and he huffed and he puffed
Who: Yaha (barebacking) and Adachi (implausibility)
When: Late afternoon, forward-dated to Friday.
Where: Near the area where Adachi last saw Yaha's handiwork, near that alley, but not in it.
Summary: A collision of two equally stubborn forces gets you nowhere.
Warnings: Mentions of past murder, gore, and Yaha Is A Crazy Bitch.
By force of habit of the body, as opposed to habit of the mind, Adachi wandered after work, like he did in Inaba. It wasn't for means of 'getting away' - he was 'safe' here, and there was no uncomfortable truths to run from, and it wasn't for intentions like 'clearing his head' - he wasn't fully possessed of it anyway, and try as he might, some spiderwebs were so expansive it would take more than an evening stroll to sweep them out. Rather, his feet simply took him places, away and afar, as if trying to subconsciously run from anything (everything).
It wasn't as if there was anything to return to. Life in Siren's Port was about as promising as life in Inaba; it was just a wider playground for him to kick up the sand in. In a way, he almost missed it for a second - that quiet, simple town and those less-quite, simple people. But then the second passed.
It was the reek that alerted him at first. Though aged, worn off, and faint, it was definite. Something stank of blood, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the scent, but even human flesh and bone and skin, still alive, could really keep out the stench of death. Like all things pertaining to it, it inevitably crept back in, uninvited but unfettered. This smell was dangerous. "Euch," he mumbled, behind a hand, wild eyes glancing about, searching for the source.
When: Late afternoon, forward-dated to Friday.
Where: Near the area where Adachi last saw Yaha's handiwork, near that alley, but not in it.
Summary: A collision of two equally stubborn forces gets you nowhere.
Warnings: Mentions of past murder, gore, and Yaha Is A Crazy Bitch.
By force of habit of the body, as opposed to habit of the mind, Adachi wandered after work, like he did in Inaba. It wasn't for means of 'getting away' - he was 'safe' here, and there was no uncomfortable truths to run from, and it wasn't for intentions like 'clearing his head' - he wasn't fully possessed of it anyway, and try as he might, some spiderwebs were so expansive it would take more than an evening stroll to sweep them out. Rather, his feet simply took him places, away and afar, as if trying to subconsciously run from anything (everything).
It wasn't as if there was anything to return to. Life in Siren's Port was about as promising as life in Inaba; it was just a wider playground for him to kick up the sand in. In a way, he almost missed it for a second - that quiet, simple town and those less-quite, simple people. But then the second passed.
It was the reek that alerted him at first. Though aged, worn off, and faint, it was definite. Something stank of blood, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the scent, but even human flesh and bone and skin, still alive, could really keep out the stench of death. Like all things pertaining to it, it inevitably crept back in, uninvited but unfettered. This smell was dangerous. "Euch," he mumbled, behind a hand, wild eyes glancing about, searching for the source.