Who: Genkaku & Nagi; open to Johan, Rokuro, Alucard and Nataku. Where: The Liebert estate play room. When: About three days after this log. Summary: Just some torture. Rating: R. Other: Nope.
"Heh...pretty damn typical response." Genkaku muttered as he crouched down before Nagi, taking a look at his accomplishment with getting his twisted fixation to himself. Slim fingers took a hold of the cigar and he exhaled. The way violets traced along the beaten and bruised, filled with holes and half-dead body, was almost perverted in a way. But damn, it was that fucking monster, the one who ripped assholes apart so damn easily, how the hell couldn’t Genkaku admire something that resembled God so damn much?
A hand maneuvered over to one of Nagi’s knees and he gave it a firm squeeze, thumb pressing at one of the recent wounds and the way his face was marked with affection as he did so was sickening. A deep inhale before a soft eruption of chuckle left his mouth and the monk drew out the tip of his tongue to graze along his lips before standing up.
"Owl, your body looks good." He murmured. “Real good, no wonder you got all the chicks after you." And with a head tilt, he directed his line of vision to the amputated stump. "But ya’know...did a pretty shitty job with your arm the first time." Really, it was. It was fucking disgusting, the stump and flesh were so uneven, like giving a five year old a piece of meat and a pair of scissors. Genkaku ran a hand through his hair and gave a half-grin, "Don’t give me that look. Just need to give you a bit of a push, a history lesson."
The frigid stare was maintained as Genkaku lowered himself to eye-level -- and Nagi struggled to keep quiet, restraining his anger the same way that the ropes kept him in his chair, digging into his skin with each desperate attempt to free himself. Furious words very nearly came spilling out despite his best attempts, and it was only the constant throb of agony in his body that enabled him to keep silent, even as the half-lidded gaze traveled over his body. (Stop it, stop it, what do you want, leave me alone --)
And he couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp, when the narrow finger pressed against the bandages around his legs, digging into the bullet wound that had just started to heal. Immediately, the bandages began to stain red, a dark, mottled color that blossomed slowly outward -- and Nagi choked on a lungful of air, limbs shaken by the smallest tremors.
"Shut up --" Words spat out the moment the grip on him released, breathing degenerating into a hoarse panting. (The weak traces of forgotten memories tugging at the back of his mind, just barely there. He ignored them, or at least tried to.) "The same lie. I don't know what you're talking about --" A low noise that was almost a snarl, teeth gritted, limbs tensed. Dripping with a deep hatred. "You won't accomplish anything with your meaningless violence."
The thumb that recently pressed down on wet new-healing flesh placed itself against Genkaku’s lips. The aroma of death and blood; it stuck to him, the metallic taste and scent was divine and intoxicating. It was the same as a god feeding a vicious animal. It was all too good right now, at this moment, with Nagi slumped on the chair and ropes digging into his skin. But he backed away, a deep laughter left his mouth at the denial and delusional that turned vocal and filled with artificial melodies. And Genkaku just anticipated what he was about to release.
"Heh, like you’d know." He said with a chipper tone and folded his arms against his chest. Posture was totally relaxed with a playfully violent expression that coiled his lips upwards. "Think you accomplished something with killing my man. Your head is screwed on wrong, though." He scoffed briefly with an arrogant snort.
"Alright, let me try something. Just promise me you won’t turn into a junkie." And he soon made his way over to a table and grabbed a already filled syringe. Who knew what was in it. however the effect would mess up Owl’s brain pretty bad. Hopefully bad enough for the former carnage of a deranged monster to flash before him. he turned and looked at Nagi, teeth biting down on the cigar. "Hey...do you remember your woman? When she was pregnant with your kid?"
It was Genkaku's unabashed cheerfulness that made this situation so much worse. The sharply curved smile, the glimmer of sadistic pleasure, the unbridled glee in the low laughs as his blood was lapped up -- Nagi felt the anger boil up hot and bitter at the back of his throat, very nearly choking him.
But it was a different sort of jolt that ran down his spine at the sight of the syringe glimmering in the dim light, filled with a clear liquid that he knew nothing of -- a cold shiver that wasn't anger. The way his breath stuttered, the air catching in his chest, his heartbeat every quickening into a machine-gun tattoo against his ribcage -- it was the tendrils of fear that coiled around his limbs, forcing him to struggle harder against the ropes that dug ever deeper into his skin.
"You're lying, stop it, stop it, do you think we ever had the chance?" Voice rising to a furious snarl with each word, as memories came trickling back, one by one. (I loved her, I loved her so dearly, but you took her from me, the one person I loved, we never had the opportunity, because of you-- ) "Stop it, stop, don't -- " Ignoring the way that his skin chafed and bled, he strained against the ropes, eying the syringe with a mixture of fear and hatred.
With the flick of the hypodermic instrument and an inhale of the cancer toxin, Genkaku made his way back to Nagi. His eyes gazed along the syringe in an observant manner to see if there weren’t any bubbles and he pushed down on it slightly so a re beads leaked from the tip to flow down to the edge of his fingers.
"Don’t worry Owl." He muttered as he leaned down to expose the soft of Nagi’s elbow. Lifting up sweat-drenched material to revel blue-purple veins that throbbed frantically. "She was put to good use --" The tip of the needle pricked the placid sweaty skin, digging so softly into the vein as though Genkaku wanted to hurt him. but no he didn’t; he wanted to be real careful. "-- Hey, you’re moving too much. Let me do this, wouldn’t want the needle to break off ya’know."
The liquid released itself from the glass medical instrument and let itself swim in Nagi’s veins. The needle was discarded carelessly onto the floor which emitted a cracking sound and Genkaku’s hand made its way to Nagi’s scalp, grabbing a handful of dark locks. "Think she was ‘bout six months pregnant...who knew." He snorted. "Wonder what she’d think if you forgot your own kid. Heh, monsters like us have better things to think of."
He couldn't help but stare in horror, unable to tear his eyes away as the needle of the syringe sunk into the track of a vein, glimmering bright, held in narrow fingers. And the plunger slid down the barrel, millimeter by millimeter, accompanied by drawled words and a too-sharp smile. (Stop it, stop these lies, you must be lying, you have to be, I can't have --)
"Shut up, shut up --" His voice, momentarily frozen in his throat, crackled back to life, and he snarled in unhindered fury, struggling desperately against the ropes that held him relentlessly against the chair. And already the burning cold chill of the unknown drug was starting to sear its way down his arm, tearing at his nerves, alternately numbing and amplifying the pain that pulsed through his limbs.
How long did he have before the drug took effect? How many seconds? Was it already in effect? (Was that why his heart was beating so fast, fast enough to force the breath out of his lungs, hammering against his chest?) Narrow fingers tangled themselves in his hair, and Nagi tried to jerk his head away, thoughts already reeling, pupils dilating, breath quickening. And faint residues of blocked-off memories beginning to flicker back into view. (No. No, no, no, he has to be lying, he has to, he has to --) "You're lying. Y-you have to be." Strange, how difficult it was to keep his words from fragmenting.
There was nothing but dangerous amusement that marked the monk’s features. It was nothing but beauty high in delirium that tried to break out of easy makeshift bonds and Genkaku could only let those slim fingers caress damp dark locks. Shit, it was like a moving vocal portrait and Genkaku just chuckled deeply as he once again crouch before the monster.
"Hey Owl..." Genkaku muttered once again in that chipper bright tone, "You really don’t remember, huh?" A soft sound of arrogant bemusement emerged from his raspy throat and he tilted his head with a slithering-smile. "What your brain has now isn’t really impressive, ya’know. You kinda disappointed me, but don’t worry, I’ll forgive you this one time."
Using the bullet-wounded thigh as leverage, the monk got himself up and went over to the couch where he placed his guitar (a shitty one, no ammo and shit, just some really simple piece of crap) and went his way back to Nagi. The strings of the instrument were out of tune and Genkaku tuned it, forcing the guitar to make a horrendous noise and he spoke as he did. "Hey, while we wait for that stuff to take hold, I’ll play ya a song."
Too many noises, too many sensations, too many colors too bright and too blinding -- somewhere in the back of his mind, past the flood of overmagnified triggers, he observed the paradox his body was plagued by. His chest burning, each ragged breath of air setting his lungs alight, while the feelings had faded from his extremities, his limbs already starting to shake with uncontrollable tremors. No, no, -- no, he knew, a drug would have to travel through his veins first before having an effect, it shouldn't be acting this quickly --
But maybe it didn't matter whether it was acting in full effect yet or not, because if it wasn't, then Genkaku was only exacerbating the procedure. The harsh grip against his wounded limb registered only as a brilliant blossom of pain, bright-red, blinding, and he choked back a groan, grinding his limbs against the ropes that held him there. The skin around his wrists had already torn, the ropes starting to stain a dirty red --
And then, and then, the deafening screech of the guitar assaulted him. (It was difficult not to scream, when the sudden burst of noise send a white-hot bolt of pain searing through his head.) "Stop, s-stop --" A choking gasp, breath catching in his throat, as Nagi stared up with wild eyes, shivering, shaking, still trying desperately to stave off the flashes of forgotten memories that threatened to blind him. "I -- I won't give in to you -- this won't --. You're lying, this can't go on, this is meaningless --"
The pleading and begging were drowned out by the few strings and easy-made short melody that the guitar emitted and echoed a disgusting sound within the enclosed room. Genkaku’s smug smile only twitched when he watched the motions of Nagi’s mouth, even though he couldn’t hear the elder’s words the silent vocals were loud enough for the monk to guess what he was saying.
"You keep saying that." He said as he strummed the last lingering note and settled down the guitar to let strong fingers grasp around Nagi’s jaw bone and giving him a hard yank. "It is really cute when your head is filled with delusions." A chuckle rolled off his tongue and he brought himself closer, the scent of his mouth, fucking raw smoke, breathed against Nagi’s bruised mouth. "You’re too damn weak, ya’know. You just need to run with it, the carnage, the way you were so damn vicious."
A rough shove back and Genkaku ran a hand through his hair, his smile widened to show hungry teeth and then he lazily crossed his arms against his chest. "You need to push it away. The delusion, how damn polite you try to be. Let the crazy devour it, it’s useless now. You were the twisted fucker, you deserve way more then what you got now."
It was, perhaps, the smallest consolation, the way the howling of the guitar drowned out all other noise -- that way, at least Genkaku could derive no pleasure from the tiny whimpers he choked back, coughing, retching, nausea wrenching deep at his gut as he stiffened in his restraints, wishing dearly that this torment would end.
The sweat-slick skin around his mouth was tinted red with blood from where he'd bitten his lip to keep his voice down, and Nagi resisted weakly as narrow fingers wrapped around his jawline -- the bitter aftertaste of smoke burning against his throat. And he felt sick, deeply sick, slumping back into the chair, limp against the ropes, when Genkaku shoved him back -- the simple act of catching his breath was taxing enough.
The only upside of such a drastic administration of drugs was that the peak of torment was fairly short -- already, the splitting pain ratcheting through his thoughts was starting to numb, the throbbing in his veins slowing down the slightest, the desperate energy in his limbs draining out -- gaze hollow and unfocused. But still, but still -- he couldn't give up. A fit of coughing that wracked his frame, before Nagi looked up -- eyes still glazed with the lingering effects of the injection, but voice infused with the faint traces of a feral anger. "-- stop projecting yourself on me."
And it was a blatant paradox, in a way, because the underlying hatred in his voice was of the coldest, purest sort -- the loathing that only a 'monster' could feel. "You -- you're still lying. It's -- not going to work. -- I've done nothing to warrant your calling me such a term." And one of the coils of rope started to break, the mass of tiny fibers strained too hard by his constant struggling -- the sticky wetness of all the blood from the rope cuts had probably also helped.
The only thing that emerged from the monk’s throat was deep dark laughter as he made his way back to the small table that was littered with mind-fuck and toxic-juices. Everything Nagi said went in one ear and out the other like an all-too-much recording that he was once addicted too. Briefly he tossed his head back to Nagi and gave him that bright dangerous smile that seemed permanent.
"Owl...damn." He muttered as fingers took hold of a syringe and a packet of H-powder, it was a bitch to do the whole method really, but at least he could talk while putting the delirum material to the heat and wait for it to bubble. "Let me tell you something." Syringe maneuvered between his knuckles and the spoon turned to a charring black. "Wanna know why you don’t remember, yeah? I’ll tell you."
The end of the syringe sucked up the liquefied heroin and he made his way back to Nagi. He crotched down and inserted the needle into the same spot at before, eyes intensely focused as a bead of crimson leaked from the miniature hole. "You know what kinda guy you are? You want to seek that self-redemption crap. But you wanna know something? It doesn’t want you, so why the hell do you want it?" He removed the needle and set the barrel of the syringe between his teeth, giving the soft of Nagi’s injected skin a gentle slap.
"I’m serious. You really don’t want that. Wanna know what’s better?" He murmured between clenched teeth and stood up, removing the glass barrel from his mouth and grinned violently. "Heh, you’re a monster, Owl. You’re a cruel bastard...ripping my men in half." A chuckle rolled off the tip of his tongue. "Just can’t take advantage of it, you’re worst then me, and that’s a compliment. You don't wanna end up like dog-food like your kid, ya'know."
No -- no, no, not again, no, stop -- even past the haze of drugs, the spots of technicolor static that decorated his wavering vision, he could see past Genkaku's shoulder what he was doing. Another dose -- and no doubt this process would loop and continue, over and on, until he cracked or until he died. (Or perhaps that second option was too optimistic -- Genkaku might be cautious enough to keep him alive.) Escaping was the only viable way to spare himself this torture, and he threw himself against the ropes, silently begging, pleading that they give way. And very nearly, he came terribly close, the one strand of rope nearing its threshold --
but it all meant nothing, when the fingers dug into the skin of his arm, holding him still as the syringe was plunged in once more. Again, the flood of ice to his veins, followed closely by the burst of heat that purged his lungs of all air, the jolt of white-hot sensation that seared through his mind. (Like being torn apart, inside out.) He tried to speak, tried to articulate, but with the way his breathing had deteriorated into choking pants, lips wet with saliva -- a strangled whimper was the best he could manage.
And already, the effects had clawed their way up to his head, accompanied by the near-gentle croon of Genkaku's words -- and a slideshow of images that he knew shouldn't exist. (A room full of coprses, desecrated, destroyed. His own hands, dripping with blood and fouler things, entangled in a coil of viscera. Crushed organs beneath his feet as he tore into a guard, the severed neck gushing with blood. And one last image, at the back of his mind -- his wife, the Carnival Corpse ring, so scared, so frightened, hands clasped protectively around her stomach.) "Y-you're lying." Words barely coherent, forced out one by one, ending in a wet cough, gagging. Nagi shivered, eyes cast downward, still seeing these too-bright images that he knew had to be fake, had to be hallucinations. (But then why did they seem so real?) "I -- wouldn't have forgotten s-something like this. You must be lying, you -- have to be. I never -- would have --" (All too obvious that doubt had started to eat away at his mind. Because, because, what if it was real? What then?)
Even though Genkaku noticed the ropes starting to break and untangle, he was too draped in his confidence and smugness to do shit about it. What the fuck could Nagi do if the sanity was still circulating that thin line that wouldn’t release the monster? He snorted and dragged a lone chair in front of Nagi and sat down, all too close. The proximity closed as his knees touched the wounded once and he leaned back with the exterior of total bliss as the cigar emitted smoke to the ceiling.
"Heh, give it up Nagi." He said as he reached an arm to the back of his chair in a lax motion, "I saw you with my own eyes, it was hardcore raw porn." He laughed deeply, "I was there, hiding and freaking out. Drowning in my own piss...shit, haha, it was kinda embarrassing."
Strong fingers took a hold of the cigar as the monk drew it from between his nicotine-stained lips and he leaned forward, wavering the occupied hand as though it was a hypnotizing motion. "You know what they call this? Child’s play. You ripped those men in half - my men, and your bitch died. You want to think of it as revenge, but it’s not, you got off on it." He grinned with hungry teeth and leaned closer, his elbows folded over his knees.
It was a pity, really -- all it would have taken was one more good tug, and the rope would have split, untangled with a few well-placed jerks, freeing him -- but this was an irrelevant fact at the moment, because for Nagi, even the simple act of breathing was proving to be difficult. Arrhythmic heartbeat ringing in his ears, vision fragmenting into colorful shards before drip-blurring together again, limbs awash with a static-stained numbness that kept him from moving. He felt nausea sitting heavily at the back of his throat, wanted to vomit, but couldn't -- could only choke on every hard lungful of air that he strained to breathe in.
"N-no, stop -- stop lying --" It was the same insistence, the same refusal, but with increasingly weaker conviction -- because it was futile, really, trying to argue against the images flashing by his eyes, too bright and too real. "I refuse to believe you --" (A room, decorated with viscera. His wife, dead on the ground, stomach torn to shreds. A rack of glass towers, each containing a portion of flesh, an organ, an eyeball, surrounded by wisps of smoke. And in one -- )
He retched, panting, unable to swallow, spitting out words with desperation. "You killed her -- and my child -- you --" The memories were flooding back now, and he shrank back into the chair, the glare he directed at Genkaku hollow and glazed, chest heaving with each shallow gasp. "That's why I -- I killed those men --"
The words that just poured out of Nagi’s mouth just made the monk’s mouth twitch into a wide smirk. It was like watching the evolving of some piece of art that was starting to find itself and he inhaled on the toxin stick deeply, letting the smoke emerge from his mouth in rings along with a faint hint of laughter that rolled off his tongue. Genkaku’s hands went to the other’s face and he caressed it roughly, tucking dark locks behind his victim’s ear and murmuring with a chipper tone.
"Heh...hey Owl." He muttered as he pulled back once again, sliding into the chair so the proximity of their legs closed. "I like you better when you’re like this. You liked it, when you killed them, the paradise of carnage." His head tilted back so he could see the ceiling and he let out a faint sound of bliss at the transformation. "Stop lying to yourself bro."
With the faint glance of his violet hues, the monk looked at the bounds that were slowly falling apart and he leaned over to tighten them once again. Shit, he didn’t want Nagi’s inner-self to be released. "Ya’know Owl. We could make a pretty good team."
The slide of narrow fingers across his skin, brushing past his temples and toying with tangles of hair, almost playful, almost intimate -- it was a gesture that made him feel even sicker, though it was difficult to tell whether the reaction was due to the gesture alone or because or due to the peak of the drug's effects. Choking back his voice, he made to jerk his head away (don't touch me), but found that he couldn't, muscles still locked in sensory overload, nerves alight with overblown sensations.
And memories that had somehow been forgotten -- locked away out of sight, but forced back before him, played over and again in bright technicolor -- at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to go blind, to halt the endless replay of images in his mind. (I remember now. She was killed, and the reason I couldn't attack her, even fakely, in the Carnival Corpse -- because of our child.)
The sudden tightening of the ropes around his chest purged the air out of his lungs, and he coughed, gagging, lips wet with saliva. "N-no -- I still can't --" (It was only a mantra by now. No truth behind it. Because if these memories proved anything, it was that he was capable of endless violence, perhaps even more than Genkaku. But still, but still.) "Never -- with you. Not -- no." Words barely louder than a cracked whisper by now, a vocal reflection of the way that all light had faded from his mind.
A hand maneuvered over to one of Nagi’s knees and he gave it a firm squeeze, thumb pressing at one of the recent wounds and the way his face was marked with affection as he did so was sickening. A deep inhale before a soft eruption of chuckle left his mouth and the monk drew out the tip of his tongue to graze along his lips before standing up.
"Owl, your body looks good." He murmured. “Real good, no wonder you got all the chicks after you." And with a head tilt, he directed his line of vision to the amputated stump. "But ya’know...did a pretty shitty job with your arm the first time." Really, it was. It was fucking disgusting, the stump and flesh were so uneven, like giving a five year old a piece of meat and a pair of scissors. Genkaku ran a hand through his hair and gave a half-grin, "Don’t give me that look. Just need to give you a bit of a push, a history lesson."
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And he couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp, when the narrow finger pressed against the bandages around his legs, digging into the bullet wound that had just started to heal. Immediately, the bandages began to stain red, a dark, mottled color that blossomed slowly outward -- and Nagi choked on a lungful of air, limbs shaken by the smallest tremors.
"Shut up --" Words spat out the moment the grip on him released, breathing degenerating into a hoarse panting. (The weak traces of forgotten memories tugging at the back of his mind, just barely there. He ignored them, or at least tried to.) "The same lie. I don't know what you're talking about --" A low noise that was almost a snarl, teeth gritted, limbs tensed. Dripping with a deep hatred. "You won't accomplish anything with your meaningless violence."
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"Heh, like you’d know." He said with a chipper tone and folded his arms against his chest. Posture was totally relaxed with a playfully violent expression that coiled his lips upwards. "Think you accomplished something with killing my man. Your head is screwed on wrong, though." He scoffed briefly with an arrogant snort.
"Alright, let me try something. Just promise me you won’t turn into a junkie." And he soon made his way over to a table and grabbed a already filled syringe. Who knew what was in it. however the effect would mess up Owl’s brain pretty bad. Hopefully bad enough for the former carnage of a deranged monster to flash before him. he turned and looked at Nagi, teeth biting down on the cigar. "Hey...do you remember your woman? When she was pregnant with your kid?"
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But it was a different sort of jolt that ran down his spine at the sight of the syringe glimmering in the dim light, filled with a clear liquid that he knew nothing of -- a cold shiver that wasn't anger. The way his breath stuttered, the air catching in his chest, his heartbeat every quickening into a machine-gun tattoo against his ribcage -- it was the tendrils of fear that coiled around his limbs, forcing him to struggle harder against the ropes that dug ever deeper into his skin.
"You're lying, stop it, stop it, do you think we ever had the chance?" Voice rising to a furious snarl with each word, as memories came trickling back, one by one. (I loved her, I loved her so dearly, but you took her from me, the one person I loved, we never had the opportunity, because of you-- ) "Stop it, stop, don't -- " Ignoring the way that his skin chafed and bled, he strained against the ropes, eying the syringe with a mixture of fear and hatred.
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"Don’t worry Owl." He muttered as he leaned down to expose the soft of Nagi’s elbow. Lifting up sweat-drenched material to revel blue-purple veins that throbbed frantically. "She was put to good use --" The tip of the needle pricked the placid sweaty skin, digging so softly into the vein as though Genkaku wanted to hurt him. but no he didn’t; he wanted to be real careful. "-- Hey, you’re moving too much. Let me do this, wouldn’t want the needle to break off ya’know."
The liquid released itself from the glass medical instrument and let itself swim in Nagi’s veins. The needle was discarded carelessly onto the floor which emitted a cracking sound and Genkaku’s hand made its way to Nagi’s scalp, grabbing a handful of dark locks. "Think she was ‘bout six months pregnant...who knew." He snorted. "Wonder what she’d think if you forgot your own kid. Heh, monsters like us have better things to think of."
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"Shut up, shut up --" His voice, momentarily frozen in his throat, crackled back to life, and he snarled in unhindered fury, struggling desperately against the ropes that held him relentlessly against the chair. And already the burning cold chill of the unknown drug was starting to sear its way down his arm, tearing at his nerves, alternately numbing and amplifying the pain that pulsed through his limbs.
How long did he have before the drug took effect? How many seconds? Was it already in effect? (Was that why his heart was beating so fast, fast enough to force the breath out of his lungs, hammering against his chest?) Narrow fingers tangled themselves in his hair, and Nagi tried to jerk his head away, thoughts already reeling, pupils dilating, breath quickening. And faint residues of blocked-off memories beginning to flicker back into view. (No. No, no, no, he has to be lying, he has to, he has to --) "You're lying. Y-you have to be." Strange, how difficult it was to keep his words from fragmenting.
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"Hey Owl..." Genkaku muttered once again in that chipper bright tone, "You really don’t remember, huh?" A soft sound of arrogant bemusement emerged from his raspy throat and he tilted his head with a slithering-smile. "What your brain has now isn’t really impressive, ya’know. You kinda disappointed me, but don’t worry, I’ll forgive you this one time."
Using the bullet-wounded thigh as leverage, the monk got himself up and went over to the couch where he placed his guitar (a shitty one, no ammo and shit, just some really simple piece of crap) and went his way back to Nagi. The strings of the instrument were out of tune and Genkaku tuned it, forcing the guitar to make a horrendous noise and he spoke as he did. "Hey, while we wait for that stuff to take hold, I’ll play ya a song."
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But maybe it didn't matter whether it was acting in full effect yet or not, because if it wasn't, then Genkaku was only exacerbating the procedure. The harsh grip against his wounded limb registered only as a brilliant blossom of pain, bright-red, blinding, and he choked back a groan, grinding his limbs against the ropes that held him there. The skin around his wrists had already torn, the ropes starting to stain a dirty red --
And then, and then, the deafening screech of the guitar assaulted him. (It was difficult not to scream, when the sudden burst of noise send a white-hot bolt of pain searing through his head.) "Stop, s-stop --" A choking gasp, breath catching in his throat, as Nagi stared up with wild eyes, shivering, shaking, still trying desperately to stave off the flashes of forgotten memories that threatened to blind him. "I -- I won't give in to you -- this won't --. You're lying, this can't go on, this is meaningless --"
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"You keep saying that." He said as he strummed the last lingering note and settled down the guitar to let strong fingers grasp around Nagi’s jaw bone and giving him a hard yank. "It is really cute when your head is filled with delusions." A chuckle rolled off his tongue and he brought himself closer, the scent of his mouth, fucking raw smoke, breathed against Nagi’s bruised mouth. "You’re too damn weak, ya’know. You just need to run with it, the carnage, the way you were so damn vicious."
A rough shove back and Genkaku ran a hand through his hair, his smile widened to show hungry teeth and then he lazily crossed his arms against his chest. "You need to push it away. The delusion, how damn polite you try to be. Let the crazy devour it, it’s useless now. You were the twisted fucker, you deserve way more then what you got now."
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The sweat-slick skin around his mouth was tinted red with blood from where he'd bitten his lip to keep his voice down, and Nagi resisted weakly as narrow fingers wrapped around his jawline -- the bitter aftertaste of smoke burning against his throat. And he felt sick, deeply sick, slumping back into the chair, limp against the ropes, when Genkaku shoved him back -- the simple act of catching his breath was taxing enough.
The only upside of such a drastic administration of drugs was that the peak of torment was fairly short -- already, the splitting pain ratcheting through his thoughts was starting to numb, the throbbing in his veins slowing down the slightest, the desperate energy in his limbs draining out -- gaze hollow and unfocused. But still, but still -- he couldn't give up. A fit of coughing that wracked his frame, before Nagi looked up -- eyes still glazed with the lingering effects of the injection, but voice infused with the faint traces of a feral anger. "-- stop projecting yourself on me."
And it was a blatant paradox, in a way, because the underlying hatred in his voice was of the coldest, purest sort -- the loathing that only a 'monster' could feel. "You -- you're still lying. It's -- not going to work. -- I've done nothing to warrant your calling me such a term." And one of the coils of rope started to break, the mass of tiny fibers strained too hard by his constant struggling -- the sticky wetness of all the blood from the rope cuts had probably also helped.
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"Owl...damn." He muttered as fingers took hold of a syringe and a packet of H-powder, it was a bitch to do the whole method really, but at least he could talk while putting the delirum material to the heat and wait for it to bubble. "Let me tell you something." Syringe maneuvered between his knuckles and the spoon turned to a charring black. "Wanna know why you don’t remember, yeah? I’ll tell you."
The end of the syringe sucked up the liquefied heroin and he made his way back to Nagi. He crotched down and inserted the needle into the same spot at before, eyes intensely focused as a bead of crimson leaked from the miniature hole. "You know what kinda guy you are? You want to seek that self-redemption crap. But you wanna know something? It doesn’t want you, so why the hell do you want it?" He removed the needle and set the barrel of the syringe between his teeth, giving the soft of Nagi’s injected skin a gentle slap.
"I’m serious. You really don’t want that. Wanna know what’s better?" He murmured between clenched teeth and stood up, removing the glass barrel from his mouth and grinned violently. "Heh, you’re a monster, Owl. You’re a cruel bastard...ripping my men in half." A chuckle rolled off the tip of his tongue. "Just can’t take advantage of it, you’re worst then me, and that’s a compliment. You don't wanna end up like dog-food like your kid, ya'know."
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but it all meant nothing, when the fingers dug into the skin of his arm, holding him still as the syringe was plunged in once more. Again, the flood of ice to his veins, followed closely by the burst of heat that purged his lungs of all air, the jolt of white-hot sensation that seared through his mind. (Like being torn apart, inside out.) He tried to speak, tried to articulate, but with the way his breathing had deteriorated into choking pants, lips wet with saliva -- a strangled whimper was the best he could manage.
And already, the effects had clawed their way up to his head, accompanied by the near-gentle croon of Genkaku's words -- and a slideshow of images that he knew shouldn't exist. (A room full of coprses, desecrated, destroyed. His own hands, dripping with blood and fouler things, entangled in a coil of viscera. Crushed organs beneath his feet as he tore into a guard, the severed neck gushing with blood. And one last image, at the back of his mind -- his wife, the Carnival Corpse ring, so scared, so frightened, hands clasped protectively around her stomach.) "Y-you're lying." Words barely coherent, forced out one by one, ending in a wet cough, gagging. Nagi shivered, eyes cast downward, still seeing these too-bright images that he knew had to be fake, had to be hallucinations. (But then why did they seem so real?) "I -- wouldn't have forgotten s-something like this. You must be lying, you -- have to be. I never -- would have --" (All too obvious that doubt had started to eat away at his mind. Because, because, what if it was real? What then?)
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"Heh, give it up Nagi." He said as he reached an arm to the back of his chair in a lax motion, "I saw you with my own eyes, it was hardcore raw porn." He laughed deeply, "I was there, hiding and freaking out. Drowning in my own piss...shit, haha, it was kinda embarrassing."
Strong fingers took a hold of the cigar as the monk drew it from between his nicotine-stained lips and he leaned forward, wavering the occupied hand as though it was a hypnotizing motion. "You know what they call this? Child’s play. You ripped those men in half - my men, and your bitch died. You want to think of it as revenge, but it’s not, you got off on it." He grinned with hungry teeth and leaned closer, his elbows folded over his knees.
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"N-no, stop -- stop lying --" It was the same insistence, the same refusal, but with increasingly weaker conviction -- because it was futile, really, trying to argue against the images flashing by his eyes, too bright and too real. "I refuse to believe you --" (A room, decorated with viscera. His wife, dead on the ground, stomach torn to shreds. A rack of glass towers, each containing a portion of flesh, an organ, an eyeball, surrounded by wisps of smoke. And in one -- )
He retched, panting, unable to swallow, spitting out words with desperation. "You killed her -- and my child -- you --" The memories were flooding back now, and he shrank back into the chair, the glare he directed at Genkaku hollow and glazed, chest heaving with each shallow gasp. "That's why I -- I killed those men --"
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"Heh...hey Owl." He muttered as he pulled back once again, sliding into the chair so the proximity of their legs closed. "I like you better when you’re like this. You liked it, when you killed them, the paradise of carnage." His head tilted back so he could see the ceiling and he let out a faint sound of bliss at the transformation. "Stop lying to yourself bro."
With the faint glance of his violet hues, the monk looked at the bounds that were slowly falling apart and he leaned over to tighten them once again. Shit, he didn’t want Nagi’s inner-self to be released. "Ya’know Owl. We could make a pretty good team."
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And memories that had somehow been forgotten -- locked away out of sight, but forced back before him, played over and again in bright technicolor -- at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to go blind, to halt the endless replay of images in his mind. (I remember now. She was killed, and the reason I couldn't attack her, even fakely, in the Carnival Corpse -- because of our child.)
The sudden tightening of the ropes around his chest purged the air out of his lungs, and he coughed, gagging, lips wet with saliva. "N-no -- I still can't --" (It was only a mantra by now. No truth behind it. Because if these memories proved anything, it was that he was capable of endless violence, perhaps even more than Genkaku. But still, but still.) "Never -- with you. Not -- no." Words barely louder than a cracked whisper by now, a vocal reflection of the way that all light had faded from his mind.
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