Get Psycho [ In-Progress]
WHO: Freeman, Jinx; Later, Urahara and possibly Jushirou
WHAT: Kitten takes the bait
WHERE: Warehouse #1171, the warehouse district
WHEN: Sunday, December 21st, nightfall
WARNINGS: Extreme violence and gore
There was little sound in the hollowed-out warehouse. A bitterly cold wind stirred up dust as it snuck in through broken windows, creating a faint whistling sound, but beyond that, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick hiss of silence, broken irregularly by a single rasping breath.
Freeman had already checked on Jushirou; the older man was still unconscious, hidden away in one of the offices in the warehouse. Every night since he'd made his actions known, Freeman had gone through the same routine - check on his bait, make sure he was fed and hydrated, then the remaining hours were spent waiting. He lounged on a low-hanging ledge, not visible from the main door, but where he could easily see anyone who came in. He danced a single razor blade between his fingers, playing with it like most people would play with a pencil absent-mindedly. Every time the edge ran against his fingertips, threatening to split the skin, his lips twitched with a smile. His body was quite relaxed-looking, despite the skintight and revealing clothes he wore, and the weather of the season. Freeman never seemed to mind the cold, even when it seemed like he was more likely to die from hypothermia than police gunfire. He always moved with the same strange gait and supernatural fluidity, like a corpse who had never succumbed to rigor mortis.
His languid posture revealed little about his thoughts; he knew death awaited the night. His death? Maybe. Jinx's death? Perhaps. The old man's? Probably not, but it may be necessary. Either way, someone would see the other side very soon. Someone would understand the meaning of life in its finality.
The thought made him smile again.
WHAT: Kitten takes the bait
WHERE: Warehouse #1171, the warehouse district
WHEN: Sunday, December 21st, nightfall
WARNINGS: Extreme violence and gore
There was little sound in the hollowed-out warehouse. A bitterly cold wind stirred up dust as it snuck in through broken windows, creating a faint whistling sound, but beyond that, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick hiss of silence, broken irregularly by a single rasping breath.
Freeman had already checked on Jushirou; the older man was still unconscious, hidden away in one of the offices in the warehouse. Every night since he'd made his actions known, Freeman had gone through the same routine - check on his bait, make sure he was fed and hydrated, then the remaining hours were spent waiting. He lounged on a low-hanging ledge, not visible from the main door, but where he could easily see anyone who came in. He danced a single razor blade between his fingers, playing with it like most people would play with a pencil absent-mindedly. Every time the edge ran against his fingertips, threatening to split the skin, his lips twitched with a smile. His body was quite relaxed-looking, despite the skintight and revealing clothes he wore, and the weather of the season. Freeman never seemed to mind the cold, even when it seemed like he was more likely to die from hypothermia than police gunfire. He always moved with the same strange gait and supernatural fluidity, like a corpse who had never succumbed to rigor mortis.
His languid posture revealed little about his thoughts; he knew death awaited the night. His death? Maybe. Jinx's death? Perhaps. The old man's? Probably not, but it may be necessary. Either way, someone would see the other side very soon. Someone would understand the meaning of life in its finality.
The thought made him smile again.