Show me your inner self... [Closed]
Characters: Gin, Shinjiro, and later Cirucci.
Content: The drugs are starting to lose their effect, so Gin has offered to help Shinji find other ways of keeping his Persona under control; namely giving it an outlet of violence.
Setting: In a clearing, a reasonable hike from the fairgrounds.
Time: Mid- to late-afternoon.
Warnings: Sparring and ( Read more... )
Content: The drugs are starting to lose their effect, so Gin has offered to help Shinji find other ways of keeping his Persona under control; namely giving it an outlet of violence.
Setting: In a clearing, a reasonable hike from the fairgrounds.
Time: Mid- to late-afternoon.
Warnings: Sparring and ( Read more... )
He couldn't help but admire the deadly beauty in those blades - fatal but so terribly imprecise that there was no chance of a clean death. That probably wasn't so much intentional as much as because Castor's manifestation didn't seem terribly focused. There was a lot of heat and power simply boiling impotently in the air, going largely to waste. If he could channel that properly...
Not that Gin was probably the best person to be preaching about self-control, but here was the kind of potential he'd been taught to look out for, and to twist to his own purposes. One fatal strike was all it took, despite the difficulty required in pulling it out...it would get easier with practice. This wouldn't be the last time, that was certain. It'd be a travesty for Shinjiro to waste such a gift.
He'd watched as one of the blades had taken the last bandit right along the calf. He wouldn't be able to run fast enough to escape Shinjiro's slow advance, although he seemed to think that clinging to Cirucci might offer some sort of protection. Even from this distance, looking into Shinjiro's eyes, Gin kind of doubted it. There was nothing like recognition or comprehension in the yellow and black.
Idly, he wondered how much trouble he'd get into if Cirucci did indeed get herself skewered in the line of Shinjiro's power.
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"I want you... to hold still." He husked, voice raw and warbling in an eerie echo effect. Like recording words from one journal with another. Just a tiny second of timing off, but enough to sound very very wrong. Of course, the bandit moved, tearing away from Cirucci in a desperate need to get away, causing Shinji to change his aim to try and catch him before the attack was no longer in his control. In a flash of gore the mans arm tore away, showing gleaming white bone and red meat.
But before the next attack could come the Persona user staggered, another spew of black escaping his mouth... though perhaps there was more red then black this time. His eyes, once again that dull grayish color, rolled back into his head and he crumpled, landing in his own puddle of ichor.
The bandit was howling in pure terror and pain, clutching his stump of an arm and completely forgetting the Arrancar and the Persona user
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Some times you had to shed a part of yourself to survive. Cirucci knew that all too well. But what the man had lost rendered him useless, for now. The curtain had fallen on Act One--
But she was already kicking it open for her little act's continuation. Turning her head back to Shinjiro, she took a few steps towards him--slowly, as though hesitant. "Aragaki?" Yes, the tremble in her voice was perfect, the falter between syllables. She cleared her throat, calling his name louder, this time, but as a show of bravado feigned by a scared, vulnerable girl. It suited her act much better, to make it seem as though she were covering up her own unease. It was more convincing than for her to play the damsel completely.
If he could even hear her, that was. Once more, more urgently: "Aragaki?" She knelt lower, reaching her hand out, pausing only once before resting it near his temple. He didn't seem fully aware, which was to be expected. Trailing a thumb down his cheek, Cirucci sighed, faking a shaky attempt at a wry smile. "It's not polite to keep a girl waiting, you know. Besides..." She spoke quietly--almost to herself, really, because hell if she knew if he could even hear her. "The hell was that?"
It would be suspicious if she didn't show some confusion at that power of his. Couldn't let the boy know that his precious damsel could make her own inner darkness manifest at beck and call, too. But if he was too out of it to answer her now--which she figured was a given--then...
She bit her lip, inhaling sharply. "Fuck, you need help." She sounded desperate, now; not quite hysteric concern quite yet, but escalating to that level, should the situation warrant that kind of act.
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It was difficult not to start humming cheerfully to himself, but he forced a slightly more reserved expression and jumped lithely down from the outcropping, ignoring the bandit still twitching on the ground. He wouldn't last long without assistance, and the only one of his companions still left wouldn't be making it very far with the way his empty arm socket was pouring blood. Gin ignored him too. Instead he focused on Cirucci, who was playing her part beautifully.
"Are you alright, Cirucci?" he asked, managing to feign a little concern. Shinjiro might not be completely aware of them now, but they couldn't afford to break their public roles even without witnesses. Or those who wouldn't live long enough to talk anyway.
"Quite the display, wasn't it?" he said, and while it was the kind of off-hand comment he would have flippantly made in these circumstances, there was an undertone there intended just for her. "Seems Shinji-kun's been hiding a few secrets from us."
He took a few steps forward, eyeing the oozing puddle around Shinjiro's body, and then Cirucci's abused neck. The knife had cut her carelessly a couple of times. He came close enough to touch her chin, lifting her eyes to his, and letting the false concern drop so she could share his vicious grin. "We'll take care of Shinji in just a moment, but first..."
He tilted his head towards the last bandit. "What would you like me to do about him?"
Gin didn't want to see her breaking her role, not to dirty her own hands, but he'd be more than happy to offer a small reward in the form of bloody retribution by his own hand if she cared to name it.
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And that grin. For once, Cirucci found it less revolting and more humorous in how jarring it was with the surrounding scene. It was only until she realized how sharp that smile was, so much like the knife that had fluttered clumsily at her throat, that she found it much easier to swallow her laughter.
"Do I look all right?" She snapped quietly at his inquiry, but kept that tremble in her voice for good measure. Sighing, she closed her eyes. "He needs help. Anyone with eyes can see that." She let a soft note linger in her tone, eyes opening but flicking downwards. All concern, she was. "Look, I don't know what the hell that was either, but--"
She nearly cringed when she felt him touch her chin; really, every time, she expected his skin to be cold, slimy, to clam over hers and stick like mucus. Perhaps the fact that his touch wasn't--that the last glimmer of afternoon light had left it warm, even--unnerved her even more. She held the gaze, not even sparing a look behind her to the bandit she knew still waddled clumsily around. His hands weren't cold, but to her, his offer was.
"Whatever you want." She spoke quite decidedly, even dispassionately. And so quiet--"Whatever warrants the most suffering, wouldn't you say?"
Of course Cirucci wanted to see those who compromised her put in their sorry little places, but it was so much less satisfying when it was another's hand who swept them back into the corner. At the very least, the man was left with a handicap; it'd be a great offense for him to leave unscathed. But, damn it, she already 'owed' one man a favor for 'saving' her. The idea of Gin killing what should rightfully be her prey was not one the arrancar was entirely satisfied with.
At least the man had suffered at all. That, for one who tried to put his hands on Thunderwitch, was a necessity.
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"Perhaps we'll just let the forest decide his fate," he said. "In any case, I think his ambushing days are over. Really, Cirucci, you should have been more careful. Just imagine what might have happened if we hadn't come along."
His eyes glittered with humor, but even though she knew the joke he doubted she'd find it very funny. Not with her neck baring half a dozen careless nicks from the knife and her pretty dress streaked with mud. He could almost imagine how badly she must want to wash it all off - the dirt, the touch of worthless humans, and this saccharine role he'd pushed her into playing.
He turned back to Shinji, eyeing the mess the cook had become. The black ooze did seem to be vanishing though, evaporating into the air or sinking back into his skin. His knee was a bloody mess, pants torn around the ragged hole where the arrow had pierced his leg. It looked rather painful, he noted with a slightly wider grin.
But then, it wouldn't do to have gone to all this trouble only to have Shinji bleed to death. He knelt beside the cook, drawing his sword, and beaming insincerely at Cirucci. "I hope you don't mind donating a few inches of your dress for your heroic knight, do you? It'll make a decent bandage for his leg."
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She lifted a hand to brush lightly over her neck, cringing just slightly-though whether from the pain, or from a mental image of what her neck must look like, Cirucci herself wasn't even sure. She could feel the numerous nicks, the thin little interruptions of otherwise smooth skin. She didn't even want to think about her dress. At least she didn't put on one of her favorites, knowing what she was going to get herself into.
Cirucci didn't even spare Shinjiro a look until Gin directed her attention, her eyes falling half heartedly onto his blade. With a limp wrist, she picked at the hem of her dress, lifting it for Gin to slice off. The gesture exposed more of her thigh, but she hardly cared. "Be my guest," she uttered dryly. She had no choice but to comply, or he;d have something to say about her performance. And really, the quicker she let him do what he had to, the quicker she could get off this dirty, now bloodstained road and get herself washed up.
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