Etsurou Ikeda [C7 - D4] Sheepdog
Only the sound of rushing air and the quick, excited footsteps of Ichirou Nishioka could be heard as Etsurou raised his gun with the methodical precision of an assassin.
Nishioka. That fucking tool had tried to take him on again. When did this idiot learn? He was a pussy in school and he was a pussy here. Frankly, it was amusing to think that this sneering coward thought he was going to stand in his way.
I mean, seriously. Dude. Isn’t he like a virgin as well?
Ichirou’s narrow eyes burned into Etsurou’s. His face possessed a brutal determination to kill, contorted into an animalistic growl of pure anger and impulse. Ichirou was going to murder him and do it without fear of consequence.
Or so he thought.
Etsurou might have ignored Ichirou if he had kept to himself. He could acknowledge the pointlessness of gunning him down for no reason. It was still early days. Simply killing indiscriminately seemed a little far-reaching. For now.
It was Ichirou’s fault. Etsurou would have let him go if it wasn’t for the fact he tried to murder him. Ichirou had nobody to blame but himself. He was going to die because of his fucking stupidity... to think that Etsurou would actually back down to a loser like him.
Etsurou pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times.He couldn’t deny it; he was going to love this.
Without mercy, he submerged the head of Ichirou into the depths of the reeking, germ infested cubicle of the boy’s toilets.
His victim flailed in disgust and utter humiliation. It was hilarious to watch.
He pulled the chain, again. An ecstasy of spluttering, choking and drowning consumed the downed boy, his white knuckles gripped the edge of the cold seat in a vain effort to prise himself free.
In a stroke of inspiration, Etsurou raised his foot and forced his toes slowly but savagely against Ichirou’s struggling fingers, the burning pressure causing them to flex and fumble in pain.
“Are you done?” his friend hollered.
Makoto, who was preening in the mirror, was watching Ichirou’s punishment with only the slightest of interest.
Releasing his grip, Etsurou watched in delight as Ichirou rose to the surface of sewage water, gasping dramatically and heaving. He had this coming, there was no two ways about it.
“Yep!” he replied, emerging from the cubicle and grinning toothily at his friend. He nodded towards Ichirou who clambered around the tiled floor like a hospital patient, desperate for help and comfort.
“Clean yourself up,” Etsurou laughed, yet managing to retain a level of menace in his voice. He kicked Ichirou’s jacket towards him; the expensive garment skidded meaninglessly across the damp floor like a dish rag.
The boy didn’t meet his eyes.
They left the bathroom as the lunch bell rang. Etsurou was happy. He had restored some order and his ego was back to normal again.
It’s not like he was bullying Ichirou, really. Fuck no! The snob needed to learn his place, that was all. He deserved it. And he was going to carry on deserving it every single day unless he learned not to embarrass Etsurou Ikeda.
The bullets soared mockingly over Ichirou’s head, swallowed by darkness, each one more deafening than the one which preceded it. Etsurou welcomed the noise over the thick, cold silence he had endured since leaving the boat, but the unexpected blare of the weapon and the surge of power it released as the firearm pulsed in his hand made him recoil ever so slightly.
It was fucking pitiful; he may as well have been firing at a low hanging cloud. Apparently he needed to work on his aim. Ichirou dropped to his knees and shrieked in a characteristically high pitched yelp like a helpless puppy. Etsurou was going to crush it.
He raised the gun, again, and smirked. He would have finished him off there and then if it wasn’t for the startlingly electrifying scream that froze Etsurou’s blood. Instinctively his head spun in the opposite direction, his eyes searching the half obscured street frantic for the voice. Who? Who the fuck had interrupted him? He was this close from killing and he was being stopped by some screaming pussy? Fuck that!
Hell, he wanted to do it by now.
A sharp patter of frightened footsteps echoed as Ichirou dashed across the concrete and into obscurity.
Etsurou’s head snapped forward again, the smoking barrel of the gun now the only reminder of what could have been.
Oh you’re shitting me? He fucking escaped? I have a gun, he has a pointy Frisbee and he still manages to get away? What am I, retarded?
He sighed. He was considering chasing him and having a little fun messing the fucker up.
Making his decision, Etsurou began to stride up the street.
The feminine voice, however, stopped him dead in his tracks; it was familiarly chirpy and yet instead of making him feel glad it chilled him to the bone. He didn’t need interruptions like her.
“What are you doing?”
Etsurou’s eyes were fixated on the small, perky girl before him, her hands covered in white dust as she precariously licked one of her fingers as though it were coated in sherbert. His arm had literally halted in mid-air, dropping his chemistry text book with a clatter against the inside of his metal locker.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, breaking into a goofy smile. “Sorry, excuse me. What's up?”
He repressed the urge to ask her what the hell she was doing, but only ‘cause her ass was nice. And she looked pretty hot.
“Oh, you know,” he smiled, "just school and stuff, you?"
He watched her fling... chalk, back into her locker before turning and giving him an innocent chuckle.
“I heard you split up with Sora?” she flicked her hair, eyeing him in interest.
Before Etsurou could reply she launched into her giddy speech.
“Personally, I saw it coming a mile away” she quacked. “I mean, she’s pretty and all, well, actually, she’s really super skinny, which is weird, but I mean she has nice hair, and-“
Fuck. She was making him feel dizzy. She had stopped to wave like a crazy woman to a girl across the corridor. Deciding now was the simplest time to interject, he went in for the kill.
“So, Yori, is it?” he grinned, slamming his locker door shut and walking down the hall with her, his bag slung casually over his shoulder. “You wanna come over tonight?”
She blushed, her hand delicately stroking his tanned arm as an act of appreciation.
Easy.
They had been walking for what felt like an eternity.
Yori wasn’t too bad really. Dumb as fuck and believed every empty reassurance he fed her without questioning it, but still, completely innocent. She also trusted him like her life depended on it.
I guess it does depend on it.
He really wasn’t feeling the amount of exercise that Battle Royale endorsed, really. Being Goal Keeper was literally the only position Makoto would offer him on the soccer team because it required so little dedication. He was pretty good in Goal, but that was because all he had to do was stand there.
Not walk for hours on end.
Surprisingly, Yori was coping pretty well. Her walk was sluggish and wheezy, but at least the tears had stopped, thank fuck. She had developed an irritating nervous habit of flinching and pretty much jumping out of her skin at the smallest of disturbances but given the situation he was willing to let it pass.
I mean, she is going to die soon, give her a break man.
He gently pushed her lithe body on to his bed, a hand travelling up her smooth, firm stomach. His fingers were cold from being outside; they made her shiver, her toes curling and wriggling in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort.
“Etsurou,” she moaned, allowing him to slip her shirt off. “Are you sure? Don’t you think it’s too-“
“Relax,” his voice soothed, unbuckling his belt. “I really like you, yeah? So it’s cool, right?”
Her lips parting and, nodding in agreement, she watched him in mild curiosity as he removed her pleated skirt and tossed it across his bedroom.
“You do?” she murmured as he placed a trained hand on her exposed breast, giving it the softest of massages.
“Yeah,” he muttered, pressing his lips against hers.
It was the easiest lie he ever made.
The bar was disappointing; a dank, hollow room that still held the lingering scent of stale alcohol and smoke. The little furniture which hadn’t been destroyed was cheap and mismatched - like everything else on this shit hole island the bar had had zero investment to make it halfway decent.
He recalled the time him, Makoto and Yuki had once convinced themselves that they would be able to get served in here and each tried to age themselves by about five years to look the part. Etsurou didn’t shave for a whole week to give himself a manly beard. However, at fourteen, no amount of bum fluff facial hair and cologne was going to get them in anywhere.
It seemed that they had stripped the shelves of anything remotely alcoholic, leaving the room looking barren and lonely without its supply of vodka, gin and whatever the hell this place offered. An archaic juke box which looked as though it hadn’t been played since the Stone Age lay upturned in the middle of the bar, the shattered glass like glittering trinkets on the velvet rug.
Stools had been broken, tables splintered down into nothing more than a pile of tooth picks and each and every ashtray had graced the floor in some kind. It reminded him of how much needed to smoke and he tensed up in anguish.
“Oh my God,” Yori whispered, surveying the wreckage. “Is it even safe to stay here?”
Etsurou contemplated the idea. Really, where else was there to go? He had no intention of going back to his house now unless he needed to change. There was nothing there for him now. And he sure as fuck wasn’t flapping around Neko Island like some retard waiting for Ichirou to sneak up on him again.
“I reckon so!” claimed Etsurou, forcing a beaming smile at her. “Check it out!”
He snatched a bottle of vodka which was sitting behind the bar and displayed it with pride. “Looks like we could take advantage, huh?"
“Yeah,” she replied, looking slightly crestfallen. Probably doubting his leadership skills.
He shrugged and wandered through the bar, avoiding the broken glass and debris.
“We’re gonna be okay, Etsurou. Aren’t we?”
Her voice was fragile and delicate. She stared at him, pleading with him to agree with her.
“Of course, I’m gonna take care of you,” he nodded. “I will, don’t worry.”
Turning away from her, the cogs in his mind whirled away like a factory machine.
And there he had it.
Another lie.
((ooc: hope you enjoyed! because andrew claimed ichirou i'm now using Yori. :O hope that's ok. i'm looking for some pc interraction soon, so if ya interested~ ...))