Invisible Markings [Open]
Characters: Gin Ichimaru and Open to the Silvana
Content: In the aftermath of a lesson on the virtues of silence and obedience, Gin's attempting to hide the real extent of the damage. If ever there was an opportunity to kick him while he was down, this is it.
Setting: After the races and in the wake of this log.
Time: Any time~
Warnings: An extremely volatile and not very healthy Gin. Mentions of mindfuck?
Notes: Anyone with any sort of magical sensitivity will probably notice that Gin's powers are a little out of whack for the next 48 hours, spiking at irregular intervals. Also, for the first day he'll be barricading himself in his room, but after that he'll be pretending he's well enough for duty, so he'll be easier to corner (not to mention slightly more coherent).
His room on the Silvana was not quite a sanctuary, but it was better than nothing. At least here there only one door to need watching - the portholes were far too small for the average person to climb through - and with strength that was mostly desperation he managed to shove his desk in front of the door and bolted it shut to ensure no one could get in, or at least not without making the kind of racket he wouldn't miss.
Under other circumstances he wouldn't have needed to bother with the extra security, but at the moment he didn't trust his senses. His hearing varied between being so sensitive that the mere sound of his own breath was practically deafening, but then the moment it faded to become background noise he'd have a stab of near-panic that he was slipping into the void again; that sightless, soundless, touchless world of nothing, a free-fall spiral into madness.
Except for now he got to keep the pain, which was a slight comfort that would probably soon turn to an aggravation. All the damage Aizen had pretended to cause had never really existed, just as Gin had suspected. The bones of his wrists were still perfectly intact, and there was no hole in his hand to suggest it had been pierced by a sword. He was fine...but he didn't feel it. He could still feel the echos of that agony in his joints as though it had really happened, and he wasn't quite sure if that was some sort of side-affect of the way Aizen had done it or just his own mind failing to fight off the effects of the illusion. It'd probably be better once he wasn't quite so exhausted, he assured himself. Physically, none of it had been terribly strenuous, but mentally? He couldn't work up the energy to do anything but collapse on his bed, not even bothering with the sheets or undressing. He'd like nothing better than a few hours (or days) of blissful unconsciousness, but the fog of sleep felt a little too much link sinking into endless darkness and half-lucid memory kept jolting him back to uneasy wakefulness.
Still, he tried, gritting his teeth and curling into a tighter ball. Exhaustion would win the fight eventually, even if the frustration chipped away at the rest of his sanity in the meantime.
Content: In the aftermath of a lesson on the virtues of silence and obedience, Gin's attempting to hide the real extent of the damage. If ever there was an opportunity to kick him while he was down, this is it.
Setting: After the races and in the wake of this log.
Time: Any time~
Warnings: An extremely volatile and not very healthy Gin. Mentions of mindfuck?
Notes: Anyone with any sort of magical sensitivity will probably notice that Gin's powers are a little out of whack for the next 48 hours, spiking at irregular intervals. Also, for the first day he'll be barricading himself in his room, but after that he'll be pretending he's well enough for duty, so he'll be easier to corner (not to mention slightly more coherent).
His room on the Silvana was not quite a sanctuary, but it was better than nothing. At least here there only one door to need watching - the portholes were far too small for the average person to climb through - and with strength that was mostly desperation he managed to shove his desk in front of the door and bolted it shut to ensure no one could get in, or at least not without making the kind of racket he wouldn't miss.
Under other circumstances he wouldn't have needed to bother with the extra security, but at the moment he didn't trust his senses. His hearing varied between being so sensitive that the mere sound of his own breath was practically deafening, but then the moment it faded to become background noise he'd have a stab of near-panic that he was slipping into the void again; that sightless, soundless, touchless world of nothing, a free-fall spiral into madness.
Except for now he got to keep the pain, which was a slight comfort that would probably soon turn to an aggravation. All the damage Aizen had pretended to cause had never really existed, just as Gin had suspected. The bones of his wrists were still perfectly intact, and there was no hole in his hand to suggest it had been pierced by a sword. He was fine...but he didn't feel it. He could still feel the echos of that agony in his joints as though it had really happened, and he wasn't quite sure if that was some sort of side-affect of the way Aizen had done it or just his own mind failing to fight off the effects of the illusion. It'd probably be better once he wasn't quite so exhausted, he assured himself. Physically, none of it had been terribly strenuous, but mentally? He couldn't work up the energy to do anything but collapse on his bed, not even bothering with the sheets or undressing. He'd like nothing better than a few hours (or days) of blissful unconsciousness, but the fog of sleep felt a little too much link sinking into endless darkness and half-lucid memory kept jolting him back to uneasy wakefulness.
Still, he tried, gritting his teeth and curling into a tighter ball. Exhaustion would win the fight eventually, even if the frustration chipped away at the rest of his sanity in the meantime.