CLOSED LOG // We often give our enemies the means to our own destruction

[cakefesta]

Who: cakefesta, itsnotzura and themothdies
What: A pizza party, minus the pizza and no one in attendance really likes one another.
When: At 3 PM the day after after this message.
Where: In the hangar, near (but not too close) to Sakamoto's ship.
Warnings: Forthcoming. Swearing, for sure. Maybe fisticuffs.

Comments

[themothdies]

[delving into Unknown Territory isn't anything new to either the Takasugi of war-fires or the Takasugi that brings the fire himself]

[whether or not this parameter is enemy-occupied has yet to be decided; a promise that went unfulfilled back in their universe is caught on a tangle between them, a small pendulum that swings this way and that depending on how hard one breathes]

[he arrives as slacken as usual, straw-ish sandals tapping raspily on the hangar's hard floors, sword as trusty at his side as a heart is in his ribcage, the folds of his kimono graceless despite artistry]

[a lonely two things are missing from his portrait: a pipe full of smoke and a crooked smile]

[he uses that deserted mouth to greet with naught reluctance, pleasure, or dismay, but a simple:]

Yo.

[itsnotzura]

[things had quieted down. the loss of Tatsuma is still a dull ache, but it's one Katsura can endure, has endured, expects to endure for some time. after all, Sakamoto belongs among the stars, and Katsura would never begrudge his comrade his rightful place, just as he has never begrudged Katsura his

[cakefesta]

[he turns at the sound of half-lazy footsteps dragged across brushed metal, the greeting ringing louder in his ears than it had been spoken]

[for how different it is, how different their circumstances, surroundings, situations (attitudes?) are at the moment]

[for how different it is, not a goddamn thing has changed]

[the spike in his pulse and the tensing of his spine is not thanks to nervousness (not the result of having to face a landlady and a lit cigarette with nothing in his wallet) nor is it the culmination of a mix of disbelief and genuine surprise (not because he has to face an old friend he thought long dead with nothing to his name)]

[no, it's completely and entirely thanks to the thought of how satisfying it would be to just crack that bastard across the jaw, watch him spit blood and ash onto the floor and raise his fist for a second blow and make him fight back--]

[god, he hates this asshole]

Aa. Least you're not late this time.

[themothdies]

[whatever feelings Gintoki is cycling through, judging from the way a pencilspine draws up, Takasugi makes no comment of it or even feels those very same things -- the stirrings he never feels only come awake in Gintoki's presence, after all]

[emotions are a hard thing to manipulate; they are freer than the mind, wilder, harder to be tightly reigned in]

[Takasugi does what he can]

[(it's for noticing Gintoki drawing up that he misses Katsura steeling himself)]

I had put some consideration into a late arrival, Gintoki, but I figured that such a needy and -- [pathetic?] -- upsetting message upon my Guide garnered a promptness. Consider yourself blessed.

[his gaze casts to Katsura more than Gintoki, as if thereafter promptly ignoring his presence]

Is this about Tatsuma?

[the intimacy of snidely using that first name is not lost on him]

[cakefesta]

[his lip curls, his eyes narrow and his temper flares (a familiar slow burn right in the pit of his stomach, filling his chest in a way no calming deep breath could even hope to compete with)]

[and before Zura can even open his mouth, he snaps]

Haah? Needy? Who was the one following my every move on the Guide, practically begging me to stop ignoring that mess you call a face?