keep drifting and never look back
Who: Hibari Kyouya and Rokudou Mukuro
When: right after this thread
Where: the very tippy-top of the CT
Rating: PG-13 at most!
Warnings: hurr hurr.
Summary: Mukuro goes to get pummeled by Hibari. For information, that is. Throwing fists is optional. & PS: GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN THE KHR!205 PROMO PIC? ;~; /shot
If anyone had asked Hibari what he was doing, the completely truthful answer (that he never would give would be): being stupid.
His feet were balanced on the edge of the Clock Tower, almost as if testing just how far he could lean before he slipped and tumbled to the ground, seemingly so far away from his elevated position. There was no wind to push insistently at his heels, no unsteadiness where his shoes were firmly planted half-on and half-over the extreme edge, a constant silence behind his back that pushed him to count the slow seconds that ticked by in which he remained within a millimeter of his fall and another second away from the other's appearance. His gaze strayed unconcernedly from the forest to the houses that looked so small, and then back to the forest that he frequented far too often.
The strongest, he murmured absently to himself. He was the strongest.
He was the strongest, but Mukuro had always been too wily and cunning. Hibari Kyouya was all directly sharp edges and fast movements to deliver staggering, bone-crushing blows -- Rokudou Mukuro was tricks and illusions and playful words paired with strength hidden under deception.
So he stepped down and away from the edge, slowly turning to face where he knew Mukuro appear with a smile on his lips, the same kufufufu and spinning trident. His fists were loosely clenched in his pockets where no one could see them, but tension was tension and he didn't need to leave his hands there when the atmosphere already reflected his manner. This was business. He wouldn't strike because he was digging and searching for information, because this was business and he, in fact, was capable of dealing with the Mist Guardian with the typical coldness he held. That, however, didn't mean he arrived unarmed; he could feel the usual weight of his tonfas where he snap them to his ready hands, uncollapse the both, and lunge, all a swift movement.
Somewhere in his mind, he vaguely wondered for the briefest second if Sawada Tsunayoshi was still alive.
He watched in cool silence as the other entered.
When: right after this thread
Where: the very tippy-top of the CT
Rating: PG-13 at most!
Warnings: hurr hurr.
Summary: Mukuro goes to get pummeled by Hibari. For information, that is. Throwing fists is optional. & PS: GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN THE KHR!205 PROMO PIC? ;~; /shot
If anyone had asked Hibari what he was doing, the completely truthful answer (that he never would give would be): being stupid.
His feet were balanced on the edge of the Clock Tower, almost as if testing just how far he could lean before he slipped and tumbled to the ground, seemingly so far away from his elevated position. There was no wind to push insistently at his heels, no unsteadiness where his shoes were firmly planted half-on and half-over the extreme edge, a constant silence behind his back that pushed him to count the slow seconds that ticked by in which he remained within a millimeter of his fall and another second away from the other's appearance. His gaze strayed unconcernedly from the forest to the houses that looked so small, and then back to the forest that he frequented far too often.
The strongest, he murmured absently to himself. He was the strongest.
He was the strongest, but Mukuro had always been too wily and cunning. Hibari Kyouya was all directly sharp edges and fast movements to deliver staggering, bone-crushing blows -- Rokudou Mukuro was tricks and illusions and playful words paired with strength hidden under deception.
So he stepped down and away from the edge, slowly turning to face where he knew Mukuro appear with a smile on his lips, the same kufufufu and spinning trident. His fists were loosely clenched in his pockets where no one could see them, but tension was tension and he didn't need to leave his hands there when the atmosphere already reflected his manner. This was business. He wouldn't strike because he was digging and searching for information, because this was business and he, in fact, was capable of dealing with the Mist Guardian with the typical coldness he held. That, however, didn't mean he arrived unarmed; he could feel the usual weight of his tonfas where he snap them to his ready hands, uncollapse the both, and lunge, all a swift movement.
Somewhere in his mind, he vaguely wondered for the briefest second if Sawada Tsunayoshi was still alive.
He watched in cool silence as the other entered.