ng | misc
title: neo genesis collective
fandom: neo_rpg
characters: various
rating: PG-13 to R
word count: 1,691
notes: assortment of drabbles from neo_rpg. I swear, that place makes me ship the weirdest things ever.
summary:
REWIND | kazama souji [brii] / hanamura yosuke [p4] | [ PG ]
"Senpai! Hey, Senpai, wait up -- Senpai!" It's a shout that he's grown all too accustomed to, and Kazama pauses at the school gates, bag slung over his shoulder, watching as the familiar figure comes running up, almost tripping over a rock in the streets, stumbling, staggering, regaining his balance, and bounding over to latch onto his arm. "Senpai, I heard you have practice today."
Kazama gives his customary nod, and starts walking towards the school building once more, letting the younger trot alongside him -- it's the same arrangement that's been going on quite some time, so it moves, it flows, their steps match, even as he picks up the pace because it's five minutes 'til the bell rings.
And Yosuke chirps on, cheerfully. "Well there's this event at Junes right after your practice ends, so want to go over? They're doing this promotional event, and giving out free items, and there might be something that you want there. And there's sales, too."
It's such a typical suggestion, and Kazama gives a small smile -- more to himself than to Yosuke, and hitches the bag back up his shoulder. "Sure."
"Really?" Yosuke seems ridiculously happy about it, regardless of the fact that Kazama usually goes along with whatever's proposed to him -- still looks truly excited about the prospects of this little outing. "When does practice end? I'll wait! Can I watch?"
"Four-thirty." And then Kazama peels back his sleeve to check his watch -- then tugs at the arm Yosuke's still grasping onto. "We're gonna be late. C'mon."
"Oh freak." Of course, Yosuke fumbles, nearly drops his bag, as he lets go of Kazama's arm and breaks out into a sprint, one that Kazama jogs to keep up with. They step into the threshold of the building just as the bells go off.
And this is kind of the usual routine.
*
They met about an year ago, when Yosuke was twelve and Kazama was fifteen -- sixth and ninth grades, respectively. Some school-wide program on mentorship. Older students paired up with a younger to work on some community project for school grades.
And they certainly made an odd pair. Hanamura Yosuke, bubbly, cheerful, overly friendly -- and Kazama Souji, nice enough but quiet, mild, introverted. But maybe it was better this way, because one was a talker, the other a listener -- and regardless of the stupid project they were assigned (something about making the district's city hall a more resident-friendly place, it was very boring and very dull, and they got decent grades) they became somewhat close.
As in, Yosuke began tagging behind him.
And Kazama didn't mind that too much.
A few weeks down the road, Yosuke begins showing up once in a while at Kazama's archery practice sessions, and Kazama, in turn, doesn't say no when Yosuke asks for accompaniment to some event at his family's store or the other. Some people think it vaguely odd, that the two of them get along like that, but it's an arrangement that's fine with them, so it doesn't really matter.
*
When Battle Royale happens, and Kazama ends up as the winner, the school keeps very hush-hush about it. Wouldn't want people to know that their school produced a kid capable of murdering people, oh no. Even if it was for the sake of survival, it's such a horrible thought.
And the media, too, they steer clear of names. "Student A' was found in Abyss and has been adopted by an Elysium couple." One or two back-alley infosites have the gritty details, but by far and large, there's no solid information. 'Student A.'
That's how Kazama simply drops off the radar of his old life.
His textbooks, his school supplies, his archery equipment is all still there, it's just that he's not, because he can't be there, not any more.
*
A month later finds him at a new life, a new home, a new life in Elysium, but he still can't find a place where he fits, not like life used to be.
Once or twice, during trips to Terra, he passes by the old school he used to attend, and he always pauses. But it never lasts -- he's quick to move on. Things have changed, so he needs to adjust, too.
(It says something, though, that he never lets anyone touch him, not any more. Even though he remembers a kouhai who always seemed all too happy to jostle him and tug him around as a sign of affection -- all he thinks of when it comes to physical contact, is the thought, 'I'm going to be murdered.
He never once recalls Yosuke specifically, but he remembers fragments. Someone friendly, someone talkative, someone who seemed to hide something with that ever-present smile. Someone who was alright.
He doesn't remember the whole picture, because that's something he can never return to anyway -- what's the point?)
*
Which is probably why, when four years later, he finds himself face to face with that same picture, out of the blue, he doesn't know what to say.
SANGUIVOROUS | alucard [hellsing] / kengamine nagi [dmwl] | [ R ]
Blood. Everywhere. Thick in the air, matted in his hair, congealing on his skin. The bitter scent of it is everywhere, and Nagi feels like it's choking him, clogging his throat and pervading his lungs. And he can't breathe, can't move, can't think -- not when narrow fingers press against his limbs, trapping him with his back to the wall, the cement cold against his skin.
The tiny shivers make Alucard smile, as he takes a hand away from the amputed arm to wrap around the other's jawline -- forcing him to look up. Pale eyes are already dead, fogged over with some combination of exhaustion and circulatory shock, and it's such a pity. Because they certainly looked better when they were bright with rage.
(You hold potential, Owl. You deserve better than that cell the monk had confined you to. Stretch your wings. Bare your claws. Tear me apart.)
It's only when a faint strangled noise rends through the air that Alucard realizing he's choking Nagi, pressing his fingers too tight against chill skin. But then again -- it's hard to resist the carnal urges that boil up from deep within him, when he feels the fluttering pulse at his fingertips.
Ignoring the weak press of the one hand against his shoulder, he leans down, grabbing hold of sweat-soaked hair to force Nagi's head back. Exposing the pale skin of his throat, marred only by the tracks of veins and the remains of a surgery scar. Alucard is careful not to puncture skin, as he runs his teeth over the darkened skin, his tongue dragging over the tiny ridges and ripples where muscles had been torn apart and sewn back together.
Blood, droplets of it that he can taste faintly. And it tempts him so. There's a faint metallic aftertaste to it -- most likely whatever it is that's granting Owl that strange ability -- and the salt of sweat, the bitter twist of too many drugs. But the overwhelming taste is still the same, and for a moment, he considers. (It would be merciful, wouldn't it. Death will free you from this battered form that serves as your body. Finally grant you some rest. Would you like that?)
Nagi's hardly aware of what's happening, and can only stare up at the ceiling through the faint sheen of tears that blurs his vision, fingers grasping uselessly at the material of Alucard's shirt. (From the hands of one monster to another. How much further to sink?) And he shudders, his consciousness wavering at the brink of oblivion, his limbs racked by uncontrolled tremors and his thoughts slowly slipping. Even as too-white fangs press against the skin of his throat, ready to slide into the fluttering pulse in his jugular, to release the flow of blood, let it spill over the ground, into the air --
no.
And Alucard pulls back at the last possible moment, just as Nagi's faint grasp on consciousness finally slips. Catching Owl a bare moment before he hits the ground, Alucard lifts him up -- holding him close to run a tongue over the drying traces of blood that color his bared skin. The taste is sweet, sorely tempting, but still, he licks his lips and holds himself back.
It would be such a pity to ruin the potential before it's had a chance to ripen.
DOLLHOUSE | nataku [x/1999] | [ PG ]
Nina belongs in the room in the first floor, with the door locked. Ah, but he does give her a tray of food. Because that is what he always does, even if she seems to hold a certain sort of aversion to him. It is a dislike that he cannot understand, but he supposes that it cannot be helped, she refuses to speak to him.
Genkaku and Nagi are in the room in the basement, laid together in an embrace in the corner. Genkaku is speaking to Nagi, most likely in musical analogies about love and other such feelings. They seem to spend a great amount of time together, and so he doesn't bother them with anything.
Alucard, her room on the second floor. Little sister spends a good deal of times sleeping in her coffin, which he does not understand, but it something that he does respect. Perhaps beds are uncomfortable for her. In either case, he does not bother her, either, seeing as how she will most likely be irritated at him were he to bother her, and he does not want to anger her any further.
Papa goes into his study on the second floor, which is an immaculate room lined with bookshelves and pictures, very clean and very tidy, with many many books and papers ready for his attention. Is he hungry? Perhaps he is. But maybe his room is arranged different? And --
and.
And? Nataku pauses, the little doll in Johan's likeness still in his hand, poised above the compartment of the dollhouse that is reserved as the senator's study. He suddenly cannot recall whether Papa's room had two desks or not. Perhaps he should go look, Nataku supposes, and stands up from where he'd been sitting on the floor, arranging his dolls in their cardboard-and-plastic dwelling.
After all, the other dolls have been accurately placed in correspondence to their counterparts. Papa most certainly deserves an accurate depiction as well.