out in the desert with my street sweeper [OPEN]
WHO: Zechs Merquise and OPEN.
WHERE: Zechs's apartment ➔ randomly walking around the City.
WHEN: Whenever it stops raining blood. B|
WARNINGS: Probably none? c_c Violence and Tyler's mouth.
SUMMARY: The blood on the streets is KIND OF FUCKING DISTURBING and Zechs needs practice anyway, so he's going out onto the street, bringing a little rain with ( Read more... )
WHERE: Zechs's apartment ➔ randomly walking around the City.
WHEN: Whenever it stops raining blood. B|
WARNINGS: Probably none? c_c Violence and Tyler's mouth.
SUMMARY: The blood on the streets is KIND OF FUCKING DISTURBING and Zechs needs practice anyway, so he's going out onto the street, bringing a little rain with ( Read more... )
He took one step outside, and silently peered down at the streets which were blanketed in blood. Stupid. Really fucking stupid. Whoever was popping out 300-year-babies like Balthazar and Company, needed to start having abortions.
At that moment, he heard a crash of thunder not too far in the distance. His gaze traveled down the street to where the source of the storm was building. It was moving in his direction. Oh, for the love of--
What.
Tyler squinted. There was somebody moving underneath the mini-cyclone, and in sync with it. As the figure drew nearer, he made note of the flamboyantly expensive-looking helm the stranger was wearing.
He sauntered out into the street and waited.
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He was a bit pleased with himself, though. Because it had started to rain. The clouds spread, water falling down in heavy drops, and the ground went from red to pink to . . . some color in between blood and nothing. It was better this way, and he allowed himself a small smile, quickly pushed away.
When he reached Tyler, all he did was step around him and continue on his way - at least for a moment. Somehow, from the way the stranger was standing, it seemed as though such a response would not be anything even close to acceptable.
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Instead of actually facing him, the cheap fuck just walked around him and went about his merry way. The only response he received in turn, was a downpour of rain. No. He wasn't going to let it drop here. Tyler's entire existence was based off the devout attention provided by others. Without it, he would have just been "Jack."
"I bet you think you're doing a great job here," he called out after Zechs, catching up so that he was a few paces behind him, "Blatantly displaying you abilities for the greater good. You mop up the streets, then what?!"
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- for the greater good -
Well-chosen.
He glanced over his shoulder, by all appearances disinterested.
"I'm actually doing it because it bothers me personally," he said, tone neutral. "If you have a problem with what I'm doing, by all means, try to stop me."
It was a challenge, of a sort, but also an experiment. He really did want to see what Tyler would do. He recognized his voice now. The anarchist - self-proclaimed, in any case. Was he really?
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He skirted his way around Zechs, so that he was in front of him now, keeping up by walking backwards.
"Or maybe it's going to downpour bodily fluids all over again, and you'll have to waste another hour of your life, just so you can feel more comfortable with yourself. So! What's the ugly bucket on your head for?"
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It was practice. But hopefully Tyler would infer that on his own. Otherwise, Zechs would've been seriously underestimating him. Either way, simply playing his hand was an idea not worth considering.
But Tyler was in his way. his eyes narrowed behind the mask, and he sped up his pace. And asking about the mask.
"Figure it out on your own," he said bluntly.
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There really was no specific reason for what he was doing, aside from the fact that he could. Since his arrival, he'd admittedly been preaching more than acting, and that wasn't his style at all. There was only one way to actually trigger his goals, and that was to physically set them off. Which just happened to start with Zechs.
"So if it's a metal, it's going to be a conductor, and if it's a conductor... that means your skull will potentially be fucking fried at any given second."
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"Yes," he said, "that's right." he glanced over his shoulder. "It's a suicide device meant to bring me to my doom, here on this street in the middle of your City. That's what's on my agenda today. Well done."
And he just kept walking. Really, the only waste of his time at the moment was Tyler.
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Enough of this bullshit.
Without so much as a warning, or a sparring invitation, he swung one fist forward, aiming for just a solid punch.
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"Stop that," he growled, other hand reaching out to grab Tyler's free one. Above him, the sky rumbled.
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All of this was incredibly unnecessary. No rhyme or reason. No excess baggage also referred to as logic. Just raw adrenaline, hooked on pain.
Both wrists were caught, but it didn't stop there. Nope. Zechs reacted. Now all he needed to do was swing back. Tyler launched one knee up, attempting to target the gut. "Come oooon! Don't fucking wuss out on me!"
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"No," he said coldly. "I'm not going to fight you."
And he shoved Tyler bodily away, pushing him off before he could get a knee in, and stepped back. This was not his fight, and it had no purpose, so he refused to participate. This wasn't the time to fight. There was only one time.
He had to save his strength.
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"You're willing to prance around the streets, pissing rainbows and kittens with that eight-thousand dollar trash can on your head, but you're not willing to stop for one moment just because you can."
He paused, taking a moment to brush off speck of something entirely unnoticeable on his jacket.
"Besides. You could probably take me out in three fucking hits. Jesus Christ." He opened his arms up, rolling up on the balls of his feet and jumping a little. "Come on. Just one to the fact. Easy shot!"
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The ease of the shot wasn't the issue. If Zechs had had a gun Tyler could've already been dead - the minute Zechs had seen him, in fact. But there was no point. Not even a distant point, one he could look towards and say, there - that's what I'm working towards.
This man wasn't anything like Treize.
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He shrugged, finally stepping back.
"Enjoy the false reality you live in!"
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Cocking his head at Tyler, he narrowed his eyes. "Anarchy is lack of reason. Total and complete moral anarchy? Is that what you're trying to communicate with this little demonstration? So why were you so concerned about my reason for being on the streets? Why would that matter in the least to you?"
My goal.
Looking down the wet, red streets, he smiled.
"Such an education. You like this, don't you? It's not about anarchy at all."
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