Work Text:
He likes to cook for himself, more often than not. It comes with a sense of accomplishment and victory, as if following a recipe was somehow comparable to overhauling the entire mafia and winning a Noble Peace Prize. Sometimes he cooks simple meals just for nutrition, and sometimes he takes his time with complex cooking and baking.
It’s not like he’s drowning in work. He leaves that up to his subordinates.
He doesn’t let anyone know about this but Elise. Of course not. It would ruin his image as their Boss and make him seem more approachable, weaker. He needs to maintain his beloved emotional distance from his workers to keep their respect and fear. Becoming too emotionally invested in any of his relationships would only lead to professional ruin and losing his power drop by drop.
Only Elise is worthy of his unfiltered thoughts and actual opinions. Sometimes he rants to her about the books he reads.
Today he makes a quick omelette. It didn’t turn out quite right, but he eats it happily anyway. He takes pride in not needing servant around. Even cleaning is fine if he can make it out to be an achievement. He likes being right and he likes winning. Winning at life is taking care of himself. He’s the winner.
“Ōgai, when you get older, find a nice wife and settle down. Get her to take care of you. I can’t always be around to fix up after you.”
After breakfast he brushes his teeth and dresses. He always wears the same type of suit, the same scarf and the same gloves. Of course he has many pairs of them, many of the same suit, but it’s always the same. It’s been so for years. It helps maintain his image. Sometime around this point he will manifest Elise at the latest. Mostly he manifests her when he wakes up, but sometimes she dislikes that and warns him in advance to manifest her later in the morning. There are rare days when she doesn’t want to come out at all, which he takes in stride (he does not) and which he gets through very normally (he doesn’t go to work).
“Stupid Rintarō! I want my cheesecake now! Not later! Now! Why are being so mean!”
He gets to work right on time. (Or not at all.) He keeps Elise manifested throughout the day to keep him company, to distract him and to pay him attention. Elise likes to tease him, yell at him and to hit him with her little fists. He doesn’t bother reprimanding her, knowing that it would only make her angrier.
Sometimes he almost forgets that Elise is a part of him. A part he can manifest from himself and give shape to.
Why is she a little girl?
He doesn’t see the point in working much himself. He mostly shifts his responsibilities around and does only the interesting parts himself, like planning the most important missions and debriefing executives when needed. Elise also hates boredom and is happier when he does interesting things. Around noon he will go have the same lunch at the same spot. Sometimes he gets a different drink. When Elise demands it, he does change his schedule to accommodate her needs and wants, like a new doll or sushi instead of curry.
Elise likes playing with dolls. She has many dollhouses around his office and at his penthouse. Her favourite is pink and white with many detailed rooms and furniture. She likes to mix Littlest Pet Shop figures with her barbies and other toys to create a family. She says it reminds her of what it’s like to be in his head.
He prefers to leave work at the precise strike of the clock on either a full hour or a half one. If he misses one, he waits for the next. Thus, his worktimes differ greatly. Sometimes he leaves at two, sometimes at nine. When he gets home, he cooks again, eats and goes to reading. His reading taste is all over the place, with poetry taking up the largest sector of it. He wanted to be a poet or a writer as a boy. Unfortunately, we can’t always get what we want.
I walk
right next to you
it’s quiet in the night we stroll together
STARS COME TO MY AID
as my words f a i l
I try to figureoutwhattosay
your face the only constant in the sea
do you also think about me
I wander with you in the moonlight
under the sky built of my blood
the streetlamps are my bones
the river is my
b
l
o
o
d
what do you think about that?
my love my angel my dear my honey
all that fills my head is the way your lips curve upwards when i tell a story in which i fall down and hurt myself
why are you laughing? is a question i don’t consider.
all that matter is that you’re laughing
at me or with me,
do i care???
NO
is the answer
reverberating in my head
laugh at me all you want
my l o v e
my feelings will never change
perhaps you are a part of me
or a delusion
but i still don’t want to
wake up
w a k e u p