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Open Post: Welcome to the Park
May. 11th, 2017 07:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desires
It's night.
A low, thin fog drifts through the streets. Distantly, there's music, high and reedy. Metal groans and creaks in the wind.
Overhead, a sign: ATLANTIC ISLAND PARK
The road back leads into a darkness where the shadows whisper your name. Ahead, the fluorescent lights buzz like flies, flickering playfully in invitation.
This amusement park hasn't seen a soul in years. Living, at least. The weeds choke the buildings and crowd the streets. Chips of paint and rust flake off the attractions. Grime clouds over every window, dust thick on every surface.
But the electricity is still on, and the attractions still run. In the corner of your vision is the shape of a man, a little too long, almost stretched. He beckons, he bows, and he vanishes faster than you can blink. Under the tinny amusement park music, there's faint noises of scuttling, or perhaps too-long nails scrabbling against cracked pavement.
Welcome to Kingsmouth, a quiet port town on Solomon Island, just off the east coast of New England. Quiet, if you don't mind the undead, wraiths, stray wendigo, and shambling horrors crawling out of the ocean. Other than that, though, just the nicest all-American town a person could hope for. Atlantic Island Park is nestled in the southern reaches of town, not that you'll ever know. None of the roads in the park seem to lead out. In fact, none of the roads seem to lead the same place twice. The path that took you to the bumper cars a minute ago now takes you to the boat ride. The street that led to the game booths now takes you to an empty field in the shadow of the ferris wheel with bloody drag marks on the ground.
How did you get here? Did you walk past the rusty gates of your own volition? Or did you wake up confused in a pile of glittery rubble? Whatever your answer, it's clear that getting back out might not be a simple matter.
The park seems to be trying to lead you somewhere. Or perhaps it's just playing with you. Or it's marinating you in your own fear for later consumption. It's anyone's guess, really.
Nothing to do but play along, it seems. Might as well make the best of it.
Setting borrowed from The Secret World, meme generously donated by
ensanguines. Anyone feel free to jump in! House rules are here (not much to them, just don't be a dick).unlife*wherever this place is, it's very quiet.
It looks to be springtime. The plum trees are leafed out and the first sakura have just started to bloom, pink flower petals swaying in a faint breeze underneath the blue sky, stray petals drifting down the river.
Oh yes -- there's a river.
It's a rather familiar looking river. In fact, the road leading up to it seems strangely familiar as well. The houses in the distance, too, seem to have a certain something of the nostalgic about them. There is no sound of gunfire here, no smoke, no blood; no moans of the sick and wounded; no men marching in trousers and buttoned coats, no pianos or waltzes or German books. Just the sound of birdsong and wind chimes, and someone's yukata drying on a line far off down the path.
There's a blanket spread underneath one of the most-blooming sakura trees, the closest one to the river -- the Tama River, that flows through the village of Hino. There's a fine stack of bentou and tea and sake spread over it, all for the taking. Perhaps there's even someone else around here already.
Will you join them?*
[Feel free to treat this post like a meme.]
It looks to be springtime. The plum trees are leafed out and the first sakura have just started to bloom, pink flower petals swaying in a faint breeze underneath the blue sky, stray petals drifting down the river.
Oh yes -- there's a river.
It's a rather familiar looking river. In fact, the road leading up to it seems strangely familiar as well. The houses in the distance, too, seem to have a certain something of the nostalgic about them. There is no sound of gunfire here, no smoke, no blood; no moans of the sick and wounded; no men marching in trousers and buttoned coats, no pianos or waltzes or German books. Just the sound of birdsong and wind chimes, and someone's yukata drying on a line far off down the path.
There's a blanket spread underneath one of the most-blooming sakura trees, the closest one to the river -- the Tama River, that flows through the village of Hino. There's a fine stack of bentou and tea and sake spread over it, all for the taking. Perhaps there's even someone else around here already.
Will you join them?*
[Feel free to treat this post like a meme.]
southerncrossed*Satsuki wakes up in his dorm room in the middle of the night, and it's very quiet.
He doesn't think anything of it at first. This happens sometimes; Natsuki gets disturbed somehow in his sleep, startled enough to wake, and shaken enough that Satsuki automatically ends up controlling the body. All he has to do is stay calm, soothe his other half, and it'll pass. He doesn't want to impact Natsuki's sleep over something like this, so he always tries to slip back into slumber as soon as possible; tonight he feels a little restless somehow, so with a yawn he sits up thinking he'll get a glass of water.
He slowly slips out from under the covers, pads into the bathroom, quietly runs the faucet. It's as he's staring half-asleep into the mirror for several seconds, waiting for his cup to fill, that he realizes just how quiet it actually is.
There's no second, sleeping presence behind his eyelids, dreaming frivolous dreams or thinking worried thoughts. There's no echo. There's no music.
The inside of his head is black and completely empty of anyone but him.
He nearly drops the glass and only barely has the presence of mind to turn the water off, gripping the edge of the sink far too hard. He dives down into their mind as deep as he dares, heart pounding hard, screaming Natsuki's name into the abyss with every ounce of mental strength he has in him--
This has never, ever happened before and he doesn't--
At some obscene hour, maybe not quite 5 am, Ren's phone starts buzzing on his nightstand.*
He doesn't think anything of it at first. This happens sometimes; Natsuki gets disturbed somehow in his sleep, startled enough to wake, and shaken enough that Satsuki automatically ends up controlling the body. All he has to do is stay calm, soothe his other half, and it'll pass. He doesn't want to impact Natsuki's sleep over something like this, so he always tries to slip back into slumber as soon as possible; tonight he feels a little restless somehow, so with a yawn he sits up thinking he'll get a glass of water.
He slowly slips out from under the covers, pads into the bathroom, quietly runs the faucet. It's as he's staring half-asleep into the mirror for several seconds, waiting for his cup to fill, that he realizes just how quiet it actually is.
There's no second, sleeping presence behind his eyelids, dreaming frivolous dreams or thinking worried thoughts. There's no echo. There's no music.
The inside of his head is black and completely empty of anyone but him.
He nearly drops the glass and only barely has the presence of mind to turn the water off, gripping the edge of the sink far too hard. He dives down into their mind as deep as he dares, heart pounding hard, screaming Natsuki's name into the abyss with every ounce of mental strength he has in him--
This has never, ever happened before and he doesn't--
At some obscene hour, maybe not quite 5 am, Ren's phone starts buzzing on his nightstand.*
repents*It's been a couple hours since Shirou left Mephisto's place. Both the boys are out-- There was some small hobgoblin infestation Yukio was needed for a few cities over, and Rin's probably out getting his ass kicked for some reason or another, but Shirou makes a point not to get involved in that anymore unless he gets a call from somewhere. Like a police station or a hospital. Rin's a big boy now, after all.
And they have to grow up sometime.
He stretches a little with a yawn, then goes back to sweeping up the kitchen. After this he should do a load of laundry since Rin's shit is practically spilling out of his room by now. Oh and there's that catnip wine he's been fermenting. He should check if that's ready.
...
All in all, a pretty quiet night. It's sort of surprising, how... quiet it can get, lately.
He laughs quietly to himself, rubbing his shoulder at the thought.
In a lot of ways, he never really saw this day coming. Getting old.
At this rate he might not even get to die with his boots on.
He sets his broom back in the closet, then goes into the fridge for some cold beer. He tosses one over his shoulder without looking, still rummaging around for where his delicious hand-pickled tsukemono got off to.*
Mephisto, stop lurking. It's rude, you know?
And they have to grow up sometime.
He stretches a little with a yawn, then goes back to sweeping up the kitchen. After this he should do a load of laundry since Rin's shit is practically spilling out of his room by now. Oh and there's that catnip wine he's been fermenting. He should check if that's ready.
...
All in all, a pretty quiet night. It's sort of surprising, how... quiet it can get, lately.
He laughs quietly to himself, rubbing his shoulder at the thought.
In a lot of ways, he never really saw this day coming. Getting old.
At this rate he might not even get to die with his boots on.
He sets his broom back in the closet, then goes into the fridge for some cold beer. He tosses one over his shoulder without looking, still rummaging around for where his delicious hand-pickled tsukemono got off to.*
Mephisto, stop lurking. It's rude, you know?
kyoto by night
Aug. 21st, 2012 01:24 pmunlife*it's late even for a rasetsu by the time he gets back from Shimabara that evening.
He parted from his unit at the end of their patrol as he does more often than not these days, leaving Toudou-kun to lead everyone on the short trip back to Nishi-Honganji; steady rain obscured even the moon's glow as he made his way into the red-light district, ghosting through alleys and the shadows between the lanterns to slip into a certain quiet teahouse.
There was a woman already waiting for him there, someone who's grown quite accustomed over the last months to offering him certain... unusual services. Their personalities agree with one another after a fashion; she likes poetry and philosophy and quietly talking into the night, and doesn't mind tucking her kimono collar close around her shoulders to hide cuts and bite marks. They'd watched the rain fall outside the window slats together once Sannan was finished, sipping just one cup of sake, speaking softly and pleasantly about nothing at all.
Akesato is a discreet woman, and understands the difference between a friendship and a business arrangement; knows that some of her customers' hearts will always be elsewhere entirely when they come to patronize her, but welcomes them just the same. Sannan appreciates that about her.
His umbrella has somewhat failed him in the downpour by the time he steps back underneath the roof of the temple that night, padding softly down the engawa and shaking raindrops from his hair.*
He parted from his unit at the end of their patrol as he does more often than not these days, leaving Toudou-kun to lead everyone on the short trip back to Nishi-Honganji; steady rain obscured even the moon's glow as he made his way into the red-light district, ghosting through alleys and the shadows between the lanterns to slip into a certain quiet teahouse.
There was a woman already waiting for him there, someone who's grown quite accustomed over the last months to offering him certain... unusual services. Their personalities agree with one another after a fashion; she likes poetry and philosophy and quietly talking into the night, and doesn't mind tucking her kimono collar close around her shoulders to hide cuts and bite marks. They'd watched the rain fall outside the window slats together once Sannan was finished, sipping just one cup of sake, speaking softly and pleasantly about nothing at all.
Akesato is a discreet woman, and understands the difference between a friendship and a business arrangement; knows that some of her customers' hearts will always be elsewhere entirely when they come to patronize her, but welcomes them just the same. Sannan appreciates that about her.
His umbrella has somewhat failed him in the downpour by the time he steps back underneath the roof of the temple that night, padding softly down the engawa and shaking raindrops from his hair.*
deathcough[Souji hated a lot of things. He hated the way Kondou looked at Hijikata. He hated the way Hijikata fretted over him. He hated being sick and having no way of getting better. He hated Itou forgetting him into this situation in the first place.
But most of all he hated himself for giving in.
He told himself it was for the best; to help Sannan out of this situation Itou managed to wind him up in, Souji would do anything. His pride wasn't worth whatever hell Sannan must be going through. So when he approached Itou's room instead of punching through the door and throttling the man, he just knocked twice and waited for confirmation before sliding it open.
His fingers curled around the wood, so tight he could swear he heard the wood creaking. It took all his strength to step into the room, and the sound of the door sliding shut behind him had a sense of finality that made the man distinctly uncomfortable. Souji was used to being the predator; it wasn't often he suddenly felt like the prey that had just wandered into a cat's sick game.]
But most of all he hated himself for giving in.
He told himself it was for the best; to help Sannan out of this situation Itou managed to wind him up in, Souji would do anything. His pride wasn't worth whatever hell Sannan must be going through. So when he approached Itou's room instead of punching through the door and throttling the man, he just knocked twice and waited for confirmation before sliding it open.
His fingers curled around the wood, so tight he could swear he heard the wood creaking. It took all his strength to step into the room, and the sound of the door sliding shut behind him had a sense of finality that made the man distinctly uncomfortable. Souji was used to being the predator; it wasn't often he suddenly felt like the prey that had just wandered into a cat's sick game.]
everything's about to change
Jul. 25th, 2012 09:24 pmdegeneratesIt seemed like lifetimes ago to Itou Kashitarou, that spring he first set eyes upon the man named Sannan Keisuke. Even back then, there'd been something terribly unapproachable about the young man. He bristled easily and often looked down his nose at the people around him, carrying himself with a self-assured strength that was tantalizing to the man Itou had been back then. Sannan was elegant but deadly, beautiful but cold. Perhaps they were all the tired old cliche held by young and naive hearts, but Itou had loved him desperately all the same.
Itou had never loved before, and he had similarly never been scorned. He had only bright, eager dreams about what awaited in the limitless future. After all-- He, too, was greatly gifted in swordsmanship, he was often spoken of by his peers to be as lovely as the spring blossoms high in the boughs of the flowering trees? He had a fairness to him that rivaled any of young maiden, with all the strength and fortitude of a true man. What was there not to want?
But Sannan hadn't wanted him, hadn't wanted the first thing to do with him. Itou never forgot that burning shame, that sting of rejection. It seared itself into him like a brand. It changed him, Sannan's carelessness and his scathing words. Itou was someone who had always prided himself in his fairness, who spent as much time on his outward appearance as his inner strength. After that day, he'd never been able to look into his reflection and see beauty again.
All he could see was something mottled, something flawed.
Once, Itou Kashitarou had loved with every ounce of his being. He'd loved himself, he'd loved his life, and he'd dared to love a man named Sannan Keisuke. By the time Sannan was finished with him, all he had left to feel for the world was deem, consuming hatred. There was no part of the world that escaped his loathing.
For that reason, he could have cared less of the Shinsengumi's plight no matter how charming their illustrious leader was. They'd picked their lot, and they could rot with it for all that it mattered to him. Itou had long since stopped being a person who looked any further than his own nose. He was never particularly selfless or noble, but by now he'd become the kind of man who would let a child drown in a shallow puddle if it meant he didn't have to get his robes dirty.
...but then, of course, that darling man, that Kondou Isami, let slip a truly marvelous phrase.
"...and since Sannan-kun was unfortunately injured..."
Itou immediately reached for the pot of tea, carefully turning his sleeve up just so as he warmed up Kondou's cup.
"Oh, how dreadful! Takeda-kun, bring along some more snacks won't you? Kondou-san and I have much to speak about--"
The next few days were a flurry of preparations and bustle, but Itou soon found himself standing outside of the Shinsengumi's front gates. Kondou himself was there to welcome him, and though Itou let his gaze search the surroundings out of the corner of his eye, he saw not a hide or hair of his once-beloved Keisuke.
How delightful, that a prideful, fickle creature like Sannan would be absent from Itou's entrance. Itou could only imagine that Sannan's injuries were exactly as bad as they sounded to be, or else the other man would not miss the chance to assert his dominance here on his own territory.
Itou drew in a slow, deep breath, a look of utter satisfaction on his face as he gave Kondou a pretty, predatory smile.
This would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
It seemed that there was a reason that Itou was born into this world yet.
Itou had never loved before, and he had similarly never been scorned. He had only bright, eager dreams about what awaited in the limitless future. After all-- He, too, was greatly gifted in swordsmanship, he was often spoken of by his peers to be as lovely as the spring blossoms high in the boughs of the flowering trees? He had a fairness to him that rivaled any of young maiden, with all the strength and fortitude of a true man. What was there not to want?
But Sannan hadn't wanted him, hadn't wanted the first thing to do with him. Itou never forgot that burning shame, that sting of rejection. It seared itself into him like a brand. It changed him, Sannan's carelessness and his scathing words. Itou was someone who had always prided himself in his fairness, who spent as much time on his outward appearance as his inner strength. After that day, he'd never been able to look into his reflection and see beauty again.
All he could see was something mottled, something flawed.
Once, Itou Kashitarou had loved with every ounce of his being. He'd loved himself, he'd loved his life, and he'd dared to love a man named Sannan Keisuke. By the time Sannan was finished with him, all he had left to feel for the world was deem, consuming hatred. There was no part of the world that escaped his loathing.
For that reason, he could have cared less of the Shinsengumi's plight no matter how charming their illustrious leader was. They'd picked their lot, and they could rot with it for all that it mattered to him. Itou had long since stopped being a person who looked any further than his own nose. He was never particularly selfless or noble, but by now he'd become the kind of man who would let a child drown in a shallow puddle if it meant he didn't have to get his robes dirty.
...but then, of course, that darling man, that Kondou Isami, let slip a truly marvelous phrase.
"...and since Sannan-kun was unfortunately injured..."
Itou immediately reached for the pot of tea, carefully turning his sleeve up just so as he warmed up Kondou's cup.
"Oh, how dreadful! Takeda-kun, bring along some more snacks won't you? Kondou-san and I have much to speak about--"
The next few days were a flurry of preparations and bustle, but Itou soon found himself standing outside of the Shinsengumi's front gates. Kondou himself was there to welcome him, and though Itou let his gaze search the surroundings out of the corner of his eye, he saw not a hide or hair of his once-beloved Keisuke.
How delightful, that a prideful, fickle creature like Sannan would be absent from Itou's entrance. Itou could only imagine that Sannan's injuries were exactly as bad as they sounded to be, or else the other man would not miss the chance to assert his dominance here on his own territory.
Itou drew in a slow, deep breath, a look of utter satisfaction on his face as he gave Kondou a pretty, predatory smile.
This would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
It seemed that there was a reason that Itou was born into this world yet.
(no subject)
Jul. 12th, 2012 08:33 pmdeathcough[It had only been a few days since the talk between Souji and Sannan, since Souji had expressed, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted to become...intimate with the older man. However apparently just letting the other know that Souji wanted a relationship with him wasn't going to cut it. Having known Sannan since he was a kid probably had something to do with it, but Souji couldn't see why that had to factor into it so much. The chemistry was there, it was obvious they were attracted to each other, but...
And really, dumping so much busywork and extra patrols in Souji's lap hadn't been a fair way of dealing with it, in his honest opinion. And it certainly wasn't going to be enough to deter him.
Which is why after a late night patrol he's shown up at Sannan's room. The light tells him Sannan's still up and he doesn't bother knocking (he's sure Sannan heard someone coming already), just slides it open and stands in he doorway, expression smug]
Sorry I haven't been around to see you as often. Somehow all my work seems to be piling up.
And really, dumping so much busywork and extra patrols in Souji's lap hadn't been a fair way of dealing with it, in his honest opinion. And it certainly wasn't going to be enough to deter him.
Which is why after a late night patrol he's shown up at Sannan's room. The light tells him Sannan's still up and he doesn't bother knocking (he's sure Sannan heard someone coming already), just slides it open and stands in he doorway, expression smug]
Sorry I haven't been around to see you as often. Somehow all my work seems to be piling up.
purpleprosing*There's a profoundly bored look on one famous playboy novelist extraordinaire's face as he stands leaning against the gallery wall, watching the other patrons mill about whispering to each other about the various works up on display. He usually likes this sort of event because feigning even the most superficial amount of depth and insight gets him all kinds of beautiful women, but evidently his past indiscretions have earned him somewhat of a reputation. Cross himself doesn't care about that sort of thing, but apparently that reputation was also having a sort of contact-transfer effect on the artist whose galleries he's always using to get laid.
And so Theodore pulled him aside at the start of this event and told him to keep his hands off the women and be good. He even went so far as to ban Cross from the champagne table downstairs. Now what kind of friend is that?
Cross supposes he could actually have a look at the art for once, but Theodore's works are all so flowery and optimistic. Their worldviews don't match up at all. Sometimes Cross wonders how they're even friends, but then he remembers. Ahh, college. A once-in-a-lifetime experience for sure. Cross doesn't remember most of it, but Theodore does! They do make a good pair on occasion.
...
How long does he have to stay for it to be considered not completely rude to leave?
He can't even have a smoke in here, what with the 'no smoking' signs posted more often than actual artwork on the walls.
...
This is Hell. Cross has firmly decided that this place is in fact Hell. He can't smoke, he can't drink, he can't fraternize with women, and yet all three are right there within his grasp.
He must've died on his way here to Theodore's gallery, and this is Hell.*
And so Theodore pulled him aside at the start of this event and told him to keep his hands off the women and be good. He even went so far as to ban Cross from the champagne table downstairs. Now what kind of friend is that?
Cross supposes he could actually have a look at the art for once, but Theodore's works are all so flowery and optimistic. Their worldviews don't match up at all. Sometimes Cross wonders how they're even friends, but then he remembers. Ahh, college. A once-in-a-lifetime experience for sure. Cross doesn't remember most of it, but Theodore does! They do make a good pair on occasion.
...
How long does he have to stay for it to be considered not completely rude to leave?
He can't even have a smoke in here, what with the 'no smoking' signs posted more often than actual artwork on the walls.
...
This is Hell. Cross has firmly decided that this place is in fact Hell. He can't smoke, he can't drink, he can't fraternize with women, and yet all three are right there within his grasp.
He must've died on his way here to Theodore's gallery, and this is Hell.*
the past can be a bitch
Apr. 25th, 2012 11:42 pmderisive*It's a strange feeling, but Kazama finds himself unable to quite sit still in his room. It's quiet, this being a small villa tucked deep into the mountains. His understanding is that it belongs to the Amagiri clan but is ill-used enough that Kyuuju managed to secure it for him as a place to recuperate. There are a few of the Amagiri clan's trusted servants with him to make sure he is looked after, and Kazama's gotten fairly well reacquainted with both Kyuuju himself as well as Shiranui Kyou. While Amagiri is always collected and solid as the sheer face of a mountain, making him virtually impossible to read, Shiranui reacts more according to his emotions and very often Kazama finds him giving him a strained, almost disturbed look when he thinks Kazama isn't looking.
Is he really that different now? His memories still haven't returned to him, even a full month now after that incident. He's fallen into a sort of routine here, having his meals either alone or only in the presence of Kyuuju and Kyou and reading quietly in his room just to pass the time. Sometimes there's tea in the evenings. It's quiet and it's peaceful, which Kazama has grown very attached to. He needs it. It's the only time he ever feels truly sane, as whenever Amagiri has to drag him into some small political skirmish or other business needing to be sorted, he begins to see blood just in the corner of his eyes, then right in front of him, then all around him. Whenever there is too much movement or noise, sooner or later Kazama has to excuse himself to stand in the hall and just breathe.
...that said, he can't get used to the stillness today. Amagiri and Shiranui are off seeing to something-- They discussed it in the hallway without him, but he caught something about Shiranui 'handling' something for them, which will keep him away for several days. Kazama is just beginning to realize that he can't take being alone. It's a different kind of silence now than sharing a meal with Amagiri, a kind of empty silence completely void of the other man's powerful, reassuring presence.
Something inside of him hates him for that realization, and he continues to pace listlessly, the book he's clutching in one hand all but forgotten. He's so preoccupied that he barely notices the quiet creak of floorboards just outside his door. He realizes what's going on only just in time to sidestep from the katana blade slicing through the air, the sword just narrowly missing his sleeve.
The next thing Kazama knows, he's standing over a body. Some masked man, with the Yasutsuna stuck through his neck and into the floor. There's blood pooling around Kazama's feet, and his face is wet with it. His hands, too, are--
He's--
He's walking to the meeting hall, irritated. He has a bad feeling about it, unable to think of a single thing so pressing that they need to hold a formal council over it before Kazama can even have breakfast in peace. The timing is strange too. Amagiri's bed is practically still warm, the man having left not half an hour ago to take care of business for his own clan. He's noticed something about the servants' eyes as of late as well, the way they'll give him a double-take as he marches through the halls of his own home. Something isn't right, and he doesn't like it.
He manages to duck into his room just long enough to trade his usual katana for the Yasutsuna. He has no way of knowing just yet, but those five seconds prove to be the most important few moments of his life.
He's staring out at the rest of his clan. The servants begin to file in after him, blocking off the doors. Kazama feels his blood boil as he listens to their ridiculous justifications, as they claim he only brought this upon himself. His hands are shaking. He can't seem to hold his weapon still. How dare they. How dare they.
This is just a power grab, an elaborate and well planned one but a power grab nonetheless. He has only ever had the best interests of the Kazama clan at heart. Even after everything that's been done to him, after everything they put him through, he has only ever--
He will never forgive them. He will never forgive them. He will never forgive them.
It's the only thought in Kazama's mind. Even down to the last man, that single thought consumes him. He will never forgive them for what they have done here. The Kazama name will die with him. He will live to spite them, then die without a single heir to spite them again. He will never, ever forgive them.
Kazama drops to his knees, staring down at his hands, the Yasutsuna glinting that otherworldly blue out of the corner of his eyes.
He looks up slowly at his assailant, a dangerous glint in his eyes. It's a look of madness, and his hand clamps around the hilt of his sword. With a terrible twist, he wretches it out of the dead man's neck. Why did this man have to come when he'd finally found some small measure of peace and make him remember? How dare he come and make such a pathetic, futile attempt on Kazama's life-- Did he actually think he could win, alone and with swordsmanship skills that did not begin to measure up to Kazama's strength?
The arrogance-- The sheer audacity, and now Kazama's peace was lost to him. That, too, could not be forgiven.
It could not be forgiven.
None of this could ever be forgiven.*
Is he really that different now? His memories still haven't returned to him, even a full month now after that incident. He's fallen into a sort of routine here, having his meals either alone or only in the presence of Kyuuju and Kyou and reading quietly in his room just to pass the time. Sometimes there's tea in the evenings. It's quiet and it's peaceful, which Kazama has grown very attached to. He needs it. It's the only time he ever feels truly sane, as whenever Amagiri has to drag him into some small political skirmish or other business needing to be sorted, he begins to see blood just in the corner of his eyes, then right in front of him, then all around him. Whenever there is too much movement or noise, sooner or later Kazama has to excuse himself to stand in the hall and just breathe.
...that said, he can't get used to the stillness today. Amagiri and Shiranui are off seeing to something-- They discussed it in the hallway without him, but he caught something about Shiranui 'handling' something for them, which will keep him away for several days. Kazama is just beginning to realize that he can't take being alone. It's a different kind of silence now than sharing a meal with Amagiri, a kind of empty silence completely void of the other man's powerful, reassuring presence.
Something inside of him hates him for that realization, and he continues to pace listlessly, the book he's clutching in one hand all but forgotten. He's so preoccupied that he barely notices the quiet creak of floorboards just outside his door. He realizes what's going on only just in time to sidestep from the katana blade slicing through the air, the sword just narrowly missing his sleeve.
The next thing Kazama knows, he's standing over a body. Some masked man, with the Yasutsuna stuck through his neck and into the floor. There's blood pooling around Kazama's feet, and his face is wet with it. His hands, too, are--
He's--
He's walking to the meeting hall, irritated. He has a bad feeling about it, unable to think of a single thing so pressing that they need to hold a formal council over it before Kazama can even have breakfast in peace. The timing is strange too. Amagiri's bed is practically still warm, the man having left not half an hour ago to take care of business for his own clan. He's noticed something about the servants' eyes as of late as well, the way they'll give him a double-take as he marches through the halls of his own home. Something isn't right, and he doesn't like it.
He manages to duck into his room just long enough to trade his usual katana for the Yasutsuna. He has no way of knowing just yet, but those five seconds prove to be the most important few moments of his life.
He's staring out at the rest of his clan. The servants begin to file in after him, blocking off the doors. Kazama feels his blood boil as he listens to their ridiculous justifications, as they claim he only brought this upon himself. His hands are shaking. He can't seem to hold his weapon still. How dare they. How dare they.
This is just a power grab, an elaborate and well planned one but a power grab nonetheless. He has only ever had the best interests of the Kazama clan at heart. Even after everything that's been done to him, after everything they put him through, he has only ever--
He will never forgive them. He will never forgive them. He will never forgive them.
It's the only thought in Kazama's mind. Even down to the last man, that single thought consumes him. He will never forgive them for what they have done here. The Kazama name will die with him. He will live to spite them, then die without a single heir to spite them again. He will never, ever forgive them.
Kazama drops to his knees, staring down at his hands, the Yasutsuna glinting that otherworldly blue out of the corner of his eyes.
He looks up slowly at his assailant, a dangerous glint in his eyes. It's a look of madness, and his hand clamps around the hilt of his sword. With a terrible twist, he wretches it out of the dead man's neck. Why did this man have to come when he'd finally found some small measure of peace and make him remember? How dare he come and make such a pathetic, futile attempt on Kazama's life-- Did he actually think he could win, alone and with swordsmanship skills that did not begin to measure up to Kazama's strength?
The arrogance-- The sheer audacity, and now Kazama's peace was lost to him. That, too, could not be forgiven.
It could not be forgiven.
None of this could ever be forgiven.*
special delivery
Mar. 16th, 2012 11:35 pmensanguines*It's one of the hottest goddamn days of the year, in one of the hottest summers Japan's had in recent goddamn history. And not only is it one of the hottest goddamn days of the hottest goddamn summer, today's also the day one of the major clients of his family's pathetic, wretched little shipping company called him in last minute to pick up a route to the middle of fucking nowhere dropped by a company that recently went under. The economy's been utter shit lately, and Katase Toshizou gets the nagging sensation that the company that recently went under is what his family is going to have to look forward to in the not-so-distant future.
Sighing, he stops his truck and mops the sweat off his brow before rolling up the windows and hopping out. If he never has to wear this horrible dark blue one-piece uniform again, it'll still be too goddamn soon. Ugh.
And where the fuck is this, anyway? What kind of freak has a giant cooler big enough to hide a body in shipped out to a mansion a goddamn hour's drive away from the nearest town? Toshi doesn't know about anyone else, but he didn't think this kind of place even existed in this day and age in Japan.
Whatever. It pays well, which is the only reason he didn't give the client shit about springing this on him last minute. Going into the back, he hoists the cooler up in his arms, then makes his way up the path to the front door. He just has to get the signature for this piece of crap, then he can go home. It's the last of it for this evening, and he at least gets Sunday off so there's that. It's the little things that keep him from driving his truck into the side of the nearest building.
...anyway. He tries to shift the cooler to one side so that he can knock, and he manages to free his hand long enough to rap sharply on the door. No sooner does he manage that, however, does he lose balance of the cooler which promptly clatters to the ground, spilling its contents all across the mansion's front porch.*
God fucking dammit--!!
*...wait a fucking second. What is this? Toshi blinks, then leans back. The delivery contents were undisclosed in his invoice, but--
Blood??*
Sighing, he stops his truck and mops the sweat off his brow before rolling up the windows and hopping out. If he never has to wear this horrible dark blue one-piece uniform again, it'll still be too goddamn soon. Ugh.
And where the fuck is this, anyway? What kind of freak has a giant cooler big enough to hide a body in shipped out to a mansion a goddamn hour's drive away from the nearest town? Toshi doesn't know about anyone else, but he didn't think this kind of place even existed in this day and age in Japan.
Whatever. It pays well, which is the only reason he didn't give the client shit about springing this on him last minute. Going into the back, he hoists the cooler up in his arms, then makes his way up the path to the front door. He just has to get the signature for this piece of crap, then he can go home. It's the last of it for this evening, and he at least gets Sunday off so there's that. It's the little things that keep him from driving his truck into the side of the nearest building.
...anyway. He tries to shift the cooler to one side so that he can knock, and he manages to free his hand long enough to rap sharply on the door. No sooner does he manage that, however, does he lose balance of the cooler which promptly clatters to the ground, spilling its contents all across the mansion's front porch.*
God fucking dammit--!!
*...wait a fucking second. What is this? Toshi blinks, then leans back. The delivery contents were undisclosed in his invoice, but--
Blood??*
unlife*well I guess it's not exactly a meme when it's only two people but whatever
so, Sannan seems to be... somewhere.
Actually he's not quite sure how he got here or what he's doing exactly -- was he on some kind of patrol...? It's a little fuzzy in his head for some reason, as if he's been dreaming and just now woke up.
Well, maybe it will come to him in a moment. For now, anyway, he seems to be in a small country cabin. The tatami on the floor are old and a little cracked, the few spare kitchen utensils in one corner look long-unused, and there's no wood left in the firepit. And it's rather uncomfortably cold in here. He can hear the wind howling outside, and a quick peek outside the shutters reveals snowdrifts piled high around the little house. In mere minutes the sun will have finished setting; he's quite comfortable with traveling by night these days, but it wouldn't be a good idea to try to go anywhere in the midst of this mess.
There's a single fluffy-looking blanket sitting out folded neatly in the center of the bare tatami.*
so, Sannan seems to be... somewhere.
Actually he's not quite sure how he got here or what he's doing exactly -- was he on some kind of patrol...? It's a little fuzzy in his head for some reason, as if he's been dreaming and just now woke up.
Well, maybe it will come to him in a moment. For now, anyway, he seems to be in a small country cabin. The tatami on the floor are old and a little cracked, the few spare kitchen utensils in one corner look long-unused, and there's no wood left in the firepit. And it's rather uncomfortably cold in here. He can hear the wind howling outside, and a quick peek outside the shutters reveals snowdrifts piled high around the little house. In mere minutes the sun will have finished setting; he's quite comfortable with traveling by night these days, but it wouldn't be a good idea to try to go anywhere in the midst of this mess.
There's a single fluffy-looking blanket sitting out folded neatly in the center of the bare tatami.*
clavicles*There's a cool breeze sweeping across the valley across from campus, and Ren briefly shuts his eyes to feel it rushing over his skin. Sometimes, he forgets entirely what it means to be alive. He finds it in the small things, like a breath of cool spring air or the sight of the clear blue sky spanning endlessly above him. He doesn't think of it as particularly romantic of him. No, in fact it's quite the opposite.
He feels alive in these small things because he cannot understand life in any greater context than that. He feels alive in the fundamental basics that even a rat could not mistake for anything but being alive because he has no real idea of how any of his peers manage to make life engage them.
It's a truly pathetic existence, his shallow and plastic life that has never been of substance to anyone, least of all himself.
At least it's quiet out here today. He could never admit this to anyone else, but he does not skip class purely out of apathy and spite. He also comes for the quiet. The throngs of girls who readily throw themselves at his feet for sake of the briefest sidelong glance from him provide him with some small sense of belonging to the world, but he is at all times aware of how superficial they are. Of how superficial he is. And sometimes he just needs the quiet.
He stares down at the notebook in his lap and smiles quietly, his expression tinged with self-deprecation. It's blank. To write music, one has to be inspired. Some days Ren doesn't know what inspiration even is.
He glances at his watch. It's another... twenty minutes before class lets out? Maybe he'll shut his eyes and listen to the wind.*
He feels alive in these small things because he cannot understand life in any greater context than that. He feels alive in the fundamental basics that even a rat could not mistake for anything but being alive because he has no real idea of how any of his peers manage to make life engage them.
It's a truly pathetic existence, his shallow and plastic life that has never been of substance to anyone, least of all himself.
At least it's quiet out here today. He could never admit this to anyone else, but he does not skip class purely out of apathy and spite. He also comes for the quiet. The throngs of girls who readily throw themselves at his feet for sake of the briefest sidelong glance from him provide him with some small sense of belonging to the world, but he is at all times aware of how superficial they are. Of how superficial he is. And sometimes he just needs the quiet.
He stares down at the notebook in his lap and smiles quietly, his expression tinged with self-deprecation. It's blank. To write music, one has to be inspired. Some days Ren doesn't know what inspiration even is.
He glances at his watch. It's another... twenty minutes before class lets out? Maybe he'll shut his eyes and listen to the wind.*
repents4:16
Mephisto. I'm at your house.
4:17
Right now.
Where are you?
Come home.
4:18
Bring booze.
Mephisto. I'm at your house.
4:17
Right now.
Where are you?
Come home.
4:18
Bring booze.
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ofdevotion
Aug. 13th, 2011 06:06 pmcandycoated*the clock has long since struck one, and Break is just emerging from his bathroom with wet hair and pajama pants and a garish purple towel hanging from his shoulders, finally ready to call an end to the day. It's been another blessedly quiet one in the manor -- not that he doesn't get bored with so very little going on, but he'll take uneventful days like these over the ones filled with murder, marauding, and mayhem that the place occasionally experiences.
Stifling a yawn, he crosses over toward the front door of his quarters, intending to lock it before he flops into bed. There's no light illuminating the inside save the moonlight from the window -- he doesn't need it, after all.*
Stifling a yawn, he crosses over toward the front door of his quarters, intending to lock it before he flops into bed. There's no light illuminating the inside save the moonlight from the window -- he doesn't need it, after all.*
