First Floor -- Douwa Theatre
Douwa Theatre -- Fairy Tale Theatre -- doesn't quite live up to its
name, far from a fairy tale-esque theatre, but nor is it an eyesore. It has
only two stories, one for the lobby and theatre itself, and another for
storage space where unused costumes, props, and other such things are kept.
The floor is covered with a dark red carpet, clean and always vacuumed.
Posters, some glossy and printed, and some obviously handmade, decorate the
walls, which are otherwise nondescript. A bulletin board to the right
advertises upcoming productions and rehearsal schedules. Farther inside is
the theatre itself, marked by a raised stage that is broad, but somewhat
small, restricting the performer's actions. Six or seven rows of benches
provide a place for the audience to sit. The first two rows are padded with
cushions, the rest akin to picnic benches. A handful of fold-up chairs is
often set off to the side within easy reach, in case of a full house.
It's difficult to ever find Douwa Theatre completely empty, even in
between productions and after closing. There's always a rehearsal going on,
or a lone actor or dancer practicing by themselves onstage, filling the empty
building with the sound of their narrative.
Contents:
Rosuto
Obvious exits:
Exit Stairs
Raze comes in silent as a cat, like always, heavy black duffel bag slung over
her shoulder, smoke dangling from her lips, unlit. She seems a bit nervous,
wiping her hands against her pants, and then running her fingers through her
already tousled hair as she peers in the shadows, trying to see if she can
spot you in the darkness.
Having taken to black clothing, even moreso than the last time you saw him,
Rosuto is difficult to pick out. He was just starting to close up, so most of
the lights are out, the shadows cast over the theatre long and great. The
eggshell whiteness of his face is the first to come into view, followed by
his golden eyes, then the monochromatic scheme of grays of his clothing.
"We're closed--" he starts to say, but stops, eyes blinking slowly at you.
"... Raze?"
Raze looks up then, her skin like a white beacon in the darkness--but it's her
own golden eyes that glow like a cat's, shifting to study you quietly. They
shift and follow your movements like a wraith's. "Yeah... it's me," she says
in that husky tone again, shifting from one foot to the other a bit
nervously, then clearing her throat. "I... I need a place to hide out for a
while," she says with a sheepish grin, hand moving to cup the back of her
neck, as she lets out a long exhale of breath. "You got room for a stray cat?"
"I..." Rosuto starts, but doesn't seem able to find much more after that, his
mouth opening and closing a few times soundlessly, like a fish that fell out
of its aquarium. Clearing his throat seems to do the trick, though there's a
bit of a pause before he tries again. "I... Of.. course. Of course." Thin
dark brows draw together, a frown readable in his eyes, though it doesn't
quite reach his lips yet. "Why? Are you in trouble?"
Raze stands quietly, poised for a few moments, studying you quietly with her
unblinking gaze as if to decide how much she's willing to tell you, and how
much you should know without getting into trouble yourself. Finally, she
flicks her cigarette up to rest on the tip of her lip, parallel to her nose,
resting on her bottom lip, then grabs it with her fingers and tucks it behind
her ear, exhaling again. "You know that byakko? The whiny one. Eh... guess
that's not a good enough description." She smirks, and then rubs her back,
lightly. "...shoji. That's his name. Well... he's tied to my bed in the chaos
realm right about now," she says with a dark chuckle of amusement. The bag
drops to the floor with a light thud, and Raze rubs her shoulder to rid
herself of the mark that the red strap has left. "I need a place to hide out
until the heat is off."
Knowing how this goes, partially because he knows your ways, and partially
because it's a habit common to him as well, Rosuto waits for the explanation,
arms folding slowly to his chest, long-fingered hands disappearing into the
bend of his elbows. "So that /was/ you," he murmurs, before smiling
crookedly. "You need to be careful... A reporter friend of mine caught you on
film. But you were in the background of the picture." He can't help but blink
at the thought of Shoji being tied to your bed, the smile evolving into a
smirk, though it's faint. "Lucky him," he quips quietly, before canting his
head to the side, sobering. "You... well. You can stay here, in the theatre?
I still have my old futon upstairs.."
Raze gives you a big grin then, her full lips splitting into that catty smile,
tiny fangs winking cheekily. "You're a pal, Rosuto," she says, as she grabs
onto her bag, reaches for her smoke, and shoves it between her lips again
like a woman with a mission, her heavy boots clomping now as she makes her
way down the aisle. "Futon, hm? Wow, that's comfort. I got a bedroll here,
s'more than enough." She slides a hand over her hair this time, smoothing
down the blue-black stuff as she makes her way over closer to you. "I stayed
the night over at Sergei's but took off, didn't wanna stay. He can be a fool
and hang out in his apartment, but I'm not about to get caught by the police."
Rosuto unfolds his arms again, giving a faint dip of his head to serve as a
nod. One hand slips into the pocket of his jacket, the other reaching up to
push silvery-black hair back from his brow, watching your approach with
another smile, this one crooked and just barely reaching his eyes. "I try,"
he offers mildly, traces of humour in his tone, before nodding again. "Hmn...
Were you seen leaving or getting here?" He knows you well enough to suspect
that the answer to that question is an obvious one, but better safe than
sorry.
Raze raises one finely arched eyebrow in response, her lips pursed, in
incredulity that you'd even ask the question. Then she gives you another of
those catty little smiles, and turns away, figuring that you can figure out
the answer for yourself. Her heavy bootsteps head towards the stage, pacing
back and forth before the frontmost row of chairs as she peers around, trying
to see the way up. Her cigarette bobs as she moves along, up and down, in a
rythmic pattern, her fingers clenching a bit agitatedly from the adrenaline
running through her form. "So which way is up?" She finally asks, turning to
you, one side of her mouth tilting upwards. She's in an odd mood tonight,
sanguine, and yet there's a hint of tenseness in the amber depths of her eyes.
An almost sheepish smile, curving his lips crookedly, is given in return for
the incredulity, briefly visible before you've turned your back to him, and
even then he holds it for a few moments longer, directed at the back of your
head as he follows a few steps before stopping. Rosuto drops the other hand,
black hair shadowing his eyes again, and slips it into his pocket, knowing
better than to pursue a verbal response. The almost smirkish smile more than
sufficed. Mostly likely, in fact, it was even more than he expected. The
smile is gone from his face, expression once more returned to quiet
bemusement, when you look back again, a jerk of his head indicating a door
off to the side, nestled neatly out of the immediate line of sight, though
not necessarily hidden. Its placement was meant not to be noticed if one
weren't looking for it, and the shadows cast by the darkness make its
location that much harder to find. "There," he says, already stepping in that
direction. "It might be a bit dusty up here, though. I haven't slept on the
second floor in a while."
Raze tilts her head to the side like a curious cat for a moment, as her eyes
find the staircase in the shadows, and she nods in response to your words,
her back still turned to you, heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder. "Mm,"
she says quietly, in response to your comment about the dust: "don't worry,
I've slept in much worse," she says almost derisively, though the derision
seems aimed mostly to herself. She moves to follow you then, studying your
back quietly. "I really do appreciate this," she starts, her voice silent,
and to the one paying careful attention to nuance, slightly unsure, as well.
"...but I got another favour to ask you. If you don't wanna do it, I
understand." She lets out another long exhale of breath, lips clamping down
on her cig like a baby on a pacifier as she follows you up the dark staircase
with ease, her own eyesight easily adjusting to the blanket of dark.
Rosuto heads upstairs. /[UP]/
Rosuto has left.
You head upstairs.
Second Floor (Attic) -- Douwa Theatre
The air is dusty here, thick and poorly lighted. Boxes upon boxes are
stored here, forming masses of clutter. Old costumes line an entire wall,
anything from dress kimonos and hakama to leotards to dusty, old-fashioned
school uniforms among their number. A few posed mannequins nearby give the
area an old, forgotten feel to it.
For the most part, the attic radiates a sense of quiet, even when
people are inside it. The thin walls and floorboards are far from soundproof,
so noises from below are almost always being heard.
Contents:
Rosuto
Obvious exits:
Stairs
A jingle of keys as Rosuto searches out the correct one and unlocks the door,
pushing it open and moving up the stairs, the keys disappearing again into
his pocket, his hand with them, the other hand resting lightly on the
railing, out of habit rather than any real fear of falling down the stairs.
"Don't worry about it," his voice trickles down towards you, his own
footsteps quiet, nearly silent altogether, as he ascends the stairway. "You
helped me before, ne?" The faint smile is readable in his voice, even if you
can't see it on his face, what with it turned towards the upstairs and all.
The mention of a second favor is acknowledged at first with only a nod, as he
pushes open the second door and enters, holding it open and waving you into
the musty room. Only after you're inside does he offer a reply. "What is it?"
Raze simply looks at your back with a dry smirk, as she waits for you to unlock
the doors. Once you do so, she strides into the musty room, she walks around
it for a few moments, as if acclimatizing herself to the new surroundings and
marking her territory. That done, she drops the duffel bag onto the floor
with a loud thud, and makes her way over to the futon, plunking herself down
on the makeshift mattress, her face partly obscured in the relative darkness
so that it's impossible to see her face. "Oh... I don't know if you'll like
this one so much," she says dryly, from out of the darkness, her legs snaking
out from the inky black into the light, stretching out. A few moments later,
her face comes out of the shadows as well, her mouth still twisted in self
derision. She holds up one hand slowly, in it, a tiny jar of salve.
"Scratched part of my back up, there's some minor cuts there, but I don't
wanna get them fuckin' infected. You think you could help me out?"
The blink of twin golden eyes is almost audible, especially because Rosuto
doesn't say anything or move, hovering near the door, as if uncertain of
whether to stay or go. Your words confirm that he should stay, and he does,
following you further into the darkness without hesitation, confident of his
awareness of the attic. He only pauses again when your face comes back into
view, the jar of salve and your words accompanying it garnering a moment or
two of continued silence until he clears his throat. "I, ah..." Erf. "...
hai... of course." The sound of footsteps placed lightly against the floor
announces his slow approach. He continues talking, blanketing his discomfort
in the sound of his own voice, long fingers reaching to take the jar of
salve. "Did Kokie do this?"
Raze hands you the jar of salve, silent, not wanting to startle you. Her hand
is pulled away then and she arches her back, hands reaching back to undo the
clasp of her top--but as a testament to her fondness of you, she doesn't pull
it off, rather just keeps it undone, in order to make you less uncomfortable.
In any other situation, she would have strived for the most awkwardness
possible. She turns her back to you then, pulling her hair up and out of the
way, so that you can see the red scratches along the tattoo upon her back.
The burning rose is startling in its incredible detail, especially this up
close. If you look close enough, there, amongst the flames, is the face of a
man--made to look as if it was part of the flames. There is a star shaped
scar upon his cheek. Raze snickers as she shifts on the futon to make herself
more comfortable, always holding her top to her chest, so that you have
easier access to her minor scratches. "That wimp? I don't think so. Actually,
I got attacked by a tree... when I was grabbing onto it, trying to escape a
gaping hole that Sergei just made in the ground." As she waits for you to
tend to her wounds, she reaches down to fumble for her cigarette case.
Not that Rosuto is one to be easily startled, and it certainly wouldn't be
anything he hasn't seen before, though admittedly not of your person. But in
the silence that he uses as he takes the jar and eases on to the futon behind
you, fingers deftly removing the lid, there is gratitude. He appreciates the
silent gesture. Not yet paying attention to the tattoo as much as he does the
scratches, the Seiryuu Shichiseishi dips his fingers into the salve before
gingerly pressing them to the broken skin, spreading slowly and evenly. The
air leaking in from the attic's walls is already drafty, but now seems even
moreso against bare skin coolened by the salve. A soft snort serves as a
laugh: "Wimp. I wouldn't call him that... He put one of our sei in the
hospital. Suboshi. Maybe it was just because it was the two of you against
him..." Oddly enough, he doesn't seem in the least bit bothered by the fact
that you have poor Shoji captured and in your bedroom. But then, that sei is
Byakko, and it's well known that there is no love lost between the Seiryuu
and the Byakko. "You should be more careful. Or tell Sergei-san to stop
putting holes in the ground, so they'll stop attacking you."
Raze remains still, as you put on the cooling salve, letting out a soft sigh,
before she slips the cigarette case out of her pocket, flicking it open,
pulling out a book of matches--another testament to how much she likes you.
Usually, she wouldn't even bother with the matches at all. Deftly, she
strikes the match tip against her wrist, and the smell of the flame fills the
small room, before she lights her cigarette and flicks her wrist to
extinguish the lit match. She does note your gentleness with some gratitude,
used to more rough treatment from the hands of those who have no use for
caring for others. Once she's taken a long puff, and gotten some nicotine in
her lungs, she's able to relax, letting out a long, steady exhale. "I coulda
taken him without Sergei's help," she says, without any real cockiness, only
assurance in her abilities. "He's slow. But then I beat Shun up too... so...
heh." She drops the subject, figuring it best not to dwell on the fact that
she twice hurt one of your fellow sei. "Well... I did burn Sergei, so I
suppose now we're even," she smirks. Then, she falls silent, taking another
puff of her cigarette, just enjoying the feel of the salve against the
scrapes upon her back.
A slow nod sends gray-black bangs sliding into Rosuto's eyes again, as he
murmurs absently, "Hai..." His eyes flick once towards the matches, regarding
them bemusedly, then to the cigarette, before returning his attention to your
back, smooth flesh and the colourful picture painted into it being slowly
covered in the slick layer of cooling salve. "Did you now?" he inquires after
a while, amused. "Poor Sergei-san. He seems to be getting into a lot of
trouble lately. He was in an incident a week or two ago that had him holed up
in his apartment." It's a good thing that he still doesn't know that Nakago
was involved in said incident. His tone regarding the subject might have been
quite different. He falls silent as well after that commentary, though not
for the reasons that you might think. Thin dark brows draw together, and
suddenly his fingers are pressing gently against your back -- pressing, not
spreading, nails lightly tracing the outline of the man's face amidst the
fire. "What's this?"
Raze pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees as she
stares at the wall quiet for a while, merely enjoying the nicotine buzz from
her cigarettes. She draws her brows together, when you mention Sergei and
trouble. "Mn. Sounds like me," she says with a snicker, and a tiny little
shrug. "Trouble is good for the soul," she adds in her husky voice, and
*actually* sounds like she means it. When you stop talking, she stiffens a
bit, becoming alert to the monor change in your mood. At your question, she
turns slightly, her head moving to look over her shoulder. "You'll have to be
a bit more specific than that," she says a bit dryly, "I got a lotta fuckin'
tats on my back, in case you didn't notice." She gives you a smile to
counteract the dryness of her tone, waiting for your response.
"Yes, I noticed," Rosuto replies, blithely unaffected, golden eyes flicking up
to meet yours briefly before hazarding a wry smile. "How did you ever stand
so much artwork? I'd go insane lying in a chair for so long while some idiot
turned my back into silly putty with a needle." His voice holds a measured
blend of amusement and admiration, as well bemusement, as his attention is
still taken by that particular marking. Palm flattening briefly against your
back as he smoothens the salve into place, ascertaing that it's spread
evenly, he retracts it a moment later as he relids the jar. "The tattoo...
There's a face. I didn't see it at first, but there's a face in the fire
surrounding the rose."
Raze takes another long puff, remaining hunched over as you study the face
tattooed amongst the flames, patient where she would not be with others. "Ah,
well, all it takes is a lotta booze, a lotta drugs, and a whole fucking
shitload of insanity," she says with a snicker. "You do stupid things when
you're young and high. This is the best of the stuff I did. But I was
feverish and lying in bed for a week." She searches around, trying to find an
ashtray, and then finally reaches over to open up her bag, pulling out a
plastic cup, and emptying her ashes into the makeshift ashtray. She turns
again, looking over her shoulder, as if trying to peer at the tattoo. "Oh,
him? That's my dad," she says, taking another puff and then letting the
cigarette rest held between her lips, swirling the cup around, watching the
ash float about in the white plastic container. "I never actually met him,
but someone gave me a picture, and that's what he looked like."
With a soft hmn as he reaches around to hand you the jar back, using the hand
that isn't gooey with salve, Rosuto nods, noting with wry humour, "Insanity I
have in abundance... alcohol, I can take or leave... drugs, though, I'll
leave to the rest of the world. I don't think I'd like to feel my control
slip that far off-base." His nose wrinkles, both with distaste and sympathy,
as you mention being in bed for so long, giving a slow shake of his head in
dismay. "No... I think I'll stay with stage paint," he comments quietly, a
humourless chuckle following. He sits back again, now that he's finished, and
gazes around, searching for a washcloth or something to clean off his hand
with. "Really? For a moment, I thought..." he begins to muse outloud, but
pauses, realizing that he doesn't know how he intended to finish that
sentence. He blinks, eyebrows drawing together with a faint frown, before
shaking his head. "Why did you have him put on your back?"
Raze pulls away when you finish, not bothering to redo the clasp of her top
since it'd just get all gooey from the salve. But she unfolds her lithe form,
shifting to move back, half into the darkness, so you can only see her
profile and half her figure. Then, facing the wall, she ponders your question
for a while, idly tapping her cigarette into the white container, one of her
fangs chewing on the full redness of her bottom lip. The silence goes on for
a long while, before passing into an uncomfortableness. Then finally, she
speaks, her voice husky, and unreadable. "You ever wonder why I became a zod,
Rosuto?" She asks, sticking the quickly dwindling cigarette back between her
lips, trying to milk out the last few puffs from the expensive stick. She
turns to you then, eyes glowing, the most visible thing about her in this
dark lighting.
Rosuto does nothing to disturb the silence, giving you time to consider your
answer, sensing that he has perhaps stumbled upon a subject he shouldn't
have. Instead, he pretends to be busy searching out something to clean his
hand off with, eventually coming up with a roll of paper towels. He rips off
a sheet, then another, using both to clean his hand. It's only after he's
successfully ruined both sheets, his hand at least appearing to be free of
salve, though his obsession with remaining clean urges him to rip off another
sheet just in case, does he realize that you still haven't said anything. He
looks up then, just as you finally speak, fine brows drawing together,
sketching a wrinkle of concern against his forehead, though he schools his
expression into an otherwise unreadable one. "I... always imagined that you
had your reasons," he replies carefully, his voice quiet.
Raze pulls the now dying butt from her mouth and then puts it in the palm of
her hand, crushing it out, ignoring the heat from its still lit embers, and
letting the butt trail into the plastic cup. Again, it takes her a long time
before she speaks, and she avoids your gaze, amber eyes looking anywhere but
to you. "Lemme tell you something. Some people are born, knowing what they
are, knowing about the world, you know?" She fumbles in her bag, and fetches
out a bottle of cheap vodka, sitting cross legged with the bottle between her
legs, undoing the twistcap and inhaling the smell of alcohol, before taking a
sip. After making an appropriate face, she continues. "I'm one o'those
people. My dad... he was an asshole. He killed a fuckin hell of a lot of
people. And I was born from that. It was my destiny." She shrugs then,
finally turning to you, head tilted lightly to one side like a curious cat.
"I dunno what it takes to be a sei... and I dunno what the other zods can say
about themselves, but I know--genes tell me--I was *born* to be this way."
A note of concern enters Rosuto's eyes, though he still refrains from breaking
the silence until you're ready, the frown edging its way on to his face
starting with a few faint twitches tugging at the corners of his lips. The
gray-hued trail of ashes aglitter with lit embers is watched as the cigarette
is deposited in the cup. Then his eyes lift back to your face, looking at you
at least, whether or not you look back. "Hai," is offered briefly in response
to the almost rhetorical question, fallen quiet again as you down the vodka,
then nodding, returning your gaze evenly when you finally deem it time to
settle it upon him. But this time, after you've spoken, he takes his turn to
stay silent, drawn brows furrowing deeper in thought, as he allows the words
to sink in, to be turned over and analyzed, before being tucked away, his
head slowly moving in a nod. "You're so certain," he says quietly, apparently
amazed by the thought, though his eyes might indicate differently. "I...
don't... know anything about my parents. My mother, I can remember sometimes,
but..." He trails off, eyes, absurdly, flickering to your back, then back to
your face just as quickly, intent with guarded curiousity. "Why?" he finally
asks. "Do you think he was related to Chaos somehow?"
Raze rifles through her bag, careful not to spill any of the precious vodka,
and pulls out a couple more plastic white cups, holding one out to you
invitingly. "Feel like a drink?" She says, changing the subject to lighter
topics for the moment, as she pours herself her own drink. She gulps it down
quickly, pausing again to let the burn pass from her throat, and then turns
to you, bottle nestled between her thighs. "Sure I'm certain. What's there
not to be certain of?" She says simply, as she takes slower sips now, from
her cup. "There aren't many people in the world that are happy. I don't think
there are *any* happy people in the world, after all." She pauses, and gives
you a lopsided grin. "My ma, she didn't like my dad. In fact, my ma, she
didn't even know my dad. He fucked her without her consent, and then left.
Was he related to chaos? I don't think so. But you don't need to be related
to chaos to love violence, hm?" She says, eyes knowingly watching you. "Chaos
is only one of the paths that we choose. Evil people come in all shapes and
sizes."
Rosuto hesitates, then nods, long fingers reaching to take the offered cup,
nails scratching briefly and lightly against its plastic sides. His own legs
fold, his weight shifting slightly, leaving him in a loosely-arranged 'Indian
style' sitting position, his free hand reaching to pluck absently at a loose
thread of his pants. "I don't think so either," he agrees quietly, deciding
it better not to argue what and what not you're certain of. "Just people that
pretend to be, people who want to be, and people who have long since gotten
over it." His lips purse briefly, then thin out into a faint line. "I didn't
say Chaos was evil," he protests quietly, his voice sharply awkward, not
knowing what to say about your father. He's been on that side before, the
rapist forcing himself on an unwilling girl. He'd always rationalized it as
having the end outweighing the means. If the Suzaku no Miko wasn't a virgin,
then the War was theirs. But such rationalization ended up killing him. "Just
that, when you said you were destined to be a Zod... that he had a hand in
it. I don't know," he admits finally, shaking his head, an
almost-smile-but-not-quite on his lips. "I've seen evil." He's played with
it, he's bathed in it, he's thrown it in people's faces and watched them fall
apart. "I suppose... Chaos can be evil, but evil isn't necessarily chaos."
Raze leans over to pour you some of the vodka, then some more for herself, then
reaches over for the ever present cigarettes, sticking one between her lips
and striking another match, lighting the tip carefully, not wanting to make a
mess of your futon. Once she shakes out the match, she pulls the cigarette
out of her mouth and takes a sip of her drink, before nodding to you. "Mn, I
suppose," is her only reply, stuck in her own reverie now. Like a lazy jungle
cat, sprawled upon the futon, she gives you a lazy smile. "I've seen evil
too. Fuckit, I've *been* evil. I think I *am* evil." She pauses, and then
leans closer to you again, so that your faces are only inches apart. "You
want to know about destiny, Rosuto? Do you know what they called my father?
The white lion. The white lion who came into the village, and devoured. How
is that for destiny?" She grins a bit, exposing her own fangs, the lioness
trapped in the tiny room. Her voice lowers, and she speaks to you in a softer
hush, as if her next words were some profound secret. Her hand moves to brush
some of your hair from your face, a strangely familiar gesture from the
usually impenetrable woman. "Destiny must have brought me to Tokyo for *some*
reason. And the end of the world is as good as any."
An odd sort of half-smile is given, a nod granted in silent thanks as the vodka
splashes into the plastic cup, lifted to his lips a moment later, a mouthful
swallowed gingerly. Apparently finding it palatable enough, Rosuto tries
another, this time slowly, having to clear his throat once it's down. "I
don't know what /I/ am. I used to, but I'm not sure anymore," he mutters
absently into the cup, though he's looking up at you, golden eyes visible
behide the curtain of smoke-hued bangs. When you draw in close, he
reflexively shifts backwards, always uncomfortable with invasion of personal
space, unless he's initiated it. He stops himself before he's shifted back
too far though, straightening his posture again after a few moments, mouthing
the words 'white lion' in silence before dipping his chin, tucking it to his
collarbone, eyes once more intent upon your face as the volume of your voice
drops, trying to read your expression. So intent that he just barely stops
himself from jumping at the familiar brush of fingertips against his face.
Absurdly, he laughs, a terribly voiceless sound. Would that he could ever
laugh without sounding as if someone had ripped out his vocal chords. "I
don't think you can find a reason much better than that, Raze."
Raze pulls away then, placing her cigarette back between her lips, an odd small
close lipped smile still on her mouth, swishing her plastic cup full of vodka
carefully. With one hand, she deftly reaches back and refastens the clasp of
her top, before arching her back, listening to the crick of her bones with a
satisfied sigh. "Perhaps there are better reasons to be here. I don't know, I
guess I'll see," she says, studying your own features as intently as you do
hers. "Rosuto... sometimes, I think that you lie to yourself," she says,
puffing on her cigarette and blowing smoke rings into the air. She takes a
sip of vodka and lets it swirl around her mouth, enjoying its burning acidic
taste. "If it doesn't feel good, don't do it. You--" she says this while
pointing a finger at you, cigarette precariously balanced in her hand as she
does so. "You are more like me than you probably care to admit." She grins at
you, fangs winking in the dark. "So why don't you just tell the people to
fuck off and do whatever you want? You don't owe anything to anyone but
yourself. That's how I live. I got a feeling that's how you'd like to live
too."
"You're not the first person that's said that to me. Perhaps you're right,"
murmurs the Seiryuu Shichiseishi, the half-smile still curving his lips in a
bland sort of amusement. A shake of his head, and down goes another swallow
of vodka, leaving the cup nearly empty, his head nodding towards the bottle
in a silent inquiry. He pauses, "Someone told me... that no one wants the
truth anymore. Just pretty lies to make it seem all better." Another shake of
his head, this time accompanied by shrugging shoulders. Perhaps he would say
more, but the pointed finger keeps him from doing so, golden eyes regarding
it with a measure of curiousity before lifting again to your face, listening
patiently. Then he bares teeth in a grin, humourless, falling short of his
eyes, which are guarded, but at the same time not, a sigh that doesn't escape
his throat instead filtering into their amber-hued orbs. "If I told them to
fuck off, they'd probably listen. And then where would I be?" The dryness
started out high in his voice, but by the time he reaches the question, it's
since become mild, his tone slightening and dropping in pitch. "Seiryuu
brought me back for one goddamned reason or another. I don't pretend to know
what that was all the time, but I imagine... that I owe Him something for
/that/ at least." Another pause. Another shrug. "Whatever good 'that' has
done, anyway."
Raze takes one last puff, and then extinguishes her cigarette in the white
plastic glass. The vodka is next to go, polished off with great ease of one
who has consumed great amounts of liquor in her short lifetime. The woman
seated in front of you then slides over the bed, almost slithering, hips
wriggling as she shifts and glides so that she lays on her stomach, chin
cupped in her forearms, staring at you. "If you told everyone to fuck off,
then you'd be happy, because you wouldn't need to deal with their bullshit."
She gives you a genuine smile. "But if you told me to fuck off, I wouldn't.
Because I know you wouldn't mean it." She pushes her hair back so that her
bangs stand up funny, all bristled and strange. "You tell me something,
Rosuto. So Seiryuu brought you back. So fuckin' what? Do you like your life?
Did you ask to be brought back? No. So what loyalty do you have to him?" She
shrugs her shoulders. "I stay with Chaos because I like what chaos gives me.
I love the power. I love the violence. I do what brings me happiness. It's
the best we can do, right?" She sighs, and turns around onto her back,
staring up at the ceiling, so that you can't see her face over the puff of
her bangs. "I bet that's what the white lion would want me to do. Sounds like
the kind of life he lead, you know? I'm my daddy's girl," she says,
snickering.
Refilling his cup and downing another slow swallow of vodka, Rosuto hides his
frown beneath its plastic rim, the subtle set of his brows, the darkening of
golden eyes nearly to brown. He's still seated as he was, legs folded in
"indian-style", though he's since shifted to the edge of the futon, so that
his ankles drape over the side, resting on the uncarpeted floor. He hates how
you're able to do that, to be able to throw back in his face the precarious
faith in a God that he clings to, the constant in his life that he's able to
base his decisions around, be they good ones or bad. If it all came down to
it, he'd still be a Seiryuu Shichiseishi. It's that damned question of Why?
that always gets in the way. Shaking his head, he cracks a smile that doesn't
reach his eyes, muttering, "I'm not about to go tell the God of War to fuck
off, Raze," his voice littered with dry humour. Then he looks up suddenly, to
look upon you intently, even if he can't see your face. "Are you?" is asked
quietly, but with genuine curiousity, just before he looks away again, to
study the wall you were looking at not so long ago. "If I... told everyone...
to fuck off... then I would be my mother's little boy, ne? 'Fuck off, I
brought you here, I don't owe you anything more than that.' That's what she
did to me."
Raze sits up then, turning to face you, grabbing hold of the bottle and taking
a long, laborous, swig before she points the neck of the bottle at you, a
glint in her eye and a mischievous smile on her crimson lips. "I'm not
telling you to tell him to fuck off. I'm telling you to ask yourself if you
really have to do the things you're doing. Does he really want you to do this
stuff? Or is it just peer pressure? Don't you ever sometimes feel like you're
in some shitty after school special?" She cradles the bottle in her arms like
a baby, also sitting indian style now, having kicked her boots off, her toes
flexing and curling. "We can't do anything more than our genes tell us. You
know what should fuck off the most? I say fuck civilization." She laughs
then, a raucous, husky thing, from the vodka and the smoke and the lack of
sleep and the pain of memories. "You know who you owe the most? Yourself." On
the spur of the moment, she leans forward, her lips momentarily brushing
against your cheek. It's like the flitter of butterfly's wings against your
flesh, the movement so light, almost not there. It's not a kiss of desire,
but a kiss of tenderness, almost a sisterly affection. "You owe yourself more
than living the way you are now. Don't ever forget that."
This time, it's more the suddenness of the movement rather than the invasion of
personal space that catches Rosuto. This time, he doesn't pull away, but his
eyes widen slowly, owlishly blinking with deliberate slowness. He doesn't
know how to answer your questions, so he doesn't, sitting there in mute
silence, the hand that doesn't hold the plastic cup resting on his leg,
fingers slowly bunching the thick material into his palm, tight enough that
his knuckles whiten, that the prick of needle-sharp nails eventually breaks
through the cloth and touches his knee. He does relax eventually, but only
after nearly a minute of tense silence. Then he turns his head, looking away,
staring into the darkness of the attic, a slow breath drawn in through his
nostrils, exhaled through his lips. A laugh of his own whispers its way up
through his throat, but by the time it escapes, it's been reduced to a quiet,
"Heh." He shakes his head slowly from side to side, looking back to you
through the corners of his eyes. "I won't forget it if you won't," he
responds quietly, almost teasingly, but not quite, his lips turned in a
lopsidedly wan smile.
Raze returns your lopsided smile with one of her own, this time her golden eyes
unreadable, her entire face inscrutable as it more usually is. "Don't I
always remember, Rosuto?" She asks you quietly. She takes another swig of her
vodka, and then pours a little more into your cup, then hers, before closing
off the bottle. "Eh, forget about those pricks for at least a couple hours,
huh? It's not worth the stress." She holds up her cup, clicking it against
yours lightly. "A toast. To the white lion. To Rosuto's mother. They knew how
to live, and their kids know how to live too." She tosses her hair back, her
smile widening, before she downs the entire glass of vodka. "I'm gonna live
fast and wild until I die," she says in a husky voice, in one entire breath
so it comes out like an exhale, almost a sigh. "Hopefully, you can join me
one day. It'd be a shitload of fun." She pauses to look you over, quietly,
from head to toe, and back up again. Her eyes linger on your hands. Gently,
she reaches out to pull your hand away from your knee, turning your hand
over, to look into your palm, pretending to read it. "I see... a life filled
with pricks, who are going to fuck off and let you have fun with Raze." Her
own long red fingernail scrapes against your palm lightly, before she lets
your hand go.
Rosuto doesn't respond to the question except with a nod, holding the wan smile
until it fades of its own accord, which isn't for a while. He speaks in a
voice rich with dry humour again, returning the clink of plastic cups
amiably, a chuckle rising from low in his throat, hoarse and akin to the
sound a pair of bones makes when they're scraped together. "Kanpai," he
returns simply, the smile almost a smirk, before pausing, a moment going by
before he declares, "I'm going to learn to tell people to fuck off." And he
mimics your actions, the entire cup of vodka spilling down his throat, but
without the grace, not having nearly the same amount of experience in
alcohol. It burns his throat, sparking tears in his eyes, and he nearly
chokes. But he gets it down, albeit with a few choice words sworn in both
Japanese and Chinese. "Vodka. Gods, you Zodiacs and your vodka," he forces
out hoarsely, but in good humour. Sergei had given him vodka as well. He
pauses again, as his hand is taken, eyebrows drawing together with traces of
vagueness inspired by the alcohol beginning to enter his face. Then he
smirks, a real smirk this time. "I'll hold you to that, you realize," he
warns quietly.
Raze has already started to push back on the futon, towards the darkness,
tucking the bottle back into the bag, safely, for a later occasion. "I
wouldn'tve said it if I didn't mean it, Rosuto," she says, with truth and
conviction in her tone. "You're the only person on this earth that I haven't
threatened. I don't know why. But I think that the world is a whole lot
better when you're in it." She gives you a wink, and another grin, white
teeth flashing like those golden eyes from the shadows that crawl along the
walls of the cramped room, little fangs drawn against her full, red lower
lip. "The white lion would approve of you. Now go home, get some sleep. You
look like shit." She snickers, turning away then, facing the wall, the
conversation drawn to an end as she dismisses you.
A thin dark brow rises archly towards his hairline, but Rosuto nods, rising
carefully to his feet, the smirk milding into a small grin of his own, a hand
reaching to push his bangs back from his eyes. "I'll sleep better knowing that,"
he notes as he turns towards the door, not bothering to explain what he meant,
whether he would sleep better knowing that the world would be better with him in
it, or that, if he knew him, the white lion would approve of him. Despite being
inebriated, he makes his way towards the door with relative ease, his footsteps
still as quiet as they had been when he first entered. He pauses at the head of
the stairway, hand resting on the doorframe. "Oyasumi nasai, Raze. Good night." (
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