thirteenth voyage

[rivercrossed]

[ Christmas morning dawns, and there's no light.

Komachi can't remember what happened before the darkness. There are just flashes of the same routine that she goes through every day, stumbling downstairs, collecting the mail. A different letter, this time. And then nothing

Comments

lucky number you got there for the event entry :V

[expiatrice]

[Call it an Executor an old lady intuition. Or maybe the atmosphere in town has been terrible ever since she got up, but she was passing by the park when something sounded.

...

Was it just the wind?

...

She's not the type to call out to people, but as she strains her ears, this almost sounds like...

Strange. Not only the sound, but also how muffled and faint it is. Actually, a sound like that would almost seem as if it's coming from...

She'll take a few moments more to try keep listening.]

derp I just realised! and oops guess I couldn't respond on xmas day after all :(

[rivercrossed]

[ Below ground, Komachi has no idea who may or may not pass over her, buried as she was in her cozy little shallow grave. She has been hollering and banging on the top of the coffin for hours now. Her voice, usually, loud and cheerful, comes in bursts which Ciel may be able to hear if she stands close by. Shouts, muffled, which fade away for a few seconds as the shinigami curses or coughs or sobs slightly. And then it starts over again. Hey, help, let me out of here. ]

haha no problem =3= also I LIVE OFF OF BACKTAGS

[expiatrice]

[Okay this is weird, and going by some of the calls that she was already hearing this morning, better to check than be sorry

[rivercrossed]

[ There's a jolt, suddenly. It's not physical, but Komachi can feel it in the limited air around her. She coughs and shivers. She doesn't know how, but she knows there must be someone standing on the ground on top of her grave. There must be. Somebody had to come by at some point...even though she still has no idea where she is.

Throwing caution to the wind, she begins hammering and screeching at the top of the coffin even louder, her voice hoarse. Her tone is desperate and obscenities slip out like blood from a stab wound. Her knuckles bruised and raw, she continues knocking at the wooden coffin door, shut tight. ]