in a land of dirt and plaster
Who: ysobritish & fragmentsoflucy
When: Backdated to the evening of March 2nd; post-cultist-rescue
Where: Yaha and Shinji's apartment.
Summary: Cultists have kicked the bucket. Yaha's on a conference call. Liquid doesn't want to go home. Time for chilling.
Warnings: Talk of violence, gore, etc that comes with these two. Little post-traumatic-stress trigger happiness. Action tags.
[Shinji was on the heels of the other two the entire walk house, with blood dripping, left behind in his footsteps. He'd wandered away once or twice, weaving back and forth in a dazed and blissful state from the buzzing in his mind. By the time they arrived, he was more focused. Once through the apartment door, Shinji seems to calm, though his fingers are still tick around the handle of the serrated knife he'd brought along. He has to return it of course; couldn't leave it there. The smirk that's on his lips hadn't faded in the least since the moment he'd felt something bristle inside him during the slaughter. The pins and needles that had seemed to drive into the logic centers of the three people around him. Their violence had lost target, turning on anything and everything, their comrades, their own persons.
It had been so exciting. And he can still feel it now.
As Yaha vanishes into his bedroom with a slam of the door muttering something about a conference call, Shinji's blank stare doesn't linger long on anything in particular. He turns and heads for the kitchen, pulling a cigarette from his pocket to perch it between his lips. His mind isn't running on a linear enough path to remember that Liquid would probably snap at him for it, not that he would care.]
When: Backdated to the evening of March 2nd; post-cultist-rescue
Where: Yaha and Shinji's apartment.
Summary: Cultists have kicked the bucket. Yaha's on a conference call. Liquid doesn't want to go home. Time for chilling.
Warnings: Talk of violence, gore, etc that comes with these two. Little post-traumatic-stress trigger happiness. Action tags.
[Shinji was on the heels of the other two the entire walk house, with blood dripping, left behind in his footsteps. He'd wandered away once or twice, weaving back and forth in a dazed and blissful state from the buzzing in his mind. By the time they arrived, he was more focused. Once through the apartment door, Shinji seems to calm, though his fingers are still tick around the handle of the serrated knife he'd brought along. He has to return it of course; couldn't leave it there. The smirk that's on his lips hadn't faded in the least since the moment he'd felt something bristle inside him during the slaughter. The pins and needles that had seemed to drive into the logic centers of the three people around him. Their violence had lost target, turning on anything and everything, their comrades, their own persons.
It had been so exciting. And he can still feel it now.
As Yaha vanishes into his bedroom with a slam of the door muttering something about a conference call, Shinji's blank stare doesn't linger long on anything in particular. He turns and heads for the kitchen, pulling a cigarette from his pocket to perch it between his lips. His mind isn't running on a linear enough path to remember that Liquid would probably snap at him for it, not that he would care.]