It was quite by accident that she had stumbled upon the garden. She’d never been here before, so it was a rather enjoyable treat.
Walking along she paused every now and again to take a closer look, to breathe deep the fragrance that an interesting plant held, or even to pluck-no that wasn’t the right word for what she was doing-to rip and shred to
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Con: he couldn't seem to leave the damn garden. Also, he was beginning to suspect that the big nasty pink flower up by the fountain had had more than just pollen in its pollen. Ever since he'd walked into the thing he'd felt... warm. And warm in the Hotel was never ever a good thing.
But if elevated horniness was the cost to pay for getting his body back, it was a price he was more than happy to accept. Hell, if the Hotel wanted him to screw some random person in payment for having a body again, he was fine with that, too! God he'd missed being able to touch things, to feel heat, and cold. And god how he'd missed cigarettes. As soon as he got out of the gardens he was going to go and smoke an entire carton in one sitting. It was going to be amazing.
Head full of happy smokey thoughts, Gojyo burst through a wall of hedge and nearly slammed into the woman's back. "Oh, crap, sorry!" he exclaimed, catching hold of her shoulders so neither of them fell. "I didn't see--"
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"...Mom!?"
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She turned to correct whoever it was and froze. There was no way he could be here, no way he was still alive. Backing up, she hissed at him, "You're dead."
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The version he'd met before, in Kami-sama's fog maze, that had been an illusion. That was the real world, and in the real world, she was dead. But he'd met enough dead people here, enough alternate versions of people...
She might be an illusion. She might be an alternate. Or, she might actually be his mom.
"Sorry to disappoint."
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To see him like this, was more than any woman should ever have to bare. Hadn't she suffered enough raising the little bastard as long as she had?
"You always were."
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"Why are you here?" That wasn't really the question he wanted to ask. How, not why, but if this was a different version of her, if she wasn't dead, then there was no way he was going to add to her pain by telling he of her alternate's fate. "What do you...?"
His words trailed away as something red caught his eye. At his feet - and, as he turned, littering the path behind him - were flowers. Destroyed red flowers, like bloodspray on the brick. Even after all this time. "...You still hate me that much?"
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"He left me for that whore and I ended up with you." How could she not still hate everything about him?
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And not a little anger at himself, too. He's hard as a rock in his jeans, and it's taking all his willpower not to touch himself.
"Why didn't you just send me away? Or...?" Or just kill me? "Nobody would have blamed you for that."
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Anger and hatred, there were a hundred things going through her head. And there was still confusion and pain just looking at him, she wants him to hurt just as much. Mainly she'd love to claw his eyes out or add to the scars he wears.
With that in mind she steps toward him.
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She approaches, and he can tell from that smile of hers that she doesn't want to give him a hug. But he can't step back. The drugs in his system are so fucking strong; his hands tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles digging into his thighs, but all he can do is watch her approach.
"You don't want to do this." If he's talking to her or to himself, even he's not sure.
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He's still that pathetic little brat, watching her with those damn eyes. Forget the claws, his eyes or anything else. She aims straight for his neck determined to wring the last breath out of his body.
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"Let go of me!"
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How fucked up he is.
"I'm not..." He coughs again. "Not a fuckin' kid anymore, mom. You can't hurt me like that anymore."
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Still she glares up at him. She noticed quite a lot in that little struggle of theirs; no matter what else he might be, it was obvious he was a man.
"Just like your father aren't you."
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He doesn't know a damn thing about the man, not really. Frowning (and fully expecting her to slap him away), he holds out a hand to help her up.
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