[ It's hard to ignore the heavy presence of Akua's communion in this strange space beneath the tree — all the more so due to the side effects of Misa's own actions in the previous moon. She can feel that foreign remorse as heavy as if it were her own, which makes it all the more difficult and distracting to grapple with. Guilt? Longing for redemption? Neither are things Misa has harbored in the confines of her heart, not during her actions as the Second Kira, or otherwise. It makes the emotion all the more aggravating to fend off as Akua paces about the tree, and at first, Misa is content to stay huddled up where she's sitting, her cloak drawn up around her shoulders and head to obscure her face.
But every so often, Akua gets too close, and the brand in the shape of the other woman's shard burns against her skin. In a way, it's almost a blessing, because the pain pulls her out of words echoing throughout her mind, questions from Light about how she could possibly think ending the world was the way to save it. On the other hand... well, it's painful? And her feelings only seem to get louder the closer she gets to Misa herself? ]
Hey, can you knock it off? You're distracting me!
[ Impulsively, Misa snaps as Akua makes another round past her, her prissy tone lacking the usual bite it might have. She does what she can to hide it, but underneath the cover of her thick, wool coat, she's clutching at her shoulder where the brand is, a strained wince written deep into her features. ]
rooted!
But every so often, Akua gets too close, and the brand in the shape of the other woman's shard burns against her skin. In a way, it's almost a blessing, because the pain pulls her out of words echoing throughout her mind, questions from Light about how she could possibly think ending the world was the way to save it. On the other hand... well, it's painful? And her feelings only seem to get louder the closer she gets to Misa herself? ]
Hey, can you knock it off? You're distracting me!
[ Impulsively, Misa snaps as Akua makes another round past her, her prissy tone lacking the usual bite it might have. She does what she can to hide it, but underneath the cover of her thick, wool coat, she's clutching at her shoulder where the brand is, a strained wince written deep into her features. ]