(no subject)
Characters: Xanxus and Kasai; once the curbstomping is done, Shibusen staff
Where: In the city, at the end of the path of fiery destruction.
Rating: R, probably, for language and violence. Mostly the violence.
Time: Around 8.30 in the morning on Wednesday
Description: Fear dust + professional arsonist = burnination, though not of the countryside or the peasants. And Xanxus is not pleased.
Fear was one of the reasons Kasai was still alive. Fear had kept him alive. Fear was something he thought he'd conquered; something he could keep inside, held down, controlled. It was his body, his mind. Fear and its like weren't supposed to reach him unless he let them - ever.
Fear was controlling him now. The world was nothing but a mess of shadows, and shadows that climbed and crawled and came together and that only meant one thing - him. He could walk through fire unscathed; what the fuck did shadows have on him? They were practically his element. And now the shadows were everywhere, long and clawing at Kasai's legs, trying to trip him, drag him down, crush him to the ground, bring him so close to death it would look like a trip to paradise.
The fire. Even the fire wasn't working. He'd set so many, because fire was supposed to be a comfort, was supposed to be his, for fuck's sake, but even when it drove the shadows away it turned on him. The fire was turning on him! On him!
And so Kasai staggered against a building, ignoring the pain from the burns on his arms because if he stopped to try and take care of it something worse was absolutely going to happen. Something so much worse. He didn't know what. That was the fun part: he didn't know, so his imagination was happily supplying all the possibilities overlaid on top of the shadows that were getting ever closer.
Getting ... closer.
"Shit," he hissed, and snatched the pack of matches out of his pocket. This - this building. This would stop him. It had to. It had to or else he was going to - not die. No. Worse. So much worse.
Where: In the city, at the end of the path of fiery destruction.
Rating: R, probably, for language and violence. Mostly the violence.
Time: Around 8.30 in the morning on Wednesday
Description: Fear dust + professional arsonist = burnination, though not of the countryside or the peasants. And Xanxus is not pleased.
Fear was one of the reasons Kasai was still alive. Fear had kept him alive. Fear was something he thought he'd conquered; something he could keep inside, held down, controlled. It was his body, his mind. Fear and its like weren't supposed to reach him unless he let them - ever.
Fear was controlling him now. The world was nothing but a mess of shadows, and shadows that climbed and crawled and came together and that only meant one thing - him. He could walk through fire unscathed; what the fuck did shadows have on him? They were practically his element. And now the shadows were everywhere, long and clawing at Kasai's legs, trying to trip him, drag him down, crush him to the ground, bring him so close to death it would look like a trip to paradise.
The fire. Even the fire wasn't working. He'd set so many, because fire was supposed to be a comfort, was supposed to be his, for fuck's sake, but even when it drove the shadows away it turned on him. The fire was turning on him! On him!
And so Kasai staggered against a building, ignoring the pain from the burns on his arms because if he stopped to try and take care of it something worse was absolutely going to happen. Something so much worse. He didn't know what. That was the fun part: he didn't know, so his imagination was happily supplying all the possibilities overlaid on top of the shadows that were getting ever closer.
Getting ... closer.
"Shit," he hissed, and snatched the pack of matches out of his pocket. This - this building. This would stop him. It had to. It had to or else he was going to - not die. No. Worse. So much worse.