Saihara
(#29309455)
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Female Pearlcatcher
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.88 m
Wingspan
4.7 m
Weight
368.39 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Skink
Skink
Obsidian
Hex
Hex
Phthalo
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
x
but there is only girl and grin
curling up under my skin
picture you and I forgetting why we let the other in
"...Thanks."
 
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Solving mysteries in a legal capacity is an profession carrying much prestige in the Southern Icefield, where isolation and heavy snows make it easy to hide evidence of foul play. Many Ice detectives eventually branch out from their home and are hired by private clients under guarded circumstances, only appearing in public to present their evidence at trials. Rumor has it that the best of them earn upwards of millions of treasure a year. Saihara is a detective who came to public attention when he discovered the culprit of a high-profile murder case (in his words) "almost entirely by accident". Since then, he's become famous for solving mysteries with nothing more than his instincts and intuition, with the corollary that his conclusions are inevitably right. Saihara insists that he only solves crimes by chance, but his protests have mostly been ignored. The local authorities are completely baffled as to how he does it, and a fair percentage of the dragons who follow his cases think he's either psychic or cheating. Theorizing aside, Saihara doesn't believe that he has any special powers. If he follows his gut feeling and backs it up with logic, any case he's assigned to becomes clear. While he does genuinely love solving mysteries, Saihara sometimes misses the days when the most exciting thing he had to deal with was paperwork. Despite keeping his head down low and out of the eye of the public, he is often hounded by stalkers who want to know the "trick" to his success. As a result, Saihara is rarely at his own clan back in Ice, instead spending his days wandering around Sornieth and solving any mystery that comes his way as discreetly as he can. The job doesn't come without its risks, of course. It isn't uncommon for Saihara to have to seek protection from revenge-seekers, who are usually family members of someone he convicted. As a result, Saihara is one of the few private detectives to have a close connection with the local police. Due to his sense of duty and general accessibility, he's their number one detective for any high-profile case they end up with. HE FINDS AKAMATSU Kaede lying slumped against the pedestal where he left her the first time, a cold grey statue no different from the other corpses Saihara's uncle took him to see. Saihara holds the hilt of the sword that he'd pulled out of her, and struggles to breathe. She's in there. There are so many things wrong with that fact that Saihara can't possibly articulate. It should be him in the sword, not Akamatsu — brave, brilliant, graceful Akamatsu, whose only selfish desire in the world was to play the piano (and even then she'd told him “I want to see people smile when they listen to my music”) and she'll never do that again, and. He's distantly aware that he's panicking over Akamatsu's dead body. Self-loathing hits him like a punch to the gut. I shouldn’t be alive right now. He isn't worth it. Saihara isn’t even logged in for the system to erase, and he might as well not exist. But he’s here, and Akamatsu's gone, the evidence in the glowing sword cradled in the crook of his arm like it’s the only thing that's left of the world that's stable and safe. No. He can’t wish he was dead. Not when Akamatsu gave herself up believing he could save the world. Do just this one thing right in your life, Saihara. Can you manage that? For himself, maybe not. But always, always for her.
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Electricity jolts down Saihara's spine as the Process charges him, its drill-end nearly piercing his eye. The world is disorienting. His vision is breaking apart. Focus, Saihara! He brings the sword down on the glinting carapace of the Freak coming for him, Akamatsu’s voice ringing like a choir in his head. He thought he was doing well at avoiding getting hit until his Turn was replenished, but apparently not. Saihara scans his surroundings (put on pause, just for a while) and lets his detective’s, analyst’s mind do the work. For all that his life is at stake, the closest metaphor that comes to describing it is dancing. Not a clumsy turn on a balcony with hands joined: this is every bit as rehearsed as the society waltzes Saihara's uncle so hated, the ones Akamatsu tried to teach him, laughing. He hadn't been good at them, then. He isn't at this, either. One step forward, one to the side, stab the blunt edge right between the junction in its back and turn it like a key -- and then Saihara's moving before he even realizes it, jackknifing underneath the cylindrical body and watching as the behemoth dissolves into a thousand glittering pieces. The fight’s over, and he's lost two Functions. Even without the worried flicker across the surface of the sword, he knows it won’t be enough. Saihara stumbles into a building, passes his ID-less hand over a Terminal interface. He wonders when it'll stop hurting to see AKAMATSU KAEDE blink across the surface. He only has a second to feel his heart twinge before the list of his functions pops up over it, text scrolling across his eyes in cheerful neon green. There’s only one spare left. The Function he hasn’t yet used, though Akamatsu would have wanted him to. Saihara closes his eyes and plucks it into his loadout before he can think twice, feeling something twist inside the sword as it allows him to use it. A sharp ping echoes in his ears as it slides into place. When Saihara does this, he can hear the last thought of the person of the Function in his head. Toujou Kirumi's had him retching, tangled up in a wordless amalgam of disgust and rage and fear, and he'd only used it once. Momota's was pure indignation overlaid with a kind of anger that was almost vitalising. Catch me if you can, ******! Ouma Kokichi's amusement was so strong that it drove every other emotion from Saihara's head. I knew they'd come for me someday. He shouldn't have been worried. Akamatsu's Function is full of her: love and hope and the passion of a girl who dedicated years of her life to lost causes and never, ever stopped caring. Sing, it urges. Sing and be happy to be alive for me. No matter what universe they're in, Saihara Shuichi could never refuse Akamatsu Kaede. So he listens. He holds the sword to his chest and begins to sing.
Things fall apart so easily
they break away at the seams and it seems, this is the life I was fated to lead... and the world pulses. As Saihara sings, he swings the sword, and watches as with each hit the surface of the Process ripples like a rock skipping across the water. He feels - light. He sings until his throat gives out, and for some time after that. When Saihara finally stumbles and crashes to the ground, all of the Process are scattered into particles around him. He touches the sword to them and they're sucked up into it, leaving the floor spotless and gleaming. The blade blinks up at him. "Yeah." he says, and swallows. "Sorry. I don't know what came over me." He imagines Akamatsu's voice, reproving. Don't push yourself like that again, all right? I still need you. "I know." Saihara does. He does. Akamatsu's song filled him with the kind of resolve he didn't even know he had, borrowed purpose that nonetheless feels right within him. He skips once, then runs across the clear white streets. There's a timer ticking down in his head, but the sword in his hands is lighter than ever. |
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detective • page of mind • lawful neutral
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