She knows that this must be a dream - no ocean shines like this, not naturally, and yet she's here in front of it regardless. Her shoes are off, hanging from her fingers in one hand as the surf rushes up past her ankles, up her calves, and then receds, and the coolenss is the most lovely thing she has felt in a long, long time.
And then she turns around.
It's like catching a deer in the headlights - the wide eyes, the stillness, it's an immediate reaction to the trappings and delights of a party set out behind her - and other people, all of the other people, a whole crowd of them...no, no no no, not even after all this time can she ever willingly enter such a large gathering and feel even remotely comfortable. But where can she go? The ocean is to her back, and Chuchu is...
...Wait, where is Chuchu? Her tiny purple monkey, where has he gone? Anthy looks, turns, using the luminous waves to try and catch a glimpse of him before finally spotting his tiny form emerging from the party, dragging a plate of foodstuffs behind him through the sand. At some point he came in contact with one of the coconut bowls of paint, because he glows brightly. This, of all things, makes her chest unclench a bit and a smile curls at the corners of her lips as she approaches him, kneeling down in the sand and oblivious, for a moment, to the people nearby.]
Chuchu, did you ask before you took any of that? [He stops, looks to Anthy, and chitters sheepishly, arms behind his back and kicking at the sand. No, he definitely did not ask anyone's permission before party crashing. Anthy hums, picks him up in her hands.] That's not very nice. You'll have to apologize, you know...
[And she'll have to bring him towards the people again to find people to apologize to - the hosts, or perhaps someone who got ther snack snatched from their plate, or whoever was around when he made a mess of himself in the glowing paint. Anyone here have trouble with a teeny monkey?]
[Lay me down on a bed of roses - cw: emeto, flower horror]
[It doesn't seem so bad for...quite some time, when Anthy finds herself in this different place. Despite the role of roses in her past, she could never hate flowers themselves. Quiet, beautiful, companiable flowers.
She begins to feel warm, almost faint, as she walks further among them, trying to figure out how so many can bloom with such different temperments, but she still goes on. The tightness in her chest, the fluttering of something on the inside as she breathes, is what gets her to stop, brow furrowed, and try to take stock of her body. Her knees ache, the joints in her hands have gone stiff, and there's an awful, itching sensation spreading like wildfire from them. She sits, thinking that it should pass, surely, and idly rubs at one of her knuckles, the one that itches the worst.
It's when a cough surges up and makes her double over, something smooth and wet and eerily familiar coming up from her throat, that she notices what's emerged with frightening rapid speed - rosebuds. Tiny, white rosebuds have broken through the skin on her hand where she had rubbed at it, and the itching had spread up her arm, radiated down her legs. More were coming, and from the bloodstained petals that came up and now lay on the ground before her, they were growing at an alarming rate.
This is a new pain, one that in the past, she might have welcomed, just to feel something different. But this time? This time, Anthy screams, and you are likely to hear it. What do you do?]
no subject
[Anthy had never seen the sea before.
She knows that this must be a dream - no ocean shines like this, not naturally, and yet she's here in front of it regardless. Her shoes are off, hanging from her fingers in one hand as the surf rushes up past her ankles, up her calves, and then receds, and the coolenss is the most lovely thing she has felt in a long, long time.
And then she turns around.
It's like catching a deer in the headlights - the wide eyes, the stillness, it's an immediate reaction to the trappings and delights of a party set out behind her - and other people, all of the other people, a whole crowd of them...no, no no no, not even after all this time can she ever willingly enter such a large gathering and feel even remotely comfortable. But where can she go? The ocean is to her back, and Chuchu is...
...Wait, where is Chuchu? Her tiny purple monkey, where has he gone? Anthy looks, turns, using the luminous waves to try and catch a glimpse of him before finally spotting his tiny form emerging from the party, dragging a plate of foodstuffs behind him through the sand. At some point he came in contact with one of the coconut bowls of paint, because he glows brightly. This, of all things, makes her chest unclench a bit and a smile curls at the corners of her lips as she approaches him, kneeling down in the sand and oblivious, for a moment, to the people nearby.]
Chuchu, did you ask before you took any of that? [He stops, looks to Anthy, and chitters sheepishly, arms behind his back and kicking at the sand. No, he definitely did not ask anyone's permission before party crashing. Anthy hums, picks him up in her hands.] That's not very nice. You'll have to apologize, you know...
[And she'll have to bring him towards the people again to find people to apologize to - the hosts, or perhaps someone who got ther snack snatched from their plate, or whoever was around when he made a mess of himself in the glowing paint. Anyone here have trouble with a teeny monkey?]
[Lay me down on a bed of roses - cw: emeto, flower horror]
[It doesn't seem so bad for...quite some time, when Anthy finds herself in this different place. Despite the role of roses in her past, she could never hate flowers themselves. Quiet, beautiful, companiable flowers.
She begins to feel warm, almost faint, as she walks further among them, trying to figure out how so many can bloom with such different temperments, but she still goes on. The tightness in her chest, the fluttering of something on the inside as she breathes, is what gets her to stop, brow furrowed, and try to take stock of her body. Her knees ache, the joints in her hands have gone stiff, and there's an awful, itching sensation spreading like wildfire from them. She sits, thinking that it should pass, surely, and idly rubs at one of her knuckles, the one that itches the worst.
It's when a cough surges up and makes her double over, something smooth and wet and eerily familiar coming up from her throat, that she notices what's emerged with frightening rapid speed - rosebuds. Tiny, white rosebuds have broken through the skin on her hand where she had rubbed at it, and the itching had spread up her arm, radiated down her legs. More were coming, and from the bloodstained petals that came up and now lay on the ground before her, they were growing at an alarming rate.
This is a new pain, one that in the past, she might have welcomed, just to feel something different. But this time? This time, Anthy screams, and you are likely to hear it. What do you do?]