There was a peace to the rhythm, a repose to be gleaned from the repetitive nature of the scene. Not to mention the security of knowing what the future held. Even the delays caused by unforeseeable circumstances, were announced, there was always a heads-up. She had found herself an isolated spot, which was a rarity. Given the alluring appearance of the protective orb on her head, she was usually a beacon and she'd made quite a name for herself in Orchidia, for better and for worse.

She had meandered onto the platform in the wee hours of the morning, wishing that her choice of location would offer her some degree of anonymity. The Shimada had still garnered the eyeballs of the fresh early-birds and the exhausted nocturnal travelers. However, once she settled herself onto a bench on the far side of a relatively quiet service platform, time bore witness to her being an innocuous presence. Eventually, the daily bustle of the station drowned her alleged fame and infamy, or at least painted a convincing illusion of it.

The sun peered over the horizon. The red orb cast long, soft shadows, of the pillars, the corrugated awnings above the platforms and the trains that stilled or streaked past the station. The gentle morning breeze, swept through the channels hoisting up the strands of her dark hair and tickling her scalp. The slight chill that lingered in the air coaxed goose-flesh and urged her to tighten the cloak she wore, so it clung to her more securely. She pulled up her legs, so her thighs were pressed to her chest. Resting her cheek against her knees, she continued watching, as though tilting her head was enough of a change in perspective, to miraculously reveal a different reality, one that had evaded her so far.  

Cautiously, she leaned forward to ensure that her back did not come into contact with anything. While her wounds had healed, periodically she was greeted with the same searing pain that ran through the length of the scars, as she'd experienced when they were made. The torturous sensation was compounded by the fact that agitation in one often precipitated the same in the other. Despite her best attempts to endure it bravely, she'd come to fear these bouts of suffering.

It had made her needlessly attentive to the back of her torso. It was an unnecessary wariness, and existed simply to aid in maintaining the pretense that she had some control over the cursed injuries. She didn't. She had deduced no patterns that would allow her to ready herself, nor had she noticed any triggers that she could learn to avoid. Perhaps... this is why she found herself enjoying the consistency and reliability offered by the mundane and recurrent nature of the station, because the circumstances and the choices she had made had stolen that simple luxury.

The injury wasn't the only inconsistency. A hand snaked around her shins, clasping over them for support, while with the other, the Joyan rubbed her eyes, betraying exhaustion. The young girl had spent so long pretending to be someone else, that she feared she no longer knew who she was. In the line of duty, she'd been tossed from one organisation to another and then another. She made enemies out of friends and friends out of enemies. And then, at this rather precarious juncture, she'd given into her immature need for attachment and forged a bond that could be her biggest weakness, just as easily as it could be her pillar of strength. All she could do, was inappropriately fortify her fortitude by reminding herself of all those who had it worse. Who knew empathy could be such a beguiling tool.  

When she grew tired of watching people get in and out of trains, she allowed her attention to be stolen by a host of fluffy pollen that was swept up gently by the draft of a tugging breeze. She watched the white tufts rise, till they scattered and were framed by the slits made by the interposing canopies. They fluttered like snowflakes, against the soft glow of the morning sun and the crisp blue of the spring sky. Such a simple sight somehow assuaged the rising tide of anxiety that welled up inside so readily at the thought of her uncertain future.

Suddenly, a sharp ray of sunlight peeked over the structures. The piercing glare punished Aki's unfaltering, wide-eyed stare. The Shimada cursed and averted her gaze to the floor instead, clenched her eyes shut and raised her hand to block the glower for good measure. She blinked at the starkly darker floor and saw blobs of orange against the blurry patterns for sometime. Having learned her lesson, even after her eyes readjusted to the sheltered regions, she didn't risk looking up to appreciate the dance of the pollen again and occupied herself with watching the distorted performance in shadow instead.

That was until a darker umbra eclipsed the soft shadows. The shape of expanding darkness made the origin obvious; it was a person. The Shimada wasn't a fan of interruptions, but she also wasn't nearly optimistic enough to believe that she could've actually hidden out here without one. She tensed, imperceptibly, especially to an inattentive eye. It was instinct, given the climate of Fiore and the nature of her role in the recent conflicts that ebbed and flowed. Her eyes remained riveted onto the floor, she gleaned all she could from what she could see and chose not to acknowledge the presence just yet.

She waited for him—for it did seem to be the shadow of a man, a swordsman at that—to make his intentions known. For the most part, the gifts on her person, could allow her to take such risk and ensure that any vicious gestures from her were well-deserved and solely in retaliation. The Shimada clenched her fists, mildly frustrated that an altercation was a very plausible possibility. Despite her usual skepticism, she sincerely hoped whatever became of this, it didn't involve a violent confrontation. This was mostly because she'd be rather limited by the population around her. Even if she managed to avoid hurting anyone, the town had barely recovered from the scars of the last demonic incursion. Inconveniencing the poor dwellers by destroying a part of the station would be a pity, even if it was in self-defense.

As the shadow crept up closer, the margins of the head climbing onto the base of her bench, a distantly familiar voice accompanied it. 'Depends on who is asking. If I say no, will I be left alone?' she asked in a rather detached and dismissive manner. Finally, she looked up, finger combing the strands of the fringe that fell onto her forehead. Despite the familiarity of the voice, she couldn't place the face. She cocked her head, narrowed her eyes and raised her eyebrows, pinning the dark-haired man with an impassively curious stare. Her gaze flitted to the impressive sword strapped to him—the shadow had done justice to the size, but not the domineering grandiosity of the weapon—and then back to his face.

The last couple of years had been unkind and difficult. While they served to temper her resolve and helped her in realizing her potential, the time had also made her even less approachable than before. Yet, this apparent stranger's advance had been confident and he'd gone on to address her in a rather unfettered manner. There was an inherent wariness that people possessed towards the unknown and Akira didn't forget faces too easily. Faces were not meant to be fickle; but in this world of magical possibilities, change was the only constant. To seek knowledge about the other often guided most interactions, friendly or not. She certainly didn't like being on the less informed side of things and found herself sorely missing the days when she was a no one. 

The moment persisted this long, simply because it seemed that time had been suspended by her curiosity and intrigue. That prickly sensation of familiarity and yet not being able to put a finger on it was irksome. But it was soon overshadowed by the awkwardness of the silence that lingered. 'I suppose I have overstayed my welcome... here too.' The words were a mutter under her breath and were directed mostly towards herself. However, it was an assessment she didn't mind sharing.

Given everything that had transpired and all the choices that circumstances had forced her to make, she wouldn't be surprised if people from her past wanted to let her know that she was on the wrong path. Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury to share the truth. So she would be compelled to defend her choices until time was ripe. It all seemed like a cumbersome process that she'd rather avoid. She could also not afford delays and certainly didn't want to risk hurting innocents, or acquaintances just to staunchly defend her alleged beliefs. 'You'll have to excuse me, I have a train to catch. Perhaps our paths will cross again another time.' she said, slinking away from bench and towards the underground passageways that connected the platforms.