2nd dream [have to drive]
WARNINGS: R for violence / gore.
[ Soundtrack: Amanda Palmer - Have to Drive (please click) ]
A jeep full of men in the mountains, driving. The sun beats down. The smell of cordite, the sound of gunfire, and a head that's just a little too uncomfortably near being turned to fine red mist. A blade on a chain streaks across the corner of vision. It's lopped a head with pointy ears off. The head rolls across the dashboard.
Oh dear, that's a bit excessive, isn't it?
Keep driving. It's a sea of claws, pointed teeth, pointed ears, reptilian and catlike eyes. Bones are crushing beneath the tires. And the terrain was rough enough on them before all that.
He's in the passenger seat. Blond monk with a handsome face and a hell of a temper, picking off the youkai with a cigarette dangling, just pissed off these guys are ruining his day. Pop. Pop. Pop. It sounds distant. It's not distant. Youkai who get too close to him get holes in their heads. This is a good thing.
Behind him is him. He's the one with the shakujo, a crescent blade on a chain on one end. A man with hair and eyes like blood, he's having a good time. He likes kicking ass, he'd say. But he's not having as good a time as him, the shorter, smaller one with golden eyes and a perpetually hungry look. The one who's still a child but endlessly older, the one who's far more dangerous than any of them, the one whose intentions seem purest. He carries a staff. He's at his best.
The sea isn't thinning, the fight never ends. Bones crunching. Blood and brains bursting and getting in tire treads. Later, the jeep is owed an apology. Just keep driving for now, they'll keep killing. Hands on the steering wheel. And there are times when the energy crackles in the palms of the capable hands that grip the steering wheel or the stick shift. There are times when those hands leave bloody handprints on white walls.
It's in the middle of the night, now, though. A strange silence has settled in these inky woods. The steadiness of headlights over smooth ground is numbing, lulling.
And it's too late when the vehicle collides with soft brown fur and jars the men driving in their silence. How did that happen? How could this be allowed to happen?
The deer is an almost comical sight by the side of the road, tongue lolling out. He shoots it to put it out of its misery. With a broken back, that was the kindest thing. That gun's a mercy more often than he knows.
(Or maybe he does, and that's the point.)
I'm so sorry...
(This one is you, feeling a guilt that curls around your heart like vines and squeezes. It's the most intense thing you've felt in awhile, and you don't know why. How could this be allowed to happen? Something violent and careless and disgusting?)
(You're thinking, perhaps it would be fair to bury her.)
He starts whining about being hungry. He does his part by starting to squabble with him.
The blood crawls across the road, illuminated by the headlights of the jeep.
...No sense in letting it go to waste. Gojyo, help me dress the carcass.
Awright, venison!
[ Hakkai wakes up, his hair mussed, falling over one eye. He stares up at the ceiling, frowning slightly. ]
[ Soundtrack: Amanda Palmer - Have to Drive (please click) ]
A jeep full of men in the mountains, driving. The sun beats down. The smell of cordite, the sound of gunfire, and a head that's just a little too uncomfortably near being turned to fine red mist. A blade on a chain streaks across the corner of vision. It's lopped a head with pointy ears off. The head rolls across the dashboard.
Oh dear, that's a bit excessive, isn't it?
Keep driving. It's a sea of claws, pointed teeth, pointed ears, reptilian and catlike eyes. Bones are crushing beneath the tires. And the terrain was rough enough on them before all that.
He's in the passenger seat. Blond monk with a handsome face and a hell of a temper, picking off the youkai with a cigarette dangling, just pissed off these guys are ruining his day. Pop. Pop. Pop. It sounds distant. It's not distant. Youkai who get too close to him get holes in their heads. This is a good thing.
Behind him is him. He's the one with the shakujo, a crescent blade on a chain on one end. A man with hair and eyes like blood, he's having a good time. He likes kicking ass, he'd say. But he's not having as good a time as him, the shorter, smaller one with golden eyes and a perpetually hungry look. The one who's still a child but endlessly older, the one who's far more dangerous than any of them, the one whose intentions seem purest. He carries a staff. He's at his best.
The sea isn't thinning, the fight never ends. Bones crunching. Blood and brains bursting and getting in tire treads. Later, the jeep is owed an apology. Just keep driving for now, they'll keep killing. Hands on the steering wheel. And there are times when the energy crackles in the palms of the capable hands that grip the steering wheel or the stick shift. There are times when those hands leave bloody handprints on white walls.
It's in the middle of the night, now, though. A strange silence has settled in these inky woods. The steadiness of headlights over smooth ground is numbing, lulling.
And it's too late when the vehicle collides with soft brown fur and jars the men driving in their silence. How did that happen? How could this be allowed to happen?
The deer is an almost comical sight by the side of the road, tongue lolling out. He shoots it to put it out of its misery. With a broken back, that was the kindest thing. That gun's a mercy more often than he knows.
(Or maybe he does, and that's the point.)
I'm so sorry...
(This one is you, feeling a guilt that curls around your heart like vines and squeezes. It's the most intense thing you've felt in awhile, and you don't know why. How could this be allowed to happen? Something violent and careless and disgusting?)
(You're thinking, perhaps it would be fair to bury her.)
He starts whining about being hungry. He does his part by starting to squabble with him.
The blood crawls across the road, illuminated by the headlights of the jeep.
...No sense in letting it go to waste. Gojyo, help me dress the carcass.
Awright, venison!
[ Hakkai wakes up, his hair mussed, falling over one eye. He stares up at the ceiling, frowning slightly. ]