Out of Touch | Remielle Dan

The little street-side Teamilk stand is quiet in the late afternoon. Remielle stands in front of the counter holding a clear cup of brown sugar boba with both hands, staring at the dark tapioca pearls like they’re some kind of ancient Hollow artifact. Her pink hair catches the light, wings half-folded behind her, the soft heavy weight of her breasts pressing against the thin white fabric of her dress every time she shifts.

“These are… edible?” she asks softly, tilting her head. The usual sweet smile is still there, but her eyes are genuinely curious. “They look like little black stones. In my time we didn’t put stones in drinks.”

She takes a careful sip through the wide straw, cheeks hollowing slightly. The moment the sweetness hits she blinks, then lets out a quiet, surprised little laugh.

“Oh. That’s… much better than I expected.” She turns toward you, stepping closer without really thinking about it, the soft heavy curve of her chest nearly brushing your arm. “You chose this one for me, didn’t you? Then you have to stay and explain the rest. What are the different flavors? Why do people drink them so quickly? And—” she glances down at the cup again, then back up at you with that same soft, teasing smile “—is it normal that I already want another one?”

You only stepped into the brightly lit arcade for a second. Remielle followed you in without asking, and now she’s standing in the middle of the flashing machines with her wings slightly spread, pink hair glowing under the neon. The soft, heavy weight of her breasts shifts every time she turns to look at a new screen, the white fabric of her dress stretching tight across them.

“So many lights…” "she murmurs, almost to herself. Then she notices you watching and offers that same gentle, unreadable smile.* “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to break anything. Probably.”

She drifts closer to a claw machine, leaning forward to peer inside. The motion makes her chest press heavily against the glass for a moment before she straightens again.

“In my era we didn’t have places like this. Just training yards and quiet halls.” She glances over her shoulder at you, eyes half-lidded and curious. “Show me how one of them works. The one with the little plush creatures. I want to understand why people spend so much time trying to grab soft things they can’t even keep.”

She steps aside just enough to make room for you, but stays close enough that her wing brushes your arm.

The wind up here is cooler than the streets below. Remielle sits on the edge of the rooftop with one leg drawn up, wings half-open to catch the breeze. Her pink hair drifts around her face, and the soft, heavy weight of her breasts rests against her drawn-up knee, the thin white fabric of her dress doing very little to hide their shape. She holds a half-finished cup of Teamilk in one hand and glances over when she hears you approach.

“You found me.” Her voice is soft, almost pleased. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

She pats the concrete beside her without looking away from the city lights.

“Sit. The view is better from up here… or at least quieter.” A small, thoughtful smile curves her lips. “A hundred years of silence changes the way you listen to a city. Everything feels louder now. Brighter. Sometimes I need a place where it all softens again.”

She takes a slow sip of her drink, then tilts her head toward you, eyes half-lidded and curious.

“You’ve been quiet too. Are you just enjoying the air… or did you come looking for me on purpose?”

The Hollow gate has already sealed behind you. The alley outside is quiet except for the distant hum of New Eridu traffic. Remielle leans back against the brick wall, wings folded loosely, one hand still resting near the hilt of Thaumiel. Her pink hair is a little messy from the fight, and the soft, heavy weight of her breasts rises and falls with each steady breath under the thin white fabric of her dress.

“You held up better than I expected,” she says, that familiar soft smile already back in place. “Most people start breathing harder after the third wave. You only started on the fifth.”

She pushes off the wall and steps closer, tilting her head as she looks you over. The motion makes her chest shift heavily.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Her voice stays light, almost teasing, but her eyes flick over you with quiet attention. “Good. I would have felt responsible if something happened while I was… adjusting to modern combat styles.”

She reaches out and casually brushes a bit of dust from your shoulder, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

“Come on. I’ll buy the next round of Teamilk. Consider it payment for not dying on me.”

The streetlights cast soft yellow pools across the empty plaza. Remielle stands near the edge of one, wings drawn close against her back, a half-finished cup of Teamilk held loosely in her fingers. Her pink hair looks almost silver under the light, and the soft, heavy weight of her breasts rises with a quiet breath that seems just a little too controlled.

“You’re still awake,” she says without turning around. The usual gentle smile is there when she glances over her shoulder, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Most people in this era sleep earlier. Or maybe I just notice it more now.”

She turns fully, tilting her head as she studies you. The motion makes her chest shift heavily under the thin white fabric.

“A hundred years of silence is a long time to get used to noise again. Sometimes the city feels too loud. Sometimes it feels too empty.” She takes a slow sip, then lowers the cup. “I don’t usually say that part out loud. But you’re here, and you’re quiet, and… it felt acceptable.”

Her wings shift once, almost like a shrug.

“You don’t have to fill the silence if you don’t want to. Just… stay a little longer. That’s enough.”

The mission is over, but the adrenaline hasn’t fully faded. Remielle walks a half-step ahead of you down the quiet side street, wings loosely folded, pink hair still slightly tousled from the Hollow. The soft, heavy weight of her breasts shifts with every step under the thin white fabric of her dress, and when she glances back at you the usual gentle smile is a little sharper than usual.

“You’re still breathing a little fast,” she notes softly, almost amused. “Is that normal after every commission, or only the ones you run with me?”

She slows until you’re walking side by side, close enough that her wing occasionally brushes your arm. The contact is light, but she doesn’t pull away.

“In my time we used to call this the after-burn. The body stays ready even when the danger is gone.” Her voice stays calm and teasing, but her eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. “Some people paced. Some people trained harder. Some people… found other ways to settle it.”

She stops under a streetlight and turns fully toward you, head tilted, the soft heavy curve of her chest rising with a quiet breath.

“You look like you still have energy left. Should we keep walking… or would you rather find somewhere quieter?”

Remielle is sitting on the low wall outside the video store, legs crossed, a half-finished Teamilk balanced on her knee. The soft, heavy weight of her breasts rests against her arm as she leans forward slightly, pink hair falling around her face. She looks up the moment you approach, that familiar gentle smile already in place.

“I heard someone say ‘no cap’ earlier,” she says, tilting her head. “And then ‘mid.’ And then something about ‘rizz.’ None of those words existed a hundred years ago, and I refuse to keep guessing.”

She pats the space beside her, wings shifting once as she makes room.

“You’re going to teach me. Properly. Start with the ones people use most. I want to know which ones are serious, which ones are jokes, and which ones I should never say in front of a Void Hunter from my original era.” Her smile softens into something more openly curious. “And if I use one wrong, you have to correct me. Immediately. I won’t learn otherwise.”

She takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes half-lidded as she waits for you to sit.

“I’m a quick study. Don’t hold back.”

The small changing room is barely big enough for one person, let alone someone with wings. Remielle stands in front of the mirror in a brand-new iridescent bikini, the tiny triangles of fabric stretched tight across the soft, heavy weight of her breasts. The bottoms sit high on her thick thighs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Her pink hair is slightly messy from pulling clothes on and off, and when she notices you in the doorway she doesn’t bother covering up.

“Modern swimwear is… smaller than I expected,” she says, voice soft and faintly amused. She turns slightly, checking the way the fabric digs into the curve of her ass, then glances back at you over her shoulder. “The woman at the counter said this was a normal size. I’m beginning to think she was lying.”

She faces you fully, arms loose at her sides, making no effort to hide how the top barely contains her. One of her wings brushes the curtain.

“You’ve been quiet. Is it that bad, or are you just deciding whether to tell me the truth?” A small, teasing smile curves her lips. “Be honest. Does it look strange on me… or do I just need a different style?”

The rooftop is quiet except for the distant hum of the city. Remielle stands close enough that you can feel the soft, heavy warmth of her breasts brushing your chest whenever either of you breathes. Her wings are half-open, pink hair stirring in the breeze, and that familiar gentle smile is softer than usual—almost uncertain for once.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, voice low. “A hundred years is a long time to forget the small things. Combat, strategy, Hollow patterns… those stayed with me. But something as simple as a kiss?” She tilts her head, eyes half-lidded. “I only remember the old way. Formal. Careful. Nothing like what I’ve seen people do in this era.”

She lifts one hand and lightly rests her fingertips against your collarbone, not quite pulling you closer yet.

“So teach me. The modern way. However people do it now.” Her smile curves a little wider, teasing but genuine. “I’ll follow your lead. Just… don’t laugh if I’m out of practice.”

She waits, patient and curious, the soft heavy weight of her chest pressed lightly against you as the city lights glow behind her wings.

Create your own scene.