An eternity of this, playing patient and wandering around a haunted mountain top with rain soaking her to the bone, was unacceptable to the sesshouseki. And to Yomi, who shared its desire. This game had gotten so tedious. If the only thing holding her to life was Landel, if there was a more hellish purgatory out there for her in the afterlife, then she was ready to cut the tie and be gone already.
Collecting Shishiou by force had always been a part of her motivation, but another part was the growing distaste for the power Landel held over everything that lay in his domain. Among all the other threads of hatred that bound her together, she didn’t know where this particular brand of loathing had started, whether in her, or in it, or in the both of them. Yomi only knew that she and the sesshouseki both wanted freedom in their own ways, and that was enough for her. In the end, their competing desires always came together as one. (Or that would be the case eventually, forced to heel for the good doctor or not.) She wanted to do something tonight. Seize the chance to crush something with her hands, make a mark that would still be felt come morning.
She’d lasted longer than the older, more tainted Kagura, after all, so she had to have some lasting power, didn’t she? Or perhaps it was the opposite.
Waiting through another boring dinner, Yomi had finally perked up at the last half of the Head Doctor’s dinner announcement, and she‘d paused halfway through pulling another drab grey shirt on. Emergency reconstruction? The threat that followed, promising changes and familiar faces, was like music to Yomi’s ears. Change was good. If something interesting happened, that was better than the alternative.
The final touches were to do up the hooded sweater she’d taken from her patient possessions over her Landel’s uniform, then deposit her radio in one of the pockets. Taking up the pipe in her hand, she left Hokuto to her own devices.
Collecting Shishiou by force had always been a part of her motivation, but another part was the growing distaste for the power Landel held over everything that lay in his domain. Among all the other threads of hatred that bound her together, she didn’t know where this particular brand of loathing had started, whether in her, or in it, or in the both of them. Yomi only knew that she and the sesshouseki both wanted freedom in their own ways, and that was enough for her. In the end, their competing desires always came together as one. (Or that would be the case eventually, forced to heel for the good doctor or not.) She wanted to do something tonight. Seize the chance to crush something with her hands, make a mark that would still be felt come morning.
She’d lasted longer than the older, more tainted Kagura, after all, so she had to have some lasting power, didn’t she? Or perhaps it was the opposite.
Waiting through another boring dinner, Yomi had finally perked up at the last half of the Head Doctor’s dinner announcement, and she‘d paused halfway through pulling another drab grey shirt on. Emergency reconstruction? The threat that followed, promising changes and familiar faces, was like music to Yomi’s ears. Change was good. If something interesting happened, that was better than the alternative.
The final touches were to do up the hooded sweater she’d taken from her patient possessions over her Landel’s uniform, then deposit her radio in one of the pockets. Taking up the pipe in her hand, she left Hokuto to her own devices.
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