. Mika Ic - Tumblr Posts
❛ —— henry ? ❜ her benign demeanour is perhaps a touch recherché, even within the confinements of a close companionship. one step, two step. her heart drums stridently as nervous toes carry her body forward, & with a little nudge from the curiosity, the brunette FINALLY finds herself entering the elevator. ❛ here’s the thing, i’m panicking now mate. panicking. ❜ as her gaze flickers his way, for a split second the solemnity behind her optics fades & a smirk picks up where the dread left off.
❛ fuck it !!!!!!! so which floor is it first ? ❜
@henzhaos
acsend:
𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 @lofikids ,
“ don’t tilt your head back ! ” he’s quick to pull out tissues from his backpack and hand it to them. “ it’ll make the nosebleed worse. does this just happen to you ? ”
❛ .......... ❜ RADIO SILENCE. mika begins to finally process the situation at hand, this evident through the growing horror on her expression. her widening eyes are accompanied by a monotone screech ( ? ) type sound, which is sure to disturb any other person in the nearby vicinity. ignoring his question, mike simply reaches for the tissue, obvious panic in her voice as she whines, ❛ AM I GOING TO DIE ?!? ❜
tangledwire:
( @lofikids // for mika. )
the sky is rosy, nice, pink. she loves pink. her hair is pink but she doesn’t remember dyeing it. maybe the rabbit did it, with his red eyes ever unblinking, ever judging. furry paws painting her hair a pretty pink, claiming her as one of his own. she dawns a dress with a peter pan collar, sky blue, the collar white. it’s short, cuts off at the top of her legs, she doesn’t bother pulling on safety shorts. she doesn’t mind if people see. doesn’t think anybody will. the world is spinning, anyhow. how can they see when the world is spinning and pink? surely they can’t. surely the world is spinning for them too. each step she takes is shaky, a stumble here, a bit of a tumble there. she blames it on her heeled boots, not the fact the world is pink and spinning. the clouds look like cotton candy, the sky like pink lemonade. oh that sounds good. that sounds so good, doesn’t it? we should get pink lemonade. yes, we should!
she continues this process, making her way through the spinning city streets with a smile on her face, even skipping at some point. she doesn’t know why. she sees many friends and foes alike. creatures staring at her from every nook and cranny available to them and her head screams. over and over again. she doesn’t want to. not now. she’s busy.
kill. kill. kill. kill.
no, we can’t. we have things to do. her fingers itch, ache with the desire to rip them apart, laugh at their pain. she hates them, the little creatures, even her friends got on her nerves. they never left her alone. never! it was so rude! so despicable! she would kill them all.
kill. kill. kill. kill.
she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk when she sees a familiar figure, except the form she’d come to dislike so much was adorned with a halo of pink. it didn’t suit her. much too pretty. much too pretty for a whore like her, indeed. whore? yes, whore. we don’t like whores, do we? no, not at all. whores don’t wear pink. it’s much too nice for them. aoi frowns. the city comes to a halt, as well. she moves her arms behind her back, gracefully skips ahead, makes sure to shoulder check the other on her way past and giggles, spinning on her heel dramatically to get a good look at her.
how ugly. how distasteful. she doesn’t deserve to wear pink. doesn’t deserve to live in this strawberry flavored world. perhaps she should have the lemon. yes, the lemons. the lemons suit someone like her. aoi grins.
“long time no see!” she sing songs, behaving as though they were nothing more than good friends. she was good at that. pretending. some of her other friends peek out from the shadows around them. one looms over the smaller form and aoi grows excited, wondering if it’ll act upon its urges to feast. though, without her connection to the other side, unfortunately the other would not lose her head. how sad. how miserably boring. “how have you been? still a dirty dancer?” she giggles then, again, head tilting to the side, bubblegum hair falling over her shoulder.
she’s still bathed in pink. pink the rabbit deserved. pink aoi deserved. not for her. not for a whore.
mika had been watching the opposites little theatrical approach from way back when she turned the street corner. her wobbly, hoppy steps we’re pretty hard to miss as she fumbled down towards the smaller female. there’s no doubt about the panic that sits dormant within songbird’s stomach whenever aoi is nearby, being good at reading people and figuring out their motive, mika read the pink individuals aura to be rather menacing & unsettling for someone of such playful outlook. ❛ yeah !! sure. ❜ she didn’t want to be rude, she didn’t see much point in doing that as it only would either feed into that narrative of mika being some kind of devil in her little story. which she wasn’t. maybe in her OWN book she’s considered to be that of a demonic entity, not physically but, emotionally. but not in aoi’s version. it was impossible for her to know any more than just the facade mika put on, especially considering only maybe three people know her for who she really is, which is the bastard aoi sought her to be.
❛ dirty dancing ? is that what we’re calling it ? ❜ her laughter is almost silent, obviously not entirely impressed with that little snarky comment. she’d gotten used to people having opinions like that, calling her profession “dirty” ... even those who attended her shows somehow left her feeling ultimately degraded & worthless through their choice of words. pain, whether physical or emotional, is temporary. she knows this. she ALSO knows that her job is an art form, dating back much longer than those who would dare speak of her skills in a negative way. so, it stung a little, but not enough to cause a scene.
eyebrows raise as she eyes up aoi from head to toe, sizing up exactly what she would be dealing with today. what substances did she take. her shaky exterior make it obvious that this was most probably going to end up in some kind of argument, or at least some kind of threat, however as much as mika could prevent that - she would. arms fold as optics find the females, a little glint in them as if to say, oh yeah, you really wanna go there ? a couple of seconds remain as they linger on her gaze, closing off with a shake of her head.
❛ y-yeah i still do burlesque. what is it that you do again ? it’s slipped my mind !! ❜ her voice cracks as her sentence begins, nothing out of the ordinary, mika’s mind is normally travelling a mile a minute. sometimes, not always, her brain simply just ... forgets to put words into the correct order. hence why her stutter can be so prominent. but only SHE knew that ... aoi wouldn’t know that. mike curses to herself as it happens, it showed nothing but weakness to those unaware. theres an obvious change in stature because of this mishap, she readjusts her posture, attempting to hide her discomfort with defensive arms across her chest.
“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.” for any of your muses ! hello
❛ oh god ? I AM ? WHAT ? oh no. OH FUCK. AM I GONNA DIE ? IS THIS IT FOR ME ? ARE YOU THE LAST PERSON I’LL EVER SPEAK TOO. please, i don’t know what an isoscles triangle is ... i can’t die yet. ❜
obvious. and i mean OBVIOUS panic in mika’s voice is apparent as her gaze frankly switches between akuma and the crimson that trickled down onto her striped sweatshirt. a nose bleed ... that’s all it was. not something you’d necessarily consider a death threat, but with miss mitochondriac over here, each splash of blood that dropped was another foot in the grave. now of all times this could of plagued her, right now wasn’t the best. attempting to actually come across as a human being who knows how to function like a human being wasn’t a common thing for mike, so she was doing quite well with this individual. saw herself as coming off as a cool & collected stranger, much like the person in front of her ... well, no use dwelling on that, that facade is dead and gone now.
❛ ... please. help me. ❜
ask starter things ! send me one mother fooker