OwO

Magic in the Park

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｄｕｅｌ　ａｔ　ｈｉｇｈ　ｍｉｄｎｉｇｈｔ

"Please," Macaron said as she took the bowl in hand, "this place is worth as much as me. If they want to be little buzzards pecking around a corpse's corpse for the last drops of their precious grandpa's blood, then by all means.".

She was content to wallow in filth in her miserable existence. The care she had for her family was, at the very least, reciprocal--only her mother never pleaded with her to treat them well. No, the only thing she heard from her mother about her family was wounded apologies in the brief moments between the fevers and dreams. No matter how beloved that woman was, her mother's love could only outweigh the vestigial poison that was Hayao in a select few.

The letter she received was a peculiar one. Her first letter in such a long time, and it was some kind of callout? Though the aspects of the writing carried little meaning for her, what with the fact that she never read her own letters.

The expression on her face was difficult to read. It was a simple smile, but what it relayed was up for debate. Pure un adulterated joy? Raw undulating hatred? Really, she seemed at peace more than anything else. A grin. Closed eyes. The slightest blush as if it were a love letter that confirmed something unrequited.

"I'm going to kill this bitch."

The words that came out of her mouth didn't help resolve anything. Neither did the macaroni she shovelled into her mouth.

Magic in the Park

Do not let Macaron get access to a comically large magnifying glass.

Worst mistake of my life.

Magic in the Park

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｐｒｉｃｅ　ｏｆ　ｈｕｍａｎ　ｌａｎｇｕｉｓｈｉｎｇ

It was a safehouse, but it certainly didn't feel safe.

And it was all in part to its vile occupant. Trash littered the floor. Though, the rats and flies seemed to stay away--a surprise for the gutterways that Macaron always resided in. Maybe it was the fact that Macaron never left food out. A craven image of a woman who devoured bone, pith, and seedling. Or those who knew her always had the brief thought that she ate the rats. Of course, that wasn't true in the slightest. But the thought always resided in the back of one's mind.

One's home was a reflection of one's self. Macaron's wasn't great. A swathe of animals formed her psyche. Beaver to dam any pathway of the house with a mixture of trash and knickknacks. Bear to mark the walls in territorial anger. Raccoon to wash everything in sight. Squirrel to hide things in the walls.

Her cabinets were filled with empty tin cans that she couldn't bear the thought of throwing out. It was too difficult to figure out whether she kept them from attachment, sloth, or a primitive desire to cut the sides of her mouth. Perhaps it was all three.

While she never used it, she always kept a mug in the cabinet--even if the bottom of the mug was anointed with circles of dull silver from years of stirring. One that she always washed, even if it was just because it hadn't been used.

She stared out the window, the destitute shade ensuring a one-way observation. People looked like small bugs from the fourth floor. Not quite ants--more like beetles. Perhaps that's why people liked penthouses so much. At least, that's what Macaron mused. They, like her, would find the joy in crushing and burning ants. It was juvenile joy that Macaron managed to acquire in adulthood, even if her languid self would never act it out beyond her thoughts.

And as she wasted away with petty and cruel delusions, a familiar face looked after her. One might find the humour in a thug wearing an apron. But the apron was a dull red--frayed fabric that seemed to be older than the man who wore it. Macaron had cut the cuter ones she had to ribbons. Something about the design angering her. And there he was, making some macaroni.

If she had good humour, she could suppose that it was fitting. She always lacked something to properly make macaroni. The "I" was the issue. The cheap noodles would always get stuck to the bottom--an impenetrable layer of starch within a pot that would sooner find itself embedded in drywall than being scraped out in a sink. Or sometimes the issue would be her impatience and carelessness--the willingness to choke down vaguely cheese-flavoured broth.

Well, what was macaroni without cheese?

From the refusal of eye contact, it seemed like cheese was something Hideji could do without. He was probably smart for that. There was no telling when her unprompted smile would turn into the grimace of a hannya mask.

The news of a letter was certainly unexpected. So much so that the only emotion that Macaron could feel was bewilderment. She never received letters. Not since her family's retained lawyer--the one that didn't die--gave her the pittance that carried her to adulthood. The few letters that came from the government were handled by either Hideji or--when she took care of her--Amaya.

"Why not?" Macaron replied as she approached to take it from his hands. "Maybe it'll have a lock of hair to curse me in it or something."

The thought of curses or danger didn't dissuade her.

Magic in the Park

Yea, that's fine.

It's also just of note that the Ashers would have got their territory from the Kataokas by basically beating the bottom of the totem pole--affiliates at the most. Actually trying to fight the main Kataoka family head on and take territory that was actually important before their collapse was probably the worst decision someone could make. They didn't have to follow the machiavellianisms and politic of most of the houses. They just killed your ass with car bombs and debtors with knives in real space if you intruded.

Likewise, they also didn't really care about other houses existing within their territories as long as they gave proper tribute. AKA, they would literally not care about other non-Manifest houses so long as they paid money and showed respect.

Magic in the Park

she also doesn't have any servants as of 8 years ago

they either died on that night alongside her family (wrong place, wrong time) or had literally no reason to continue to be around her--if they even knew she lived.

i probably should have been a bit clearer in DMs

Magic in the Park

@ERode you could have made her a water in the microwave person

Magic in the Park

@OwO If you want, it could be the situation where Amaya looked out for Macaron during her early years, in more of a 'teach her to cook food and get odd jobs' kinda way. Probably saw something sympathetic in the literal teenager. If they were extra close, one of Amaya's particular crafts could have been formed/obtained initially to mentally soothe Macaron during particularly bad nights in the City.

@ERode

That sounds good. It's incredibly funny that Amaya would have developed a craft because of Macaron's instability. That'd probably mean that Amaya's one of the few people that Macaron will legitimately get mad for when something bad happens to her.

also the random cooking manga style comfort food flashbacks they share.

Magic in the Park

Menhara girl and mental attack ally.

Surely this won't cause any problems in the future.

Magic in the Park

Macaron

^{20 y/o | Female | 5'2" | Manifest}
『 Ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗｅｓｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗ 』

Background

The Kataoka family was once one of the great families of the city. At their peak, they were unequalled in both the Manifest and the underworld. While the Kataoka family focused on their pursuit of the magecraft, the numerous subsidiary families and organizations under them controlled the city's underworld with an iron fist. Leading their family was the great Hayao Kataoka; a staunch traditionalist who--were it not for his old age--would be considered one of the strongest mages of the city.

Tsune Kataoka was born into this family as a bastard--a tryst between an artist outside of the Dark Sphere and her mother--the sole granddaughter of Hayao Kataoka. For the conservative Hayao, Tsune was his worst nightmare come to fruition. His sole granddaughter--someone whom he raised from birth after the the death of his son and daughter-in-law--had come home sick and with child. To say that Hayao loathed Tsune was an understatement. No, in his eyes, she was the reason why his granddaughter was sick. Tsune was nothing more than an outsider. Someone of impure blood. Someone who didn't even deserve the name bestowed upon her by her grandmother.

While her mother truly cared for her--even negotiating with her grandfather in deep sickness to ensure Tsune's safety--her pleasant memories did not last long. The fragrance of incense. The sun shining on cotton blankets. The flowers her mother delicately arranged. Her mother calling Tsune her little Macaron--just like her father used to call her, she would say. But the sickness took her mother. Rainfall. Black and white fabrics. Coldness.

Tsune's position was precarious. Her mother's wishes protected her, at the very least. But she was not loved. The child was taught the bare minimum. She had always thought that maybe if she showed more effort and been a good girl, she would even feel a semblance of love from her family. But no matter how hard she tried or how good she was, she was never given even a glance by Hayao or anyone else. To Hayao, she was nothing more than the beast who killed his granddaughter. To her aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was the child of their oh-so-hated doted-upon sib. To those not of Hayao's blood, she was simply persona non grata lest they incur the wrath of the head.

But this precarious position no longer matters. It hasn't mattered for eight years. The Kataoka family was once a great family. Past tense. It happened in a single night. The horrors. The blood. There were only a handful of survivors. A handful of Kataokas who were hiding in personal safe houses. A few peons who were to unimportant to slaughter as they patrolled the red light district. It was only thanks to the hiding spots devised from an unwanted child that she survived. She watched as it happened. The horror. The beast. The behemoth. It punctured the only thing she could call family with its teeth--sliced them to bits.

The police said it was simply gang warfare. A coalition of upstarts sought to bring them down. An easy explanation. It was simple and believable. The power vacuum left by the sudden passing of so many Kataokas and their affiliates was good enough cover. Likewise, the only witnesses were the police and detectives that corroborated the story.

Meanwhile, Tsune no longer had a home--if you could even call it that. She was placed under the ward of one of the few of her family that survived--not that they cared to look after her--and received what little unseized familial assets she was entitled. It was enough to live. Or at least, support her until she reached adulthood.

But what was left of Tsune? Not much. The good little girl who tried her hardest to win the love of her family died that day. What was left was a girl who had seen too much. Someone who could no longer regulate their emotions. Someone who still craved love and kinship, yet no longer had an adequate understanding of them. A broken, fractured person who never had a chance to properly grow up. A girl who no longer kept the name carelessly bestowed by her grandfather and instead kept the name that gave her love.

A girl who delved into the labyrinth alone with only the memories of what she was taught.

A woman who survived 8 years alone in the city.

A woman named Macaron.

Craft

Macaron's craft matches her personality: unstable. Fundamentally, it is based upon the roots of the Kataoka's familial craft: to reflect one's inner self in reality. To sculpt one's form as one sees fit. A blade to cut all before them. An unbending will that can block bullets. However, Macaron's understanding of this craft is fundamentally flawed. Or perhaps, she understands it greater than even Hayao.

Her craft is driven by pure emotion. The restaint of neutrality forming sinew wires to restrain and garrote. The melancholy of sorrow being impenetrable as she is forced into turgor. The unrestricted rage and anger warping her with jaw and claw. Excitement being met with alacrity.

Her transformations are predictable yet unrestrained. Her will a slave to emotion that will easily flicker, waver, and shift.

Beyond that, she can utilize a basic spattering of novice crafts. A quick flame, a shard of light, or other such cantrips. However, her application of these crafts are unstable and warped.

Magic in the Park

Also, was my character approved?

@Sky Blue

Asuras is waiting until Wednesday for the final acceptance sweep.