When the Walls Fall (Massive Log of DOOM) [Active/VERY OPEN]

[parousian]

Characters: EVERYONE!!!!
Setting: On the island!!!
Time: Early Night 010
Summary: This is the MASSIVE LOG OF DOOM for everyone to join in on! Multiple threads, thread jumping, etc -- have fun with it!
Warnings: No idea, really.
OOC: Label your threads for better organization!!!! Also, to make it easier so people don't jump in line, if you are

Comments

Re: AKATSUKI

[weeatbodies]

Zetsu had been in his room--his own room, as thick with the cloying scent of perfume (Sometimes, rotting could have a sort of sweet smell to it too, clogging the nostrils and coating the mouth; living in that room too long was like being bathed in death, and he wondered, wondered what had happened to his god-child-friend in the dark warm basement, and in the bright terrible laboratory. So much hope, so much light, so much joy, so much power.... And yet, where had it gotten him, in the end?) as it had ever been, the one he hadn't really stayed in since Nataku had left. It left a somewhat bitter taste in the back of his mouth, beyond the perfume's influence, to even think about. And it wasn't like he really needed to go there, if he didn't want to; he hadn't left behind anything of importance....

Though he had, naturally, left behind things of use. Zetsu had just pulled a few candles from the desk drawer before things just... melted away entirely, leaving him looking around in bewilderment. An endless stretch of dark night sky, a broad grassy expanse of earth that stopped as abruptly as it had started when it reached the edges of the island, an inky sea and formidable drop beneath them..... Nothing was left except the residents itself, remaining where the house had abandoned them, exposed for the eye to see in all directions. The place seemed a lot smaller, now that there weren't walls and extra stories to allow them to climb into the air. He didn't like the trapped, vulnerable, exposed feeling either, so much like the panopticon..... At least it was warm now. At least there wasn't snow....

His scrutiny of their motley group of prisoners was interrupted by an ear-piercing shout, and he winced automatically even as he recognized the voice, spotting the orange mask and heading dutifully towards it. Tobi would find that his pet plant was no longer crippled as he had been when they had met before--his leaves were just as tall and broad and glossy as ever, their inner throats a new, rich crimson that hadn't been there before, rushing up the leaves' insides as the color faded out.The stalk running up his back was new as well, covered in delicate, oddly pretty white flowers that spilled up his back and neck, tangling even into his hair, visible above the high collar of his cloak.

"Tobi-san." He had, in truth, been avoiding the man, partly in fear of trying to do him harm as he had to Pein, (he couldn't let himself destroy that trust) and partly because the fierce need to find and metaphorically cling to him for guidance had been so painfully strong that he had instinctively resisted it. But now, with no walls, with nowhere to hide.... What was he to do, other than to go stand at his side once more?

Re: AKATSUKI

[guiltypacifist]

Itachi had been about to remove his cloak to begin another set of push-ups when the walls began to...melt.

His immediate reaction was to leap backwards, flicking a shuriken from his sleeve into his fingers and scanning for a target (to look and marvel at the glory of it, the lines, the colors, the planes intersecting with pure clarity, such as he had not experienced in a long, long time). His second was to drop his weapon and slap his palms together, hissing a kiai, and slamcrashbang his energies into each other to break the genjutsu. His third reaction was to look around and wonder what in hell was going on.

The prisonhouse was gone. Simply gone, its inhabitants disgorged into the night like the remnants of a meal that had disagreed with the insides of a predator. Itachi scooped up the shuriken he had dropped and considered this new development, pausing to look up into the night sky.

...How long had it been since he'd seen (or tried to see) the sky, since this place had snapped him up in its jaws? Weeks? More than weeks. Close to three months. Four two-week nights and the three week-long days between them. He had spent most of that time dying slowly. Actually, he had spent the past nine years of his life dying slowly, leadened poison leaking into his veins with the ashes and blood of his clan's massacre.

Itachi had never seen the stars this clearly since.

He reached up, stretching his fingers outward wonderingly and watching the black shadow of his hand block out the half-clouded crescent moon. In this clarity, the constellations themselves looked close enough to snatch from the sky, to string up and rearrange as he saw fit. Itachi clenched his hand over the moon, paused, and let his arm drop to his side.

He had to find Sasuke.

Tobi's grating voice carried over on the air's stillness, easily cutting through the general jumble of confused voices, screams and shouts. The moment was broken, and Itachi sighed before walking towards the source of the sound.

((ooc: for those of you following Itachi's omg!death thread: he gets better. I'm sure you're relieved.))

Re: AKATSUKI

[parousian]

There was chatter all about them, both loud and quiet, the crowd bewildered by what had just happened. Their prison had disappeared, leaving them behind on a grassy plain floating in the sky, with no escape except for uncharted terrains.

Tobi whirled towards his name and gave a great happy wave at his favorite pet plant, hopping onwards and towards Zetsu. There were so many ears now and no walls, and Tobi knew better than to speak with his voice loud and clear where anyone might hear the low, sultry tones he hid behind his mask. And so he spoke, instead in his high grating whine.

"Ah! Zetsu-san! The house disappeared!" This observation was as blatant and as clear as the familiar lull of chakra approaching, so strong and steady and battle-ready, even in its suppressed state.

(Always so cautious, this boy, coiled and ready to strike at a throat.)