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expiationlogs2023-06-04 04:19 pm
parasaito) wrote in expiationlogs2023-06-04 04:19 pm
Entry tags:
[ closed ]
Who: Mizuki, Saito
Where: Pessiria Forest
What: May event stuff
Warnings: Flowery depiction of (apparent) suicide, slight gore. Probable violence and death later on.
[Instinctively, Saito knows. It is not the same as transferring his consciousness into another body, and temporarily claiming their identity. No, this sensation is novel, more exciting, even. If he wanted, he could cause a literal bloodbath here without doing so much as lifting a single finger of his own. That thought alone is enough to turn on the switch of his brain's flawed reward system and send a pleasant chill down his spine.
But of course, he isn't gullible to believe this is all giving and no taking. Rather than giving in to his animalistic impulses for the only kind of pleasure he is able to feel, he settles for a stroll across the dim corridor. Carefully eyeing each cell with interest, basking in the miserable condition of its occupants.
One cell in particular makes him stop in his tracks, an unrestrained grin twisting his features. Even in the man's deplorable state, he recognizes the charlatan that doctored his parchment. Under the promise that it would've been a lasting change, when actually the effects of whatever cheap magic the bastard had cast on it didn't last even a month, putting an early end to Saito's plan... and only reliable source of fun.
This time, the coward is trapped, with nowhere to run and no one to save him. Saito's modus operandi includes toying with his victim's life whenever there is some personal debt involved, but he can't afford to waste this opportunity by having someone walk in to save his prey again.]
I'm in a bit of a hurry today, so let's get started.
[With a furtive slip of his hand through the bars, Saito hands over his knife to his confused victim, who warily takes it into his own hands and holds it defensively, judging the weapon as his ray of hope for self-defense against the monster outside the cell. That is, until the man inexplicably goes almost completely motionless — save for the hands gripping the sharp blade now guiding its tip towards his own abdomen instead.
The act is quick, and happens with no resistance and little noise. Repeatedly, the knife sinks into flesh, each stab more erratic than the last one. Muffled whimpers of pain also start to escape the man's parched lips more frequently, the more blood pools down his trembling feet. He tumbles forwards and grabs hold of the iron bars once his legs start giving up on him, but refuses to stop the attack on his own stomach — as though the excruciating pain of puncturing his own internal organs was something he intended to go through. Eventually, the man collapses against the bars, dropping the knife. The lone audience's movement throughout the entire show is limited to picking his belonging back once the show ends.
To any passersby, the whole ordeal would likely look like entirely one-sided: the prisoner was suddenly overcome with a desire to end his own life. But there's something off about the mocking words spoken as the main character of this tragedy writhes on the ground, life steadily leaving him.]
It was a pleasure doing business with you. Be seeing you.
Where: Pessiria Forest
What: May event stuff
Warnings: Flowery depiction of (apparent) suicide, slight gore. Probable violence and death later on.
[Instinctively, Saito knows. It is not the same as transferring his consciousness into another body, and temporarily claiming their identity. No, this sensation is novel, more exciting, even. If he wanted, he could cause a literal bloodbath here without doing so much as lifting a single finger of his own. That thought alone is enough to turn on the switch of his brain's flawed reward system and send a pleasant chill down his spine.
But of course, he isn't gullible to believe this is all giving and no taking. Rather than giving in to his animalistic impulses for the only kind of pleasure he is able to feel, he settles for a stroll across the dim corridor. Carefully eyeing each cell with interest, basking in the miserable condition of its occupants.
One cell in particular makes him stop in his tracks, an unrestrained grin twisting his features. Even in the man's deplorable state, he recognizes the charlatan that doctored his parchment. Under the promise that it would've been a lasting change, when actually the effects of whatever cheap magic the bastard had cast on it didn't last even a month, putting an early end to Saito's plan... and only reliable source of fun.
This time, the coward is trapped, with nowhere to run and no one to save him. Saito's modus operandi includes toying with his victim's life whenever there is some personal debt involved, but he can't afford to waste this opportunity by having someone walk in to save his prey again.]
I'm in a bit of a hurry today, so let's get started.
[With a furtive slip of his hand through the bars, Saito hands over his knife to his confused victim, who warily takes it into his own hands and holds it defensively, judging the weapon as his ray of hope for self-defense against the monster outside the cell. That is, until the man inexplicably goes almost completely motionless — save for the hands gripping the sharp blade now guiding its tip towards his own abdomen instead.
The act is quick, and happens with no resistance and little noise. Repeatedly, the knife sinks into flesh, each stab more erratic than the last one. Muffled whimpers of pain also start to escape the man's parched lips more frequently, the more blood pools down his trembling feet. He tumbles forwards and grabs hold of the iron bars once his legs start giving up on him, but refuses to stop the attack on his own stomach — as though the excruciating pain of puncturing his own internal organs was something he intended to go through. Eventually, the man collapses against the bars, dropping the knife. The lone audience's movement throughout the entire show is limited to picking his belonging back once the show ends.
To any passersby, the whole ordeal would likely look like entirely one-sided: the prisoner was suddenly overcome with a desire to end his own life. But there's something off about the mocking words spoken as the main character of this tragedy writhes on the ground, life steadily leaving him.]
It was a pleasure doing business with you. Be seeing you.
no subject
The less she says, the better, however, so after letting him have the last word through clenched teeth, she avert her gaze and follow him by sound alone. She does close her eyes whenever she suspects he might turn around and look, however, and in particular when he picks up speed, she will give up on the idea of running blind entirely, at least for the moment. There's no telling how far they go into the forest, but it is definitely getting steadily darker.
Her superspeed comes naturally, of course, but before she catches up to him, Saito will feel his entire body seize up, stopping suddenly. She holds out her hand like she's controlling a puppet... ]
So this is how you did it?
[ Their powers... The same, yet different. Funny, that. Yet she doesn't feel his consciousness seeping into hers. ]
That was how you tested your bullshit powers? Let's see how you like it.
no subject
While he might be at a disadvantage yet again, he possesses a peculiar double-edged advantage she does not: lack of empathy for another human being's suffering. So long as the intent to hurt isn't there, tables can be turned. With some patience, an opportunity is bound to appear.
Although, with how determined the damn brat is to keep butting into his business, it has started grating on his nerves. Despite the control she has over his movements, there's a minute twitch of his fingers before they curl inwards. His head tilts upwards slightly before bobbing a little to the left.]
... This is nothing like how I did it.
[His shoulders shake somewhat. With laughter.]
So what, now? Is this the part where you make me stab myself to death like I did with that man?
[The cat is already out of the bag anyway.]
no subject
[ Despite her confidence, Mizuki finds herself averting her gaze sideways as soon as he bobs his head in her direction. He may have felt a lapse in her control, but she regains it again quickly, albeit weaker this time, being that she can only see him in her peripheral.
Maybe the thought had crossed her mind— ]
And be like you? No thanks. But you are going to give it to me.
[ Her fingers will loosen as they draw closer to the knife. Perhaps he was going to do that anyway. Take...two.
She doesn't need this power, but she takes twisted delight in watching him squirm at her mercy. Enough so that she'll turn her head back toward him to better concentrate. ]
no subject
Mostly against his will, his right hand brings out the knife again, and holds it out towards the opposite way he's facing. He can't see her, but can sense her approaching through her footsteps.
It's when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots her fingers encircling the hilt of the knife that he pushes back against her control with all his willpower; forcing his whole upper body to whip at her direction, staring straight into her eye. With the intention of completely taking over her mind, and freeze her movements like she just did to him. Although with the added bonus of locking her up inside a small corner of her own mind, pushed far into the backseat, as though she's merely a spectator. Sweet, petty revenge.]
Like "father", like daughter, huh. Trying to steal what is mine.
no subject
The best way she would probably describe it is feeling like she's in a box where the walls are closing in on her. At the same time, however, they are also squeezing her out of something, like a tube of toothpaste. She doesn't have Aiba to help fend him off they way she did Tama and Ryuki—
It is getting harder, even as she tries to regain control. She isn't practiced, it's true. Just as her superspeed is about to kick in, she finds herself frozen and lost. Each blink of her eye feels like she loses more time.
She doesn't know how she came to be in possession of his knife. It's what she wanted, and yet...
All she can make are grunts of resistance. She tries to lift the knife defensively, yet is met with a crushing weight against her movements. ]
no subject
As his grip on her mind solidifies, he reduces the already short distance between them further, leaning in slightly as if to share with her a secret; voice heavy with ridicule despite being barely above a whisper.]
You wanted to know how I killed that man, didn't you?
[She might find her own hand turning the blade towards her own abdomen, against her will.]
no subject
Mizuki starts to recoil as he forces himself into her physical space. His voice is a whisper, but abundantly clear as he continues to also force himself into her mind. Yet for that moment, that is the only phrase that comes to her mind. I knew it IknewitIknewit.
Another voice then asks: Did you? Or did you just give him the idea?
Yet as she she turns the blade on herself, her own doubt infuriates her. Her hands are shaking out of pure stubbornness in her resistance. It's taking too much of her concentration to do much else. She imagines this must be what it feels like to hold up a guillotine's blade single handed against gravity...
Strained, all she can manage is: ]
You—
no subject
A pair of hands rests patronizingly over her shivering ones. As though to ease her shaking.]
There's nothing to be afraid of. This will only hurt a little.
[Laughter seeps into his voice. The truth is, like the previous victim, his intention is to return to her the authority over what is rightfully hers only when she's just mere moments away from losing consciousness.]
It'll already be too late once you're able to cry for help, anyway.
[And if she dies from blood loss? Not his problem. If anything, it'll be a shame that he won't be around to watch it until the end. Can't let himself be caught red-handed (quite literally), after all.]
no subject
The strain turns into a low hiss under her breath as the blade inches closer to her chest. Her shaking isn't eased; it only grows worse, both in protest to his touch and to everything that is happening right now. Because what does this even mean? Is he stronger than her? Did that stupid robe guy give him better powers?
She feels like she's going to explode. The tip of the blade grazes her clothes, and as it tears through the fabric and touches her skin, something changes.
It's like the final drop of water to send a full pot rushing over the brim like a waterfall. Her muscles flow like a river, freeing themselves, and without warning, her hand with the blade flies up, slashing wildly outward in his direction as pushes him back. The wind that results kicks him a storm of dirt from the forest floor.
The cry she lets out echoes louder than the cries of the beast they've been ignoring. ]
no subject
Because, even in her aimless attempt to swing the knife in his direction, she barely misses slashing across his chest. With a faint huff of surprise, Saito moves backwards, letting the inertia carry his body away from harm. But the gust of wind her monstrous strength produces pushes him further back — and off balance. With his composure in disarray, instead of landing a step back on his feet, he topples over, landing on his back.
Hurriedly, he whips his head up, readying himself to hijack her mind yet again—]
no subject
Mizuki raises the knife high.
She doesn't see Saito anymore. The mental blocks go up like a wall, and it's like she's looking at one of those faceless yakuza guys, or maybe one of those Naix mooks, or one of those Horadori chumps. There's only the face of that dead merchant in her mind, and those of the dying kittens he used to get her attention.
You won, a voice whispers. She knows what's coming next: You can stop now. But she doesn't hear it. Before she can grasp the clarity that is so close and before she can halt the momentum of her swings, she plunges the knife into Saito. His blood splatters on her face, though even that isn't enough to bring her to her senses. She doesn't know how many times she stabbed him, but inwardly, she hopes it hurts.
She hopes it hurts like her parents hurt.
Her throat is sore. At some point she stopped screaming, and her eyes shine like she wants to cry, but there's nothing left. ]
this is why I shouldn't do tags at 6am
On pure instinct to survive, he vainly tries to make a grab for the knife and halt her hypnotic frenzy, but each time it's brought out of his reach and back again into his flesh with superhuman speed, making his attempts seem ludicrous at best. Bewilderment mingles with excruciating torment when her voice stops ringing in his ears, but the stabbing does not come to a halt.
Does she even realize it? That even right now — rather, especially right now, they're so similar. Yet fundamentally so different.
At this point, something in him snaps, and he throws his head back, hollering with laughter, his whole body spasming from both the physical distress and the alien sensation washing over him. It's a mixture of irony, thrill, anger and dread, all rolled into one. Although not entirely pleasant, it's a colorful feeling, a far cry from the monotone reality of his daily life. Like fireworks, it's also explosive and chaotic, but momentary. The latter enough so that he misses it if he blinks, just like with each plunge of the knife.
He knows quite well, from a perpetrator's point of view, how unique and breathtaking is the fleeting moment a living being hangs in the balance between life and death; when a life is about to lose all its energy and splendor. Being on the receiving end of that is quite a novel experience. But it's not like he wants this current journey to end, yet.
As the frenetic assault begins to slow down to a pace his unsteady mind can grasp, he goes against his body's complaints and raises a hand to finally seize the blade of the knife in a shaky grasp, coating his gloved fingers in his own blood.]
... so you had it in you to become a murderer, after all? Heh... your loved ones... they all would be disappointed in you right now... Ahah.
no subject
It is his crazed laughter that reaches her first, sending her senses crawling back to her. It is a laugh that sinks deep under her sink and vibrates across the surface of her skull. She gets chills running down her spine, and she thinks to loosen the grip on the knife, but it's far too late. Once he grabs it, she freezes with eyes wide, unable to say anything until his boast is complete.
......
She lets go, but that only confirms what she already knew. Saito's body goes limp, twisted smile and all, and he lands on the ground with a thump, followed by yet another when the knife also falls.
Just like in the cave, Mizuki's feet automatically shuffle back. She is so jittery that it feels like she trips over nothing at all. Without thinking, her hands start to cover her face, hiding a low whimper, like she can no longer look at him. ]
no subject
But he doesn't have that kind of home to return to. What he can do, however, is to help engrave this very moment in his killer's memories. Make sure she holds on to the guilt.
His vision starting to give up on him doesn't help with making out her expression in their dim environment, but he vaguely registers her movements freezing altogether. Gravity pulls his weakened arm back to the ground when she releases the knife. A quieter laugh, punctured with pain, follows the previous fit when she gets off him, staggering backwards; away from the atrocity she just committed.
Is that it? She's just going to run away like a coward, leaving him here to bleed to death? Before her legs can take her too far or blood loss drains him of his consciousness (whichever comes first)—]
... Be seeing you in hell, Mewzuki.
1/2
Ultimately, he won't even have to put forth the effort to immortalize her guilt, but it's too late now.
She doesn't leave right away. Just answers him, for whatever that's worth. ]
Already here, asshole. You made sure of that.
🎀
She reaches forward to touch his face, however hesitantly. It is still warm; there is a trail of blood where she runs her finger slighly along his cheek, but suddenly jerks back, as if she something shocked her.
This is real. ]
Fuck.
[ She mumbles, finally backing away. Shouldn't she do something? Bury him? The cats got that much. But she just shakes her head, unable to convince herself. Nausea worms its way into her stomach like a subtle wave, and she finds herself covering her mouth, heaving as turns. ]
Fuck.
[ There is a small path of destruction back into town consisting of knocked over trees, some wild footsteps. Vomit.
Her knuckles are even more red than they were.
She'll curse a few more times as she breaks into a run, heading for the only place she's ever felt safe. ]