[In a hallway, somewhere between the southern wing and one of the neutral wings, there is a Kanda sitting on the ground, propped unceremoniously against a wall. Her coat is in tatters around her - oh boy, that's going to leave scars, Dressing Room or not - and she's absolutely covered in dried blood.]
[Her eyes are also open, as if staring at the
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[It's a lot like one of those moments when you're stuck between dreaming and waking. Paralyzed, but partially aware.]
[The next sign of movement is the faint way in which her eyes seem to fall into focus. Any moment now, any moment...]
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[Doesn't seem to mind that he's sitting in the worst of it either.]
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[Her fingers twitch again, as well as her eyes -- and all at once she sucks in a wet, gurgling sort of breath. Choking on old blood? Quite possibly.]
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[He could kill her again, and that has a certain appeal. Especially surrounded by the gore of her own death. He hasn't had anything to direct his rage and helplessness on since he got back, and even little things are setting him off lately. And she just had to go die when he didn't even kill her himself. So. That's an option.]
[Then again, part of him doesn't want to kill her either. He likes her, after all. It's a bit of one instinct arguing with the other. He won't know who won the debate until she opens her eyes.]
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[She leans over, however - luckily, in the opposite direction of her audience - and drags in another wet and gurgling breath before bringing up a nasty mix of blood and... well, whatever else was caught in her wind pipes.]
[Following it is a scream. An actual scream; the remaining fallout from the last dregs of pain. It's almost like death itself had been a sort of Novocaine, keeping her from feeling the sensation of actually dying before her body started to kick back into gear again.]
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[The worst of the pain is over, however, and so she spits again and slumps back against the wall, not quite ready to move yet, save for turning in his direction.]
[It has to be post-death delirium, because strangely, she's... rather relieved it's him there, and not someone else, if the look in her eyes has something to say for it.]
... Tyki...?
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My my, sounds like a nasty dream you had. [Another long drag on the cigarette.] You were in such a hurry to go, I suppose you took a wrong turn.
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The fuck are you on about?
[It takes a lot of effort - it still feels like those fucking gravity chains are tied to her arms, even if it gets easier to move the more she does it - but she manages to bring a hand up to his cheek.]
[A goddamn cigarette would be nice right now. Very fucking nice.]
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You. Took a wrong turn. [He says it clearly and calmly. Enunciates.] I thought you were in a hurry to get somewhere. Unless this was the intended destination.
[He looks at the blood-spattered walls.] Can't say much for your taste.
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[She rests her head against the wall, still meeting him with a dazed sort of look. At least until he looks around, and then she looks around as well.]
[Well shit.]
Stop... talking to me like I'm two.
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Just making sure you heard. There might be blood in your ears after all. Difficult to listen through.
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My ears are... fucking fine.
[... trying to get up was not a good idea. Gurgles again, just a little bit, and flops down.]
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Language my dear. [He chides gently, teasingly, amid the gore of her own death. Really, who could ask for a better setting for sheer ridiculousness.]
You'll make the walls blush. [As if they could get any more red.]
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Allow me to weep for your sensitive ears.
[Stills a moment, on the verge of clearing out her lungs again, but then relaxes.]
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