Dance For Me PV: Ruka Tân Locked

@Ruka Tân

He was right, only slightly, as though it was a test of the waters on the subject. Ruka danced along that line of right and wrong, of black and white, choreography purely forged from the ruins of his innocent creativity and talent he’d nurtured as no one else did. Years of practice had to have been devoted to mastering that balance, making the world serve under his morality, and gently building his ego up until the top rose above the clouds, masked by their foggy overlay. To Persephone, this obscuration did nothing, the message was riddled with clarity. From his eyes, perhaps they saw the world in the same hues given a meaningless physical similarity, everything was solved. He knew the world, understood its inhabitants to a certain degree that couldn’t be replicated. A god of sorts. The complex went far beyond what she could see, far beyond what she even believed now. Hating himself in order to love himself.

Perspective made everything subjective, but he hinted so subtly at bringing others delight. Oh, it was those very lost souls that brought Persephone the most pity, discomfiture, and shame. Sharing air with the fools that thought Ruka delightful. The lion’s words, not the snake’s. Regardless that the blonde would credit such a claim to his well-disguised self-respect, it brought a precise viridescent tint to the world, draining it of its black blood in favor of that poisoned with emerald envy. Social creatures. Against all odds, the young snake was one and the same as these lonesome loves. Yes, the adoration of a personality was subjective, yet some were clear even to the blind. No sane person would get joy from the company of such a soul-sucking reaper as Persy, and the knowledge that some did in her mournful twin severed their connective bonds. Well, a few of them. His delusions—because, of course, the rusted angel had to be delusional—would not be shared here.

The ‘origin’ of her loathing for Ruka made itself known, as if it ever left. Don’t make me be lonely by myself. Not again.

It was almost as though the blonde comprehended that which was meant to be hidden more than that which stared her in the eye, unafraid. If it was information that was worn as armor, free bullets made of the cotton, it was useless. Giving the enemy strength with your bliss, injecting yourself. Therefore, Persy had to search for meaning in desperation, digging through nuance and misleading guidance from those that held her imagined intellect. So soothing. Could be a general line of truth if it applied no matter circumstance: don’t take what they give you. Beg for more. Silently, or your dignity dies with your brain.

A deep hush had briefly settled between them easily, each word of resentment suppressed under that blanket of poise. Architecture moved with grace, danced as a tree in the wind, more than the copper-haired boy would today. There would be no time for such relaxation and release, no spare moments for such frantic taunting. “Separating things into good and bad is non-inclusive. Everybody is a little bit of both. Or so much of one,” Again, Persephone met his eyes in a gaze of shadows, “that they become the other. I’ve never been a ‘delightful’ person, how do you do that? Lie? Kind of against my morality.” She dipped his adjective in melted sour candy and fed it to him with malice.

The girl kept her rhythm, her oeuvre, the same count and beats per minute like the continuous song of a heart monitor. Sever such continuity into threes and you were left with tap, tap, tap. If it sped or slowed as though unsure of itself, an alarm sounded, a life was in fatal danger. In this case, hers. Ruka was not the one brightened under a single lightbulb in a grey room, in a metal chair with a loosened leg, fighting. It was Persephone who took such burden with this conversation, prompting the question, why strike it? She coiled her legs closer, body tensing against possibility. Necessary didn’t always mean pleasant. That phrasing didn’t do it justice either; nothing was pleasant. And never would a necessity roam amongst the outliers.

Dropping a fascinating topic piqued her interest, eyes shifting from the floor to behind the angel, once again careful to avoid his gaze, white with ethereal essence. In her peripherals, he nodded, wound like a toy. This wasn’t anticipated, not listed in the capabilities section of his resume, the ability to flout. It was knowingly possessed universally, a weakness or strength undefined, but somehow it brought another element of surprise to the rollercoaster. Three quick, sharp taps. Maintaining stability, like the good girl she was.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” The blonde whispered in response to his echo, resounding through the room like in a cave. If he had nothing treasured to contribute to the conversation, if there was one, there was no need to act as a parrot of words he couldn’t grasp. Repetition wouldn’t bring clarity to words meant to sound foolish, mad, a certain tongue knotted in riddles. To her astonishment, Ruka launched into a brief lecture immediately after her decision to regard him wordless. Picking a fair god, of which there were none, Persephone prayed the wonders ended here. The creature lived itself to alter her state of mind, move her outside her virtue.

With barely a whisper of breath, as though she was saving it for the dive, the girl offered her retort to his first claim. “I don’t like the way that sounds, objectifies you. You are a complicated person, more than a cog, but to your misfortune, you’re the kind of complicated I can predict. Do you feel more credited, now? I’ll make the ride as comfortable as it can be.” Perhaps that was sensible, or only halfway. Blurry vision of exhaustion lead to the slow closing of her eyes, a time longer than a simple blink. Behind that, in isolated darkness, Persy studied herself. It was a bluff, truly. At least it was when coming from verge-of-death, lay-me-to-rest Persephone. When the game fell back into her invitations, more truth could materialize from confidence. But now? If Ruka blinked, it could very well be unexpected.

“Just because you don’t understand people, their selfishness, desire to preserve, need for connection, it doesn’t mean I don’t. Anything you do, it’s got reason. If it’s got reason, I can at least prepare for it. When the actual issue arises is when my perspective becomes flooded. And it won’t.” It already was, therefore it wouldn’t do it again. Persy had lived a million lives at once, but how many resided under his belt? How much disappointment until a person flatlined? Her nails scraped against the floor before resuming their song, shocked into submission. Clear! Whether that was her voice, she didn’t know, as its sound was ever-changing.

She bit her lip. Hard. “I don’t know why I’d answer that. If I told you why I did it, takes the mystery out of our relationship.” Not only theirs, but the same with many others. The mystery was the only thing they stayed for; what else was there? If she weren’t an enigma, the girl really would drown in seclusion. All of the emotions it held for her wouldn’t be obvious in such a basic reply. Or, perhaps, they would. Something in her eyes stung. Was that visible?

It’s not your fault, though. Social creatures! Intoxicated by humanity.

His voice shattered her state of numbness, the hardest object to the feeblest glass. By instinct, the blonde looked down, as though looking for the shards wherever the went to scatter. To hide away, as those fragments weren’t near as intimidating and agonizing as the full image of stained glass, windows of religion and security. What an inquiry it was, sudden and—what a surprise—startling. For a lengthy instant, Persy’s eyes locked on the floor, searching for an answer. How was one meant to reply to such an assumption? Incredibly insulting, that was. What demons could reside in Persephone to strike fear, let alone in herself, queen of nothing and ruler of all? Bravery wasn’t the right term, it wasn’t chivalrous. But never would she admit to stupidity.

Instead of giving a dear and expressive response, whatever it was the boy craved so intensely, Persephone merely laughed without an ounce of detectable humor. No aspect of his question had been comedic except the implication that it would warrant a reply, tell him something about the puzzle before him. Like a train, it hit her that she wasn’t the only one meaning to understand their company. Left in confusion, pulling a blank with each worthless guess. But his threads, those that he grabbed in starvation, were more simply turned upon himself than proven true in the Slytherin. That effort would be wasted, though; if he was as predictable as assumed, he would mirror and reflect just like she did.

“I don’t buy it, good try.” If he never meant to display empathy, then he wouldn’t. If he weren’t empathetic, the root of the argument, it wouldn’t display unless he wanted it too. The plot holes were immense, a very poor-quality book indeed. Going on, his words became a mere façade in front of his tone, the true holder of his point. If it weren’t a crime that made her the victim, she could admire it under a light of respect. ‘Don’t we’, in this scenario, translated through riddles to ‘don’t you.’ It was an unlucky virtue to pay the attention that Persephone did, even with the bells of fatigue ringing so relentlessly. In the case he hadn’t woken her with his sudden question of personal matters, the girl may have been dulled enough to let it fly away. Unlike him, she’d emphasize ‘we’. One and the same. “Better than we are? I disagree. It’s much more efficient to let them believe your incompetence. Underestimation does wonders for success.”

That fact was very well proven in the Owlery months ago. Ruka’s oblivion could be forgiven due to his not being present. Not that she wouldn’t wanted him there, the company that had arrived was fair from ideal and he would only pull it down in his abyss.

Sleeping problems were a quite common theme among the cursed students tortured in this castle. Regardless, none could tie to those nightmares that preyed upon their victim, not in a superior agony but in a different kind. Her pain couldn’t be replicated except in execution. It was coming, and preparation wouldn’t help. Suddenly, that sorrow visage grew deeper in its grief. “Pity it.” She whispered, masking the recognition and relation to such a claim of feeding demons. They were never satisfied. To avoid further elaboration on that subject, Persephone engaged herself in his response to her first, simple question. “It can’t, you’re right. Might explain them though, and most people would seize that opportunity. Then again, you aren’t most people.” Otherwise, why would she be here?

@Persephone Barret

@Ruka Tân

Behaving like a parrot, like the hollow walls of a cave, it didn’t do Ruka a severe injustice, she decided. At the very least, repetition turned these ideas to steam he could absorb, let it flow in his bloodstream and finally change the workings of his everyday life that defied that which should be law. In the Gryffindor’s eyes, a storm of green that competed with the shades of nature itself, he too saw that grey. A deep impression inside each person, whatever they claim to be swallowed in a murky sea, as no one was as simple and candid as they argued. Complex little puzzles, some the equivalent of an ever-changing coded box, others triangular shaped craters in wood, fitting piece in hand. Some assembly still required, but child’s play.

To Persephone’s strengthening dismay, Ruka’s matching category was a question for the ages, whether her fogged mentality made his breathing patterns intricate, or whether the graceful way he moved just danced around every possible solution. Did he adhere to a code of his own, was he based upon the principles of utter anarchy? A good boy tapping in the shoes of their opposite? Two separate ends on the very same spectrum of humanity, as the grey area was so intensely improbable only now. How was he to be moral and ambiguous? The boy stole the words, he redefined them to compliment the tilt of his features and gave them back to the world, ruined. In shambles. On a day where the floor was so comfortable, where the world was so detested, Persy couldn’t recall why it was the day to speak to him. On any other, maybe his walls wouldn’t be so opaque. Maybe they would look a lot more like her own.

His diffidence had become nearly comical, as though the copper-haired boy was blind to all those acts of kindness, the roses that drenched him every time he took a step. “Don’t be so modest, angel. Given the reaction you got after that minor headache, I’m under the impression plenty of people find you delightful.” Not only was her tone so sweet it became unsettling, it was also her first time voicing his nickname to him, a moment surely for her own books. The one she found so uncanny in its befitting him. Stinging in the crevices of old corroded memories, angel was often a name of affection. But it masked cruelty, it was an insult wrapped in the propaganda that they came from a place of white and gold, creatures of surreal beauty. That was far, far from what the blonde envisioned when that title skipped across her lips. “But I agree. It’s devastating how many people seem to have questionable taste.”

The way he conducted his movements, so much influence over how it looked and felt to see, it displayed his disinterest from a cold heart. Such ease and relaxation, a shift from perfect posture, presumably because the end result of this talk was predetermined. All there was to know was known, locked in a catchy melody always singing in the back of a busy mind. Decrypting that song, finding meaning in the prose and emotion in the instruments, that was where the only problem lies. It was something Ruka could study on his own time in that meticulous schedule, not burdened with her presence, her eyes still dodging his every time they dare come close to meeting. Almost fearfully, there was something she could not see, a color she could not understand, a life behind the one with the beating heart, one she could not witness.

“Your faith in me to remain truthful is rather naïve, wouldn’t you think? After cracking your head, breaking bones, burning a girl’s skin and the army of crimes I’ve committed since, you think I drawn the line at lying?” The assumption wasn’t entirely unfounded, it never was. Persy wasn’t much for the lovely lies, a petty misdemeanor in infinite cosmos of better things to do, but there was a ballad of necessary deceit that had to be performed. It was that cursed method that brought her here, continuing the counts on three nails. But when it wasn’t a component in a greater scheme, when it wasn’t what the spring does to a cherry blossom, it was but a mere foundation of disgrace. “Nevertheless, sweet compliment. It’s never too unwarranted to believe me above something.”

He was like a shaken coke finally opened, laughter spilling from his throat and carrying through the acoustics of the rehearsal room, melting an offering into a profound curse. It was remarkable how he made a relatively immense room feel so small, seem so full, his presence larger than his body and all else around going up in hazy smoke. Two people sitting rigidly on the floor, nothing ringing but the clicking of nails and exchange of voices, and suddenly that empty room was overcome with unimaginable life. When comprehensible words formed in the midst of those chuckles again, a new, sharper confidence had surmounted Ruka, adorned with a subtle smirk. If certain of nothing else in the world, not even that the sky was blue, he was certain of this.

It was saddening that his confidence had been so promptly born and misplaced, doomed to an early and gruesome death. And that wasn’t to imply he wasn’t poised before, but now it was different, and his skin had been unfaithful to him. So sure that he was unpredictable, a hopeless enigma meant to abandon Persy in this limbo it heaved the girl to, yet a dim light of hope shined far away, a symbol of the threat of stability and gift of understanding. She could crawl to it, a wretched from torture to whatever could be seen as better, but it had not quite struck her yet. The two went hand in hand, and the blonde would give up her volatility to eliminate one of its causes. Even if the day it collided was not today.

Fueling their vendetta with an acid drip, he entertained her thoughts as if they were those of an imaginative child, like the year between them had stretched miles longer rather than shriveled into inevitable decay. While the copper-haired lion could show all that time of anguish in the lost life from his demeanor, their gap was further closed as Persephone knew those monsters. And as a wise one said, wiser than any of the majority combining their brains, life, although it may only be an accumulation of all this agony, is dear. And it is to be protected. This didn’t save the frown settling upon her lips, reinforced in depth as soon as the dust cloud steadied and Persy realized she didn’t like the way her name sounded from his mouth.

“It would do you well to drop a couple levels, Ruka. You speak like you spontaneously combusting would really be such a bad thing from where I stand.” Unlike most things Persy said to him, calculated as though it was a script written hours before, that was but a seized opportunity to regain ground. Insult or not, warranted or not, it shifted the power in its tracks and edged it back into her firm grip. Regardless of her apathetic glare he always missed by a fraction of a second, there was a falter in that expression, a flicker of desperation. To stay on top, because if the control shifted, she could no longer protect that life.

When that one-syllable, uncomplicated word tumbled out, breaking the balance and flow of a conversation that once went easy like a gentle mist, the blonde’s eyes narrowed at the floor behind him. The blocks were knocked from the base and the world was slowed as they fell, one at a time, knocking over the next, a domino effect lining up to paint disparity. They would never be able to agree, as the waters they swam in were both blue, but it was opposite sides of the earth, unique temperatures, life, atmosphere, they could connect through the monsters in rippling currents. The way it was electrified and magnetized, surging. Reapers knew not where they come from, but what they became. “That’s a lot of blind faith to have if you believe they don’t use it often. Perhaps we just can’t speak on that level, because as I said, you not understanding does not extend to me. All it takes is preparation.”

“Preparation and a little experience.”

Their emotions in this conversation were vastly different, audible in the heat of their voices and unpredictable expressions of which would never be seen. It was a ride, plummeting over titanic hills as stomachs fell into chests, and the stoic hum in Persy’s voice had wavered into spite once more. Even the corner of her mouth was twitching slightly, a starved wolf taunted with blood-red meat. But the angel would ease her, talk her down, toss the snarling girl a bone with his ideal opening line, just to drag emerald eyes upon his and watch as they plunged in his elaboration. Compliments wrapped in insults tied in a shimmering bow of truth, a terrible nightmare, truly. To be seen the way she was now, beyond the corpse-like tint of her flesh and into the green and grey essence that developed her character. He saw what she disguised. They could relate in that manner.

She wouldn’t grant Ruka the gift of another proper response to his exposé and would sharply ignore his trace of recognition, along with the taste of metal on her tongue. It was familiar, as though scrapes should mark those lips more than they did now. He would never know how often a gem was reduced to merely a stain on glass. With his next remark, silence going greatly underappreciated, his head tilted, and his posture improved itself once again. If the Slytherin would dare match his gaze, not cower from it, perhaps that same tinge from the fire would be visible. “That’s not always true.” But her voice had misplaced a bit of its confidence, maybe numb somewhere. He threatened the worst kind of killing, the kind done indirectly, with no memory to celebrate. A party upon one’s death was better than a dull day of classes or office jobs. It was real. “People still explore the ocean, and really how much are they achieving? And will that stop them? Embrace the unknown, Ruka, before you learn things you can’t unlearn and see things you can’t unsee.”

He never stopped talking.

Distressing calm and a tuneless laugh wouldn’t do wonders to suppress the boy’s creative process, guesses spilling out as he had now become the child between the two, delighted to have some naturally formed opinion. And every time a door opened, it slammed closed immediately after, extra latches places upon it just for good measure. That stinging in her eyes didn’t vanish, but nothing more came of it than discomfort, unease, and a vow to abolish its cause later on. It was rather funny that Ruka believed her hush may be broken by more prying, wishful thinking as Persephone’s lips were hand sewn shut with a needle and thread. Perhaps it finally came to a rest within him and there was a shift, for the better or worse. Leaning closer with a shine in his eyes, bringing her further back, unstable on rattling hands.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One two three. One-two-three. Onetwothree.

How could he blend in? Dancing through the fire and flames, a column of risk and eccentric hobbies, a source of entertainment, individual and admirable. Those he brought together with duel torches, igniting orange shadows across his face, coloring his hair of rust and a setting sun, not looking too directly. But as the sun, he was seen without a direct view, he drew attention, he owned attention and he owned those observers. One slip of hand, a magician with tricks up his sleeve, and the world would combust with him. There was no blending in for Ruka Tân. She didn’t talk to people who blended in. Yet again, no futile phrases could suit such a claim, so Persy merely hummed, a quirked eyebrow, articulating her doubts without her voice.

Now he knew how it felt to be truly astonished by someone else’s words, fractured in a state of routine. Pity it. It made the universe stop and swirl, made a calm sea twirl into a restless hurricane, brought turmoil upon the dead until their coffins were the equivalent of an instrument. Persephone meant every word. Take pity on that which loathes you, for shouldn’t it be the one in the role of victim? Oh, to dwell in Ruka’s head, what a chore it likely was, to listen to those rough thoughts as they coiled back and forth along a bridge of contradiction. Her mouth curved into a smirk, the expression of utter satisfaction, before molding into something much more serious. “Have you ever considered that maybe the demons aren’t the source of your problems, but instead a result of them?”

And one more time, the last time before the sun turned to ice, that sinister smile. “I don’t know, Ruka. I think you decide what you get from this conversation.”