Redundancy [Fyodor Dostoyevsky x Reader]

1 - Introduction

Death is to YN as nature is to a hiker. Does a hiker go out seeking nature? Or rather, the adventure that's hidden within its' depth? YN was the former. Death loomed in the very presence of life, as if every room they walked into became unclean. Flooded with the dark cloud, the smoke and misfortune that came along with the alias. Death was inevitable, to most. The scene that was laid out in front of her was too often imprinted in her mind. A beautifully decorated and ornate casket, the surrounding environment gloomy albeit sunny. A sunny day was a strange day to host a funeral, but it suited the victim. He had always been a strange man, an enigma to YN. How he managed to stay in such trivial decrees of society and to be satisfied, yet perhaps that was the ignorance of bliss.

        YN's sigh passed through her lips as she officially made up her mind, she was tired of this already. The melody of crying, the surrounding ambiance of literal death. She sneezed into her shoulder, before saying her final goodbyes. She crouched beside the grave, tapping it once or twice, as a means of an "au revoir". A silence passed, and she was gone before anyone questioned if she was actually here or not.

        Her walk back to her apartment was illusive to the extent of peace, even. How foolish would it be for her to assume that a city like Yokohoma would play into the role of a home? Is a home defined by its peace or the pieces laid out between its stones? She didn't particularly care. With one earphone working and the other making alarming static noises, she simply tuned out the world and focused on the idyllic notes. She had always admired artists. Through her years, she wondered why she hadn't once picked up an instrument, or was she scared of the commitment? The realisation that she may have to put in more than a little effort to become successful in a venture? She shivered, her shoulders shooting up.

        "Too real," she whispered, shuffling her way up the stairs to the fourth floor. Apartment number sixteen. She huffed to herself, pulling out the noisy keys (which was connected to a punch of ridiculous fidgets, such as a dog tag that read: "MILF"), She was not a milf. It was false advertising. She pushed past the door into the humble abode. A two-bedroom apartment, with an open kitchen and what could be recalled as a living space. Though, the home looked old. The living room was filled with numerous books, laid about in a messy manner. Each book was either stacked atop of each other, with random notes stuck in between its pages, or laid open, marked with black and red markers. The kitchen was bare, and even more bare was the empty fridge. The only resemblance of anything edible was the stacks of spicy korean ramen, ham, and bottled water. Alas, the last feature of her home that made her pick it in the first place. The spacious balcony, lined with a peeling gold. She didn't bother to take off her boots, merely stepping towards her balcony, reaching for her pocket. Her brittle fingers made contact with a familiar box, the addiction that she so easily indulged. She crouched on the floor, leaning against the rusting railing as she pulled out a cigarette, putting it in between her lips and her little black lighter. She tried lighting it, once. Twice.

        "Stupid lighter," She hissed, tossing it aside and reaching into her pocket for another one. A pink one she accidentally stole from the gas station. The cigarette was lit in between her lips, the relief hitting her all at once as the sinking feeling engulfed her. Breathing in the toxic chemicals, she breathed out after a momentary pause, her eyes wandering towards the expansive landscape, then the sky.

"Fuck." She muttered, closing her eyes.

–

        "Elise, my darling, do answer my question." Mori whined, his eyes falling upon the young blonde as Elise pouted, in the middle of her sketching. "Why is it that someone so powerful, serves as someone so incompetent?" He posed the rhetorical question. Elise simply rolled her eyes, used to the old man's antics before throwing her body, with her back facing him. She continued to colour. The black-haired man cried, feeling as if he was shot through the heart, being ignored by the little girl. "My Elise, you wound me so." He spoke, but it simply bounced off Elise's consciousness onto his own. His eyes once again fell on the black screen of his phone, his fingers swiping over it to observe the sensation of the glove against the smooth surface. Mori was lost in thought, for a mere moment before receiving a message, one from Kouyou herself. The eccentric yet talented redhead, with a soft spot for that wretched Kouyou. It read: "Mori. The executive must be investigated, at the consequence of my departure. Under no circumstances will you leave this Unmanned. Kyouyou." Mori's face didn't change in expression, he leaned against his table, pressing his chin onto his palms. A look overtook his visage, a gloss overtaking his eyes as he let a sigh escape his lips.