Comments | stop_panicking: CLOSED ⤧ and i know you're thinking of me 'cuz it's just about to rain

prayforprey in stop_panicking

CLOSED ⤧ and i know you're thinking of me 'cuz it's just about to rain

Feb 11, 2010 03:57

Who: prayforprey & nicotine_patch.
What: For once, Badou beckoned him in ... and Genkaku violently slammed the door. It's where the line between Addiction and Need start to blur.
When: After this thread. (Sorry, Tails.)
Where: Piiiipes.
Warnings: Man, I ... I don't even know. Violence, language, uh ... I ... I just don't know. It's totally wild.

( so i won't be afraid of anything ever again. )

genkaku, badou nails

Comments 15

nicotine_patch February 11 2010, 16:14:52 UTC

Despite the trouble and occasional shot-through calf, everything is simpler when you're fleeing for your life. There is the stampede of feet behind you, or the squeal of tires that just misses as you swerve into an alley, keeping you quick and light. There's angry shouts, a gauge of how close the pursuers are, comforting in it's swear-spitting consistency. Most importantly of all, there is the smak-smak of heavy boots against concrete, each one pushing awayaway from past mistakes and into the unknown now [all pristine and ready to be trampled].

On a whole, it could be said, Badou does not run to things, he runs away from them. And yet, this is the second fucking time he's running with the monk as his destination [a reaction with intention to procreate a ripple-effect]. As long legs eat up the floor beneath him, taking him deeper into the ship, his heart labours not for air but for clarity amid the fury.

He's angry, so fucking angry at being addressed so coldly, in such a scold, the distaste leaving him behind feeling young and dumb ( ... )

nicotine_patch February 11 2010, 16:15:51 UTC

-and all of that rage is tripled when long fingers bump along an empty holster [every bit of it directed at himself, he's right, you're
so

fucking

young and stupid.]

prayforprey February 11 2010, 20:36:45 UTC

He has to resist the quiet drawl of “look what the cat dragged in” to himself, looks down from that up-high (now you have something to look up to) perch to take in Badou’s … everything. He’s more fucked-up than he would have initially expected, a great flurry of vibrant orange that thrums with to much life and dark half-spider-legs clinging to his frenetic face and hiding dying-insect-secrets that he wants to purge and drink down for himself.

(For some reason, right in that moment, it’s not Badou’s angrily-parted mouth he loves the most; it’s his stern jaw, tight and perfect and fucking demon-slayer angry. Little things that tick-tap on his addiction, because he doesn’t want to look into his eye -- there’s something too much there, too real, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.)

How many of them made you feel like I do?

He knew the answer, but he wanted it. Greedily, childishly, he needed the confirmation. There was no real question, only the answer. Only the super-imposed, meticulously crafted angles of sharp elbows and ( ... )

nicotine_patch February 12 2010, 09:55:43 UTC

The hot snap of pain [the lance of it through his arm, something definitely fractured] is preferable, as usual, to the sudden hot proximity [splitting is alwaysalways infinitely easier, to Badou, than joining]. He can feel Genkaku's sweat pressing into his clothes like he's trying to rub his scent on him, his body language dominating and overwhelmingly cocky - and he hates it.

He hates it, hates him, hates that the painful crack of pointed shoulderblades against steel isn't enough to distract himself from the suffocatingcontracting in his ribcage. He thrashes strangely, pressing his own hips backwards, grinding his tailbone and shoulders bruisingly back into the metal [don't fucking touch don't touch me like that don't ever touch me] while lashing out with a skeleton-knob elbow, with sharp knees, with snarling teeth. It's no touch and all fuck youFor all he reviles the direct contact, he appreciates the direct address of his disadvantage. His stomach roils with just the thought of it going unsaid [or said only in snide grins that ( ... )

prayforprey February 12 2010, 14:15:06 UTC

Badou has always been such a gnashing thing, in animalistic senses, in open-wounded senses, in saliva-glistening teeth stained with coffee(spoons that measure his life every day) and nicotine(clouds that float away with his enlivened skin) senses that leave his own head ringing and singing with their fierce logic. His snarled threat should be the first indication of separation, of horrible things about to come, but Genkaku’s forty days have been up for about … forty days now. He has nothing to count for any more (Badou’s thirty-three vertebrae before him -- all wrapped about in battle-scar ribs and black lungs and cold heart -- will just have to be enough ( ... )