[THREAD] HEAVEN for the weather, HELL for the company

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Who: Kengamine Nagi [ striginae ] & OPEN
Where: Elysium ; junction between residential and shopping districts
When: Mid-evening
Summary: The world's not quite fair, is it? Not fair for anyone -- not for Owl, broken, beaten, insane -- and not fair for you, either, any of you in his way.
Rating: R for violence
Other: Nagi is generally going through the

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[cruxanathema]

There could have been fuckloads of reasons why Mello was all in the crowd of the higher-ups. Lawyer drug-dealers always send the best stuff and it was safer then going in Abyss, of course the blonde had no objections to actually go down there, but when a riot that was in Terra considered mostly of those in Abyss he didn’t want to see how the shithole was doing down below. There was a constant burn of chemical-fire in his veins as he wandered along the streets; and then people started to scream, and then limbs were all dismembered, and then blue optics flickered to see Nagi in an Owl mask.

This was already too much for the junkie and his lips quirked upwards, twitching almost violently in his state. His head swum with visions of scarlet and crimson and flesh and he laughed so disgustingly to himself. Because really, he thought that this was nothing but a bad trip. It was a fucking sideshow and Mello just watched blurs of color and skin hearing the horrid melody of animal techno scream.

There was no realization to what he saw, instead a soft click of his gun being released from his hoister fell into his hand and he aimed it. not at Nagi, but at one of them who was running, screaming shit about monsters and mutants and all that good bloody and gory shit. The blonde smirked half-drugged to himself and the trigger was pressed to have a kneecap exploded. This was not for his own amusement; the action was for attention from the vicious psycho that bathed in blood.

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Another gunshot, from behind, and Nagi froze in place for a moment. (Always firearms. It only made sense, perhaps, that people would cling to the only method of defense they knew -- fight for their survival using means that were unnatural. For what purpose?) But the scream that followed shortly after broke through his thoughts -- an indicator that the gunshot had not been aimed at him, but at another.

And so he turned to face the newcomer, brows furrowed in scrutiny behind the mask. Immediately catching sight of this person who seemed all too familiar. (Mello. What are you doing here?) But there was no sigh of recognition in the way he squared his shoulders to face the other, head canted back, tangles of hair damp with sweat and blood falling before the translucent lenses of his mask. Standing there, surrounded by a sea of torn-up bodies, dismembered limps, ruptured organs, he looked perfectly like the part of a madman. No trace left of who he used to be.

But there was no further movement. No advancement. Waiting, perhaps, as the intense gaze he had fixed on Mello never wavered, except. Except. A low, rasping laugh that escaped bleeding lips and a dry throat, just barely audible. "Mello." Still, the stare remained fixed. "... what do you want?"

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Wounded freak-shows and the unwilling dismembered nudged against the blonde violently and the only reaction Mello could give in return was a drag-induced swagger. A hand ran through damp sweat-decked bangs and he tucked them lazily behind his ear, his whole anatomy wavers with the drugs that were injected into his bloodstream and his own common sense was tagging on the back of his skull, telling him to fuck off, but Mello rebelled against it and only took a few steps forward with a shrug and gun in hand.

"Right place at the right time." He slurred. Mello was no hero; he wasn’t going to save all these people who slipped on ropes of innards and entrails like unintelligent dickheads. He chuckled at the sight, and laughed at the fact that it was Nagi that conjured that fear, simply because it was Nagi. And that violence, in his delirium state, provoked the blonde to taunt.

"So what now?" Came the blonde’s inquiry. "Going to blow me to hell? Fuck, I probably even deserve it." With each word came another step towards Nagi, and when he was in danger’s clutches, Mello rolled his head as the corner of his lip twitched. Too fucking proud to believe anything could happen.

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No reaction, at first, and Nagi seemed to take in the drawled challenge impassively, expression blank past the mask. But beneath that cold facade, his thoughts roiled, clashing, tearing at each other. (Kill him, kill him, what appreciation does he have for life? But somewhere, deep at the back of his mind, beneath the bitter hatred, there was the faintest trace of hesitation. One that was too-quickly overwhelmed by the rage that ran rampant through his system.)

The gurgling moan of a half-dead man at his feet was what snapped him out of these warring thoughts -- it was a pitiful noise, thick with blood and bile, and he was quick to put it out of its misery with a well-placed stamp to the skull. Instantly crushing bone, allowing brain matter to spill onto the streets.

Then, a step forward, shoulders squared -- head craned forward and eyes fixed in an intense glare at the figure before him. Mouth opening for a moment, as if to speak -- but then shut once more. (There was no point.) And the same moment, a barrage of brilliant orbs screamed through the air, flying directly at Mello's torso.

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There was something disgustingly appealing about the skull that crashed open underneath Nagi’s foot; leaking matter and fluids and foul bitterness oozed onto the street. And blue optics swiveled to watch, totally engrossed by it, and the fact it was Nagi that was doing it. The total degeneration of his psych, the once polite school teacher that Mello could feel any sort of mercy for, was now an impulsive monstrous bag of hatred.

Mello’s lips turned downwards into a snarl as orbs of blood flew directly at him, and here Mello thought he was different, but tough shit. He moved swiftly to avoid the bombs, resulting in his whole anatomy being covered in blood and headed to his once-friend. Leather-decked fingers coiled around the other’s blood-drenched shirt forcefully tugging the other.

A sneer emitted from Mello’s lips and he drew his free arm back to deliver a hash blow to Nagi’s jaw.

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True, that there was very little to nothing left of the man that Nagi once was -- no trace left of the soft compassion, the polite kindness, the endless hope. But there still were traces left of the sharp logic and cold rational thought that he'd once depended on to survive. The observation: Mello had fairly good reflexes. Obviously someone used to combat. Mercy was not a viable option. (Not that it had ever been.)

But the sudden grasp of fingers at his shirt snapped him back into his deepset rage -- shattered only for a moment by the crushing blow to the jaw. Instantly, he tasted blood, sharp and thick, unlike the constant smell of it in the air that he'd grown accustomed to.

And it was pure animal instinct, driven by anger, more than anything, that drove him to move the next instant. Hand shooting up to grab at Mello's arm -- still outstretched in the follow-through of the punch -- and give it a hard wrench downwards. Instantly shattering the bone.

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A splatter of blood decorated he blood’s face as knuckled collided with the other’s jaw and he felt overwhelmed by Nagi’s reaction. His whole body was sluggish and he swayed backwards slightly in his state of delirium that the fingers that wrapped around his own arm weren’t acknowledged until he felt the shattering of bone and fragments giving off an ear-wrenching crunch.

The sound that left Mello’s mouth was a deep painful grunt; the hand that was wrapped around material went to his broken arm. "Shit...you didn’t tell me you were this good." He muttered lowly and deeply, the words hardly audible and he himself didn’t even think he said them, but his mouth was moving.

"You’re a great role model, do you know that?" When he finally clicked back into realization, half-lidded eyes gazed along a bloody visage and his lips quirked upwards into his own feral grin. Fingers entwined with dark damp locked, he gave a forceful pull back and jerked his leg up to knee Nagi in the abdomen.

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The blow to the gut knocked the breath out of him for sure, and Nagi couldn't help but double up for a moment, a desperate gasp leaving his throat in a weak attempt to breathe. But the pain hardly registered -- not when pain was the only thing he'd been subjected for so long. (Just another blow. I've endured worse already. Mello, you're the same as everyone else. Why are you alive? Why you, and not them? Could you tell me that?)

Before his lungs could even draw in any air, he was clutching at Mello's shattered arm, fingers digging deep into skin, hard enough to break through skin -- and for a brief moment, blood coiled about his fingers, spiking brilliantly through the air. And he gave a hoarse laugh, breathless and barely audible. "... you're not as special as you think."

And the next instant, the tiny bubbles of blood he'd pressed against the shattered arm exploded -- tearing effortlessly through muscle, tendons, nerves, skin. The splatter of red on the ground, followed by the dull thump of the limb hitting the pavement. And Nagi dealt the other a sharp kick to the side, pushing him away. (Don't come near me again.)

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There was no intentional movement as fingers once again coiled around his shattered arm, and the blonde started to pull back in vain which could only increase the bubbling of blood that seeped through the penetrated marks that brushed muscle and flesh formed large deep crimson droplets on the blood-flooded ground.

A hoarse scream forced a tremor throughout his body and emerged from his mouth; teeth clamped down hard enough for molars to crack and dead gums to bleed. A thump on the ground and blue hues widen to see it was his own arm. The pain was fucking agonizing. He fell on his knee, good hand clutching at the dismembered one and he felt vile rising up his throat and thick liquid of vomit mingled with the blood.

"...f-fuck." He muttered with a wince and he stood up. eyes obscured by damp blood-stained blonde locks and his whole anatomy wavered, this - this was nothing but absolute pain, and then a string of deep dark macabre chuckles formed from vomit-coated lips. "You bastard..." His arm threw itself around Nagi’s neck and Mello closed the proximity into a harsh embrace and muttered with a raspy tone. "If I’m going down I’m fucking taking you with me."

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This entire performance, this display of pain and suffering, Nagi watched with eyes that were dead behind the mask, expression an unreadable blank. Because, this was what was meant to be, wasn't it? Tear apart people who have no right to live, because there was no reason that they should be spared the terrible fate that had befallen the people he'd loved.

But still, but still -- he couldn't help but watch, immobile, as the other drew near. Even though he knew what he should do. (Grasp his neck. Break his spine. Tear his eyes out of his skull.) Hoarse breaths, a shiver, a shake -- and he tensed his limbs, ready to destroy this figure before him.

Strange, how the breath caught in his lungs, at this weakening gesture, almost an embrace. A flinch, a shudder -- and the hand that had tensed into a claw-grip clenched to a fist. (-- I can't go back. Not any more.) A choked snarl, and he pushed Mello away, hand going to clutch at his hair, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. "-- don't come any closer." Shoulders shaking with each shuddering gasp. "Please -- don't come any closer."

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When he was shoved hand, the gloved-hand of his non-dismembered arm coiled around the wet material of Nagi’s attire, it was tight and he once again found himself sinking down on the ground. There was too much blood that was his own and he felt weak, he loosened himself, and lost anymore will to just keep himself up. Fuck, he was weak right now, a fucking wreak.

His body leaned towards Nagi once again to balance himself. It was a pathetic motion and weak as shit, totally leaving himself to being vulnerable and blood left his mouth, a cough of shock to imprint on Nagi’s already blood-drenched shirt.

"You’re so fucked up." He mumbled incoherently before letting his body collapse on the other.

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The tight clutch of fingers at his clothes, pulling taut, and the feel of a bony figure drawing close -- weak, stumbling, rapidly losing balance. Nagi could only stare with eyes wide behind the lenses of the mask, thoughts a storm of emotions that he couldn't handle. (He deserves to die, just like all the others, but why can I bring myself to tear his throat out?)

That last incoherent mutter of words was very nearly lost, and would have gone unnoticed if Nagi hadn't felt a momentary flash of clarity -- instinctively catching the other before he fell to the ground. ( -- what am I doing.) But just as quickly, that coherence faded, and he let the other drop to the ground -- himself falling to his knees for a moment. Tired. So very exhausted, for reasons he couldn't comprehend. (I did nothing wrong. This is the only way that's fair -- for all living people to be subjected to the same merciless world. I've done nothing wrong.)

A long moment of silence, before he rose, all emotion drained out of his eyes, leaving only a hollow hatred once more. The sound of movement and voices, down the street, and this was the signal for him to move on. Deal his punishment to whoever else was waiting.

Leaving an unconscious figure on the pavement.