[ LOG ]

[crimson_prose]

Who: Akasun Sasori (this-mannequin) and Uchiha Itachi (crimson-prose)
Where: Sasori's apartment complex.
When: May 25.
What: Itachi - listless, hopeless, proverbially homeless and soaking wet - arrives at Sasori's apartment with bad intentions and worser ailments. Sasori is a decent friend about it, if a very alienated one.
Warnings: To be added as things progress

Comments

[crimson_prose]

(And in that same way Itachi is right, he is completely unalive.)

There is a rigid backbone that's twitching somewhere along the length of his skeleton where Itachi thinks his (heart) spine would be, but he dragged it out with his bones a fortnight ago. (Glass shatters, the knife said stainless steel but stainless does not apparently apply to the mechanics of 'broken' or 'unbroken'. Itachi is a wrecking ball that's now wrecked itself, and it's a real pity. That's what Itachi is, save empty like a murderer's chest of drawers; insides gouged out with thick blades, thick strokes, thick black ink and tar-like blood. Itachi is-)

Itachi steps forward, away from the foyer, and suddenly the dizziness makes things effortless - things float in the space around him, his legs shake unnoticeably and its messed up the way what's simple pertains to him, pertains to this. It's suddenly making sense, it's suddenly blind, the way he went his second day of running. (Black-black-black went the world and Itachi went deadly quiet and slammed his head against a wall until things blurred back into too-thick focus, too-thick, too-thin, tissue paper thin. There is still a mark on his temple, bruises along his back, cascading like the rain water across his arms.)

There is a faint recognition in him, by the part that until this very moment had no idea what he was thinking, coming here, going anywhere. (Because the channel wasn't deep enough, because he could feel every pair of eyes but theirs, "What a beautiful boy, what a pretty little disaster-" The ocean isn't wide enough for Itachi anymore. Not fast enough. Too fast. Not slow enough. If life itself is so tortuous, there is no pain that is undesireable to Itachi anymore.) He crosses the floor slowly and Sasori is not intimidated by his closeness, by the way he keeps himself upright dragging a hand across the walls. (His fingers are bleeding, the nails are ripped, torn, shorn back and ripped open like they're nothing, where he'd clawed them down into the bark of trees in the back, ripping and tearing until they were bleeding, useless digits and he could feel the bones screaming at him.)

Itachi looks insane.

(What do you want?)

He looks him straight in the face, noticing the way he casts a slight shadow across it, is a solid thirteen centimeters taller than Sasori, always has been, not that it's ever done him much good.

"I want you-" A completely blank face, blank voice.

"-to kill me."

(-to cut my heart out.

Sasori can solve what the trains can't.

What the sea can't.)