Load up on guns, bring your friends
Characters: Castor (Shinjiro, unevoked)
Date/Time: Late Evening, February 22nd
Location: Forest at melee Island
Rating: R
Summary: Testing out an inkling. Warning for death.
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Melee island was one of the places he had never stopped by before. Granted, it wasn't as though he explored often, or ever felt a reason to go beyond Wellspring, the Bazaar, or the Park-- but still, as he walked past the racetrack he realized just how absolutely unfamiliar this place was. He had never felt the need to come here. Hell, the only reason he was here now was because Samehada had mentioned it, and it seemed as though a good, private place to try this out.
The slightly-more-rational part of his mind kept slowly diverting to the 'You idiot, are you really going to put a bullet through your head?' argument, but no matter how much he thought about it... yeah, it sounded stupid, but it also felt right. There was something to it,and he wasn't going to figure it out by just pissing about and waiting for answers to fall on his head. After all, Zombie survived stabbing himself repeatedly like every fucking day-- it wasn't impossible. Just because this was a bad idea for most people didn't mean he should betray his gut instinct. At least, that's what he'd keep telling himself.
Besides, he knew there was something more he didn't have access to yet- The reaction he'd had to Lin's weird energy was enough to know that it was more than just weird dreams and ambiguous comments in memories, something that had fought back against the way the air had gotten heavy and pressured when she had shown him her energy capabilities, lent a bit of strength so as not to be bowled over-- and had done so without his willingly commanding it. That wasn't something he liked. In any case, every hint he'd gotten pointed towards this being the right course of action. His dream, the repeated 'suicide' in it, his memory and the way it had defeated some weird. Monster thing. There had been other gunshots too, in what he had assumed was others doing the same. Then there was the Weird... pogo-skele-horse, and his own lack of fear of death.
More than anything, he was afraid of it failing and how fucking stupid he would seem. How the hell would he say 'Oh, yeah, shooting myself just seemed like a good idea.'? The idea of dying didn't particularly scare him-- especially when people were known to pop back later. (Of course, he had made a list of things and left it on his bed at the spa, just in case. "Your name's Castor, I don't care what you picked this time, you work at the Butcher," as well as information about his previous dream and memories. Just in case.) There was nothing to be scared of, after all, just a momentary hassle. Something to be quickly remedied.
...And if he didn't come back, then that was cool too. Not the ideal scenario, but he couldn't very well say he hadn't brought it down on himself. hell, if all went well, maybe he'd get some higher understanding from this. He gave a small snort as he diverted from the path, checking his map quickly to make sure he was headed towards more seclusion in the thick woods, farther from the racetracks and stables, and just hoping that Samehada wasn't still hanging around. That would be a retarded conversation.
He finally paused after a few more minutes of stepping over branches and trudging through the fallen leaves on the ground. It was fucking cold out, but it didn't matter much. He had his coat, anyway. Castor let out a long exhale, watching his breath mist for a second. "Let's do this."
Without a pause, he pulled the gun from the pocket of his coat. He had checked it and rechecked it shortly after purchasing it, he knew it was in working order and the clip was full. He hadn't test fired it yet, so he's just have to trust Cara that they had their firearm expert there do some good work and it wouldn't just jam on him. He took in another breath, bringing up the gun to his temple and letting it rest there- it wasn't quite straight on, but enough to go through without just grazing. It just felt natural to hold it there, finger resting on the trigger-- but at the same time his hands were shaking slightly.
He'd tell himself it was the cold.
It only took a short moment for him to stand back up, looking straight ahead into the expanse of trees around him, the metal of the barrel still against his skin. He let out a soft, amused noise. It was worth a try. This was what all that 'power' shit had been about, right? The thing he had named himself after.
"Persona."
The gunshot cracked out and echoed through the forest, bringing around after it a unsettling, ringing silence punctuated only by the clattering of the gun upon the ground and the dull thump as he fell still.
Date/Time: Late Evening, February 22nd
Location: Forest at melee Island
Rating: R
Summary: Testing out an inkling. Warning for death.
------
Melee island was one of the places he had never stopped by before. Granted, it wasn't as though he explored often, or ever felt a reason to go beyond Wellspring, the Bazaar, or the Park-- but still, as he walked past the racetrack he realized just how absolutely unfamiliar this place was. He had never felt the need to come here. Hell, the only reason he was here now was because Samehada had mentioned it, and it seemed as though a good, private place to try this out.
The slightly-more-rational part of his mind kept slowly diverting to the 'You idiot, are you really going to put a bullet through your head?' argument, but no matter how much he thought about it... yeah, it sounded stupid, but it also felt right. There was something to it,and he wasn't going to figure it out by just pissing about and waiting for answers to fall on his head. After all, Zombie survived stabbing himself repeatedly like every fucking day-- it wasn't impossible. Just because this was a bad idea for most people didn't mean he should betray his gut instinct. At least, that's what he'd keep telling himself.
Besides, he knew there was something more he didn't have access to yet- The reaction he'd had to Lin's weird energy was enough to know that it was more than just weird dreams and ambiguous comments in memories, something that had fought back against the way the air had gotten heavy and pressured when she had shown him her energy capabilities, lent a bit of strength so as not to be bowled over-- and had done so without his willingly commanding it. That wasn't something he liked. In any case, every hint he'd gotten pointed towards this being the right course of action. His dream, the repeated 'suicide' in it, his memory and the way it had defeated some weird. Monster thing. There had been other gunshots too, in what he had assumed was others doing the same. Then there was the Weird... pogo-skele-horse, and his own lack of fear of death.
More than anything, he was afraid of it failing and how fucking stupid he would seem. How the hell would he say 'Oh, yeah, shooting myself just seemed like a good idea.'? The idea of dying didn't particularly scare him-- especially when people were known to pop back later. (Of course, he had made a list of things and left it on his bed at the spa, just in case. "Your name's Castor, I don't care what you picked this time, you work at the Butcher," as well as information about his previous dream and memories. Just in case.) There was nothing to be scared of, after all, just a momentary hassle. Something to be quickly remedied.
...And if he didn't come back, then that was cool too. Not the ideal scenario, but he couldn't very well say he hadn't brought it down on himself. hell, if all went well, maybe he'd get some higher understanding from this. He gave a small snort as he diverted from the path, checking his map quickly to make sure he was headed towards more seclusion in the thick woods, farther from the racetracks and stables, and just hoping that Samehada wasn't still hanging around. That would be a retarded conversation.
He finally paused after a few more minutes of stepping over branches and trudging through the fallen leaves on the ground. It was fucking cold out, but it didn't matter much. He had his coat, anyway. Castor let out a long exhale, watching his breath mist for a second. "Let's do this."
Without a pause, he pulled the gun from the pocket of his coat. He had checked it and rechecked it shortly after purchasing it, he knew it was in working order and the clip was full. He hadn't test fired it yet, so he's just have to trust Cara that they had their firearm expert there do some good work and it wouldn't just jam on him. He took in another breath, bringing up the gun to his temple and letting it rest there- it wasn't quite straight on, but enough to go through without just grazing. It just felt natural to hold it there, finger resting on the trigger-- but at the same time his hands were shaking slightly.
He'd tell himself it was the cold.
It only took a short moment for him to stand back up, looking straight ahead into the expanse of trees around him, the metal of the barrel still against his skin. He let out a soft, amused noise. It was worth a try. This was what all that 'power' shit had been about, right? The thing he had named himself after.
"Persona."
The gunshot cracked out and echoed through the forest, bringing around after it a unsettling, ringing silence punctuated only by the clattering of the gun upon the ground and the dull thump as he fell still.