Cold on the inside, in faces a smile dies. [Closed/Incomplete]
WHO: Illumi (empty_obsidian) and Hisoka (justamagician)
WHAT: New Housemates, Old Friends ...
WHERE: The house
WHEN: Day 235, Evening
Illumi walked down that almost too narrow hallway, his leather boots clicking softly against wood flooring as fingers dangled loosely off the hips of his leather pants. His hair fell loose down his back in tendrils of ebony silk, loose strands falling around the sides of his face, his expression blank as he planned on making his way past Hisoka's room, to his own, and then probably sitting on the roof for a while. It was almost a hobby of his.
Moving into this particular building still struck Illumi as one of those apparently meaningless decisions that seemed innocuous and perhaps even right at the time, and yet later led to ruin. He couldn't manage to think about the fact that he was living in the same building as Hisoka without eventually wandering down lines of thought that were not quite as bad as, possibly worse than, ruin. There was just something about him. Always had been. In that infuriating way he'd pushed at the long-haired assassin as if trying to get him to break. Awkward sensations that tumbled without names or reasons he was willing to give. It had been bad enough before, with a very large globe and uncertain locations between them. Here things were worse, as that incident on the beach proved... If he thought hard enough he could remember with crystal clarity Hisoka's blood on his fingers, skin against his fingertips -- and without knowing why, he did.
There hadn't been any other options: his frequent refrain of justification.
So far, nothing had happened. He'd moved in without incident. And liked it that way, if lies were to be told. It was easier. No taunting red-haired magicians with toying words and cutting smiles...
All things end.
WHAT: New Housemates, Old Friends ...
WHERE: The house
WHEN: Day 235, Evening
Illumi walked down that almost too narrow hallway, his leather boots clicking softly against wood flooring as fingers dangled loosely off the hips of his leather pants. His hair fell loose down his back in tendrils of ebony silk, loose strands falling around the sides of his face, his expression blank as he planned on making his way past Hisoka's room, to his own, and then probably sitting on the roof for a while. It was almost a hobby of his.
Moving into this particular building still struck Illumi as one of those apparently meaningless decisions that seemed innocuous and perhaps even right at the time, and yet later led to ruin. He couldn't manage to think about the fact that he was living in the same building as Hisoka without eventually wandering down lines of thought that were not quite as bad as, possibly worse than, ruin. There was just something about him. Always had been. In that infuriating way he'd pushed at the long-haired assassin as if trying to get him to break. Awkward sensations that tumbled without names or reasons he was willing to give. It had been bad enough before, with a very large globe and uncertain locations between them. Here things were worse, as that incident on the beach proved... If he thought hard enough he could remember with crystal clarity Hisoka's blood on his fingers, skin against his fingertips -- and without knowing why, he did.
There hadn't been any other options: his frequent refrain of justification.
So far, nothing had happened. He'd moved in without incident. And liked it that way, if lies were to be told. It was easier. No taunting red-haired magicians with toying words and cutting smiles...
All things end.