Marnyapho' reality. Not like mortals could see that world.

 

His bored gaze wandered from under his glasses as the cigarette smoke spread upwards. There was that woman with some low ranked demon on shoulder, but yet she wasn't aware of it. Even if the demon was to dance cha-cha on someone's head, no one would notice. Nara leaned his back against a street machine as a sigh tore off his lips. How boring the life in Cretonia was. The opast tilted head up, staring at the last rays of the sun. His shaded dark orange eye color glittered with the crimson of the falling asleep sun.

 

//"Where are you..?"//

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UndertheWeather

Outside of the hospital, the cool breeze was blowing gently, softly caressing his pale skin. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, and slowly made his way towards the bicycle stand. It was a Friday, and Friday means drinking night – or at least it used to mean so. He sighed as memories of the past slowly seep out through the cracks of the virtual dam that he had painstakingly built for over a year now. For a moment Jirou allowed his mind to run free without the rein that he had forced around all that was the past; he wondered how she was, or where she was, or what she was doing; he did not hate her – in fact, he loved her, though he did not feel the way he used to, but he missed her, or perhaps he missed having someone in his life…He felt lonely.

 

 

 

Another sigh escaped his pink lips; the rein had returned to the muzzle of the wild horse of the past. He mounted his white mountain bike, and headed in the direction of his shared-flat. A thought came to mind as he leisurely cycled down the busy road – perhaps he could get beer from the convenience store and drink with his flatmates. No, he was not sure if they were in that night, it was a Friday night after all. Yet another sigh. Just one can would do then.

 

 

 

Jirou had decided to go for the store that he frequented just a few blocks away from his flat. Although some of the items sold there were overpriced, he was not in the mood to cycle further down the road just for a can of beer. He would not mind paying a little more at the moment. Besides, he quite like the friendly old man behind the counter.

 

 

 

The convenience store was quiet as usual, but on that evening, a man he did not recognise was standing outside the store smoking. Jirou was immediately filled with a sense of discomfort when he found himself being unusually attracted to the outward appearance of the tall man with swollen brown hair, and shaded dark orange eyes sitting behind a pair of glasses. He knew he could swing both ways, but he had only rarely found himself finding another man attractive.

 

 

 

Inwardly, he told himself to calm his beans, and that it was normal to be attracted to people. Jirou dismounted, and wheeling his bicycle, he slowly approached the man. His cheeks were pink from cycling against the breeze, and his fingers were stiff.

 

 

 

“Do you mind if I chain my bicycle to that railing?” asked he, pointing to the fence behind the Opast.

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Saga

Quiet. It was so quiet in his head, but felt stormy somehow. The opast was between the two worlds and yet no matter how hard he looked for the one through the years, he never could find even the smallest trace. His eyes got distanced, bathing into the sunset. Of course, he didn't bother to be wiry of his surrounding right now; the god was actually in his so called Marnyapho-mode. Supposedly mortals wouldn't see him, as for other creatures - no one would dare to go near a high-ranked spirit who has obtained the title of a god.

 

The opast saw a young boy walking his way, but he didn't react. Oh, he indeed was aware of the other being near him but he didn't even bother to look over the boy. Not because he was too into his thoughts or acting indifferently. He wouldn't expect that some mortal could see him when he wasn't supposed to. Yet, there it came.

 

Do you mind if I chain my bicycle to that railing?

 

Not only he was standing next to Nara, but he was actually talking to him!? Jolt struck the god. His pupils switched to slit strokes from the sudden surprise, to avert them to the boy's direction. The one near him was young, pretty slender and could be said he was indeed beautiful for a man. Nara kept his lips sealed away from any speech, only the cigarette smoke escaped them.

// Are you fucking kidding me? //

 

His jaw contracted, muscles stretched these velvet lips in a grin. That was interesting now. Seemingly the boredom was over. Kisamura rocked his back off the street machine, torso turned fully to side so he faced the boy. An almost mute mumble escaped him,

- ..Found ya'.

 

From the point view of a mortal, Nara probably looked pretty creepy right now. After all his pupils switched, not to mention the odor of a god spread around him; it was a nice odor, mixture between spring flowers but yet the freshness of and bitterness of lemons. Each god had a certain odor, Kisamura though had the strongest one when excited. Pretty intoxicating for mortals; with a quick reach for the boy's arm - he wanted to touch the youngster. It wasn't a dream, right? He finally found the one? However, would it be easy to convince him to come with Nara or the opast would have it hard with the beauty before him? "God knew"? ; even a god wouldn't know!

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UndertheWeather

Jirou was momentarily frozen as he watched the face of the taller man change into one that he could hardly read. The eyes behind the glasses seemed rather...creepy. He felt a chill ran down his spine - he was, though, not quite certain what the chill meant, whether it was fear, or attraction or something else that he could hardly comprehend at the moment.

 

It came to him as a surprise when he sensed the odour of spring flowers and lemons - it was autumn after all, and nearing winter for that matter; there could not be spring flowers anywhere within the vicinity. On top of that, he was quite sure that he had not sensed it from the man when he first approached him, and yet now there it was, as if he was spring. He must, however, admit that the smell was comforting, and pleasant, and...sweet; he loved spring. His pink cheeks had begun to glow again - and again, he was not quite sure why. Everything that had happened since he first laid his eyes on the tall, attractive male had been completely crazy and outside what he had expected in his life.

 

Jirou flinched when he felt the fingers wrap around his arm; his heart skipped a beat, and the blood in his veins began to swirl around into a tornado. What was this? His amber eyes searched the face of the god, and at last locked gazes with him; his eyes, though, were wavering, and uncertain. Looking into the eerie eyes of the Opast, suddenly he was filled with a sense of fear. The unexpected, delightful encounter had turned rather unpleasant, and...blood-curdling. His senses had now returned, and it occurred to him that he did not know this man, and that his behaviour was rather strange.

 

"Sorry," he said, slowly pulling his arm away, "I'll chain my bicycle elsewhere..."

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