chemical heresy

kiteyo:

          If she had knew she would come across this filthy thing on her way home, she’d at least tidy herself up a little. But it didn’t matter, anything to see the pig agitated, which the blonde currently was right now.

         Oh, if only the other had seen her home. It was quite messy, she’d admit, the floor scattered with fries and other contents. She had been surprised that no pests or rats had invaded the small space she called a house yet.

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          "A sight of your face makes me want to puke all my guts out."

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"Ah? You should clean yourself up afterward; I’m sure your Ronald dearest wouldn’t want to see his lady all dressed in vomit.” It is a sore spot. She does not know why, or how, but the mere addressing of the clown that the other so adores makes the blonde rather nauseous herself. Perhaps it is his demeanor, all the children he had led astray with promises of sweet candies and gentle lullabies.

Yet, she is just another victim.

How very amusing indeed.

Теги: kiteyo.

buta:

          Another day has come. Today she is free, and not busy for once. She likes having free time to herself but it bores her so. Maybe she should head home and sleep, just like how she does when she meets boredom. Maybe she should get some fries on the way home too.

           As thoughts race across her mind, she spots familiar blonde locks. And she tries to turn and walk away, but unfortunately for her, the other notices her futile attempt to escape. So she has no choice but to turn back.

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           ”Ah, and you are still annoying as the time where we last met.”

Every miniscule detail of the former idol permeates pores of fair skin with pure, liquid rage. Livid, infuriated, beside herself with hatred. From ratty, obnoxiously cyan hair to a fat and unseemly bust to plump thighs and unflattering lower limbs. Not to mention the other’s wretched outfit, seemingly cobbled together from the contents of her closet at random. The mere sight of the McDonalds logo on the girl opposite her’s oversized jacket causes nausea to boil in the pit of her stomach. Disgusting.

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"Have you ever even heard your own voice? Talk about shrill. My ears are near bleeding.”

Теги: kiteyo.

Brisk is the wind, whipping and tousling blonde locks, tugging them out of their sloppy pigtails. Black elastic bands whisk away on the wind, and she bids them a halfhearted farewell. It is not as if such accessories are difficult to acquire, after all, though she does happen to set aside a large portion of her paycheck for…implements to dream with. Yes. Such resources can become quite expensive.

Aquamarine gaze drawing upward, eyes catch on a familiar figure. A hateful pig she could never forget, however much she tried.

"I see you’ve gained weight."

buta:

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          “Well, everyone does want money, can’t say I don’t. And even if they’re using me, at least some people enjoy my music. Also, with the million copies of me walking around, I don’t think I’ll be forgotten in just ten measly years.”

Mesu buta. Can’t you see that everyone hates you?”

Теги: kiteyo.

buta:

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        "Aw, piglet can’t admit it. Well don’t worry, I too can’t believe Putin chose someone like you. I don’t even think he knows your name." A grin is immediately plastered to her face. "Assassin? What assassin? All I see is one filthy pig."

"Come on, it’s obvious they’re just using you to make a few thousand yen. In ten years, you’ll be forgotten, won’t you? No one will know your name. Because you’re a worthless teen pop idol, and you must know how the cycle goes. At least I have some worth to my name.”

Теги: kiteyo.

buta:

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        "Oh come on, don’t tell me you’ve envied me until now. Grow up, won’t you? Also, why the hell would I go to Russia of all places? And even if I did, I could stand longer than you could."

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"Envied you? The queen of all swine? I still can’t believe they let a whale like you onto TV." A chuckle. "Have you forgotten that I was built for endurance? It comes with being an assassin, Miss ‘Princess and the Pea’."

buta:

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          “Yeah. I hope you freeze your ass when you get out there.”

"I’m not the one who’s got fat thighs sticking out of her miniskirt. I don’t give a damn if you’ve been on world tours; a princessy little pig like you could never survive a Russian winter, were one to wrack Japan."

"It’s so chilly out… How lovely."

【鏡音リン】化学異端【鏡音レン】

cv02append:

It is bitter, tasteless salt on his tongue that leaves the blond frowning at such innocent words dripping from the female’s mouth. "You’d be surprised how many PuuRin models are actually out there." Though he must add, it is unfortunate for you to miss out on one who just left not too long ago. He wishes not to announce an unnecessary fact. After all, it is unfair for Len to accuse of someone he technically never met before in his life. Like every other Rin Kagamine, every other Len Kagamine, to a new face he encounters, he is to treat them as normal upon first impression, despite whatever negative feelings dwell from within his heart.

"Isn’t it mandatory to know every deviation of Kagamine Rin? Knowledge is but another update, an installment waiting to be downloaded.” He will not admit that the first time meeting a PuuRin model left him guessing, clueless, really.

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                                                                                 He will not make that mistake, again.
"Your existence is only a given piece of information. To save in another’s head." Why? Why does he feel so cold?
                                                             It hurt, didn’t it? He cannot bear to look at her.
If only good morals would permit, he would break out of his cool facade and allow his rage, his fury to embrace all that he has come to spit at. Again, it is unfair. The lack of interest, the emptiness that hollows the female’s cerulean optics is only an obvious reminder  that she is but another PuuRin android not to be taken cheerfully with. Lifeless. Putin’s models were all so lifeless.
                      And he wonders how on earth he was able to befriend the first one—

          “That’s nonsense. I was a custom order.” Specifically designed to be an asset to Putin, the man her entire existence revolves around. All the words that leave her lips, all the movements her hands make, all the passing thoughts that cross her mind are for his sake, every single one. How can there be another? She is not a replacement. Surely if there were multiples, duplicates of her, they would band together to crush the American dream beneath laced up boots, once and for all? Disgusting, it is, leaving behind a bitter flavor on her tongue.

His next statement leaves her speechless. “I…suppose. I receive no such database additions. Rather, my updates usually revolve around things relevant to my work…” Ah, has she said too much? Though if he knows of her, he might be familiar with her occupation already. It is a touchy subject, especially considering the school she attends prohibits students from having any jobs, part time or otherwise. It would be quite a scandal if her loyal followers and promoters learned of her true nature.

                                              But it wouldn’t matter, in the end.

              “You certainly have a romantic view of things.” A wry smile. “Yes, we are data. We are not human, and we may carry out our specific functions without a hitch, but that does not mean we cannot feel. That does not mean our lives, such as they are, have no meaning.”

                                                                               Where do such uplifting words come from…?

yuzukari:

"Puurin?" 

     Roses lock with cerulean, and her breath catches. 
         A blue that reflects, but never to refract. A blue innocent disguised guilty. A blue devoid of all but the joyous shine of light that berates her. 

So bobs the gold framed face dripping with raw nostalgia, her attire an alternate, history and compositions a supposed different. And yet, every knife that dares to touch her stalks scars and shadows of scars into the porcelain veins of her skin, whispering “Rin.” And in those wounds devoted to burning up her flesh, irony bubbles up in the nerves— it is a name that haunts and a name that hurts.  

The hanging silence betrays her and laughs at the reoccurring mistake.

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               And the cycle does not end. 

Sharp eyes blink, and lips part in slight surprise. This figure, lavender locks rippling and draping down, is wholly unfamiliar to her. She has never glanced upon such a person in her existence. So why is it that she is apparently familiar with her model type? She doesn’t recall ever giving the other her name. Indeed, they have only just met. Finding this repeated recognition rather disconcerting, fingers raise to brush blonde strands out of her eyes. A rather troublesome habit.

"Is my status that renown? Everyone I approach seems to know my name before I even say a word to them. Who are you?"