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TDM #1
TDM #1
DREAMING
At first, there is nothing. You are nothing. Whatever existed before ceases to be if for a moment. Then, bit by bit, you start to become aware. Where there was not even darkness now is a dim haze, gentle and almost mist-like. You have limbs again and beneath your feet lays a path of light reaching out like limbs of a great tree beneath you, twisting and climbing out into the horizon.You take a step forward for what else is there to do? As you walk you begin to remember what it was you were doing before the nothingness; maybe something as simple as chatting with a loved one or close friend. Maybe you were just beginning a great journey or facing off against an old foe. Whatever it was, you get the distinct feeling that wherever and whenever that was, it is not here. Not now.
The path of light twists off into different directions. When you look up you can see that it is not a sky above you but the sky of everything, a grand cosmic tapestry littered with not mere stars but galaxies and clusters of galaxies that gleam like crystals against the velvety backdrop of space. Admire it for a moment, if you will. You don't know how long you will drift here, but you are not alone. Other wanderers will come and go as you bask together in the vastness of creation.
It seems to you that there are two paths to walk in this place, the light and dark beckoning in turn.
❖ THE LIGHT AT THE CENTER
One leads you to the center, splintered fragments folding together and colliding until only one thing remains: a light that speaks to you with the voice of all there is and has ever been. It greets you simultaneously as an old friend and as a lost child, both rejoicing in and mourning your arrival. You remember it too, somehow, with a feeling of complex nostalgia, as if returning to a place recalled from your distant childhood.
You’ll feel the same of the other wanderers that join you in the light; you know their faces, their voices, and as you reflect upon the world of your birth, you may witness fragments of theirs as well. You feel a comradery, then, a synchronicity of thought and emotion. Are the lives of others truly so different from your own? Or are you simply two hands of the same, greater being? Though some individualistic part of you may resist, the longer you spend in the light, the more you will find yourself becoming one with it.
Despite this welcoming call, no matter how eagerly your pursue its embrace, before you can fully submerge yourself in this oneness you will find yourself being torn away. As if seized by the impossibly long, cold arm of a creature unseen, you are plucked from the edge of fulfillment. The last thing you will remember is the sensation of your world, and all the others your experienced here, collapsing into nothingness.
❖ THE DARK OUTSIDE (CW: deep despair, ego death)
The other leads towards the outside, where the splintering becomes so great that the vestiges of reality can do nothing but collapse back into the abyss at the end of everything. As you wander to these barren outskirts, your thoughts will not be drawn to familiarity and oneness, but instead to memories of discontent and waste. The darker the path becomes, the more you find yourself dwelling on life’s disappointments and injustices, of the things about yourself and your world you find wanting.
If you see others here, at first they will feel frightening or contemptible, as if representing to you the worst experiences in your life. Even if they are someone you’re certain you know, that familiarity and affection will be stripped away in the face of the great emptiness before you. In the end, you were all the same. In the end, none of this was worth it. If you approach the end together, you may even form a kind of kinship around this acknowledgment, as the need for paranoia and hatred fades.
Slowly, the darkness encroaches, and you can see it devouring all the things you once knew. Memories of your home, of those you loved, dissolve into nothing, and you can only reflect on the barren emptiness in your heart as you see it happen. In your final moments, though, you feel peace with it all, knowing that there was no other way. You step from the edge of the last dwindling fragment of being and are greeted by silence.
❖ THE END
No matter which way you go, you are left with a single impression: you feel the world you came from die. It's a realization that transcends logic or sense; it weighs on your heart and leaves the vestiges of dark memories dancing in your thoughts like motes of ash. It's a memory of your home crumbling away into nothing as if consumed from within by rot. Returned to the void, all that's left to you is to be reborn.
REBIRTH
In a new time and place, you awaken. Stirring within a capsule of warmth and isolation your senses will slowly return, only to observe that you are trapped. Your body, as it wakes, is tangled in close, yours eyes unable to open, as if still within the womb. You are held tight in the embrace of something unyielding, so smothering that at first you only have the strength to struggle for moments at a time. Yet, as you persist, the pressure begins to relent in turn; it may take hours, but eventually you will find the purchase to push, to claw, to fight, and it will all give way.The chrysalis surrounding you bends like flesh and cracks like glass. It tears as you force your fingers through, finding liberation one inch at a time, until finally you have emerged. As if having undergone metamorphosis, you feel old and new all at once. You are weak, piteously so, but the markings and scars of your previous life remain. As you slump down upon the smooth cavern stone, you realize that you've just wrenched yourself free of gigantic crystal, though its hollow, shimmering form is now in pieces on account of your passing. Somewhere on your body, a shard of similar material remains embedded.
The cave itself looks almost like the inside of a geode, the walls and ceiling bedazzled with greyish crystal that shines with all the colors of the rainbow. While they vary wildly in size and shape, only a few have grown large enough to hold a form like yours, and you can see the one you just escaped isn't the only one bearing a passenger within. They may have already hatched, or they may still be lingering in stasis. Either way, there's enough time that you may have a chance to speak to yours unexpected peers, or to perhaps to struggle to find something to cover your naked body with. You feel the chill of the open air against your moisture laden skin, a distant light trickling in through the cavern's opening.
Make the most of this time. It won't be long before you're interrupted.
[Mod Note: If you don't want to deal with your character being naked in front of the others at that location, feel free to assume they emerge at a different time than the others of their legacy. Characters will be 'hatching' over a period of several hours.]
CAPTIVITY
It seems that someone was waiting for you to arrive, and not in the most friendly of ways. Though the specifics of who comes to get you will vary according to which legacy shrine your character awakens at, there are certain commonalities: most notably, how they are ostensibly here to capture and imprison you. It's easy for them, all considered. You can barely stand, so fresh out of your chrysalis, and whatever powers or special abilities you may have had will not answer your call. Even worse, your would be captors are well equipped for the job.
Each group arrives with several 'whips' made of unknown materials. What makes them so special only become obvious when one of them inevitable snakes its way around your body. Whether it be your ankle or your neck, being bound by these cords puts you under the influence of whoever is holding the other end of your leash. Your mind remains untouched, but you will find yourself physically incapable of performing physical actions that go against their will. While the possibilities are frightening, thankfully they all just seem to want one thing: for you to come along as a good little prisoner and to not cause any of them too much trouble.
The rest depends on your character's legacy:
❖ THE LOVER
The small island the shrine is built upon is approached by several modest boats with colorful sails. They carry what appears to be a collection of fearful fisherfolk and town guards. They are reluctant to speak with those being pulled out of the shrine or even look them in the eye. If they have their choice, the entire process will be done in silence. If you try too hard to upset them, the guards will sternly bring you to heel.
❖ THE CELEBRANT
The infrastructure of an entire festival ground seems to be built around this shrine, and as a result, there are an usual amount of people present. While most keep their distance, a few will engage with the local guards that arrive to capture the Aions, complaining that this is going to interfere with their preparations for the upcoming Lover’s Festival. They are pushed aside in short order, and the rest of the retrieval will be done in a stern but business-like manner.
❖ THE MARTYR
At first, those arriving to capture the Aions will be hesitant to even enter the barren crater this shrine is held within. Once the presence of the new arrivals becomes clear, however, they will run in as if crossing the no man’s land of a battlefield and complete their work with gusto. It appears to be mostly military folk and they seem to lack any patience or sympathy for those they capture.
❖ THE SOVEREIGN
The captors here seem to be a mixed bag, almost as if two separate squadrons have arrived at the same time. One is a gathering of people who give off the impression of mountain folk, while the others are well armored soldiers. Though it will be hard to make out the specifics, there seems to be some manner of disagreement between these two parties over what should be done, but the ones kitted out in full military attire win out in the end. By then, they are completely out of patience for further resistance.
❖ THE ARTISAN
The people here seem to have mixed feelings about your arrival. On one hand, it seems to be a moment of considerable trepidation, on the other, they seem unbearably curious about your nature. They will ask questions about any unusual features you have, or what your skills are, while others from the group try just as hard to shush them. Ultimately, they don’t seem that enthusiastic about having to capture you, but they also don’t seem to think they have much choice.
❖ THE INNOCENT
Among rolling hills of flowers, at first it seems as if this shrine may not be visited at all. Before the arriving Aions can escape it, though - naked and weakened as they are - a group of fairly normal looking townsfolk will arrive. They pause as they spot you near the shrine, almost like they are hesitating about coming at all. In the end, they will converge upon you and ask for you to please cooperate. They won’t hurt you, as long as you come with them.
❖ THE SEEKER
Armored soldiers are the ones to first pull you from the shrine, but as you arrive outside of it you'll see that it is situated at the edge of a great forest. An ancient observatory is build into the cliff face behind the shrine, and your captors are apparently in the process of negotiating with a series of robed individuals that have emerged from it. According to them, the soldiers kidnapping you are trespassing. Unfortunately, they are not the ones with weapons.
❖ THE WANDERER
When you first emerge from the shrine, it will appear as if you have just missed a skirmish. There are a few bodies scattered about, all wearing woodland armor made of leather and fur. The victors, it seems, come in the form of fully armored soldiers. Thoroughly irritated by the fight that just happened, they will not waste time on niceties. If you try to ask them what just happened, the best you may get is a sneer about ‘those damn forest people.’ You may spot a couple more bodies on the trail leading out of the forest as well.
❖ THE FIREBRAND
The first thing to be seen beyond the cavern entrance is a sheer drop into a raging canyon river far below you, with only a narrow path leading up the steep cliff face. It would be a difficult situation, even without black-cloaked warriors making their way down it to collect you. Struggle too much and you'll be at risk of being thrown into the chasm. These masked assailants are largely unmoved by your protests and will drag you the entire way up the cliff if you force them to. "Your soul will be claimed," they say.
❖ THE VISIONARY
The view from the mouth of the cavern is awe inspiring, revealing the foreign shapes of a world you've never seen before. Unfortunately, the altitude of this shrine means you will also be greeted with sharp wind and biting cold. Fortunately, or not, a party of mountaineers and three black-cloaked warriors will arrive to collect you. Despite their seeming inability to defy the orders of the warriors, the mountaineers will toss you some shoes and blankets for the trek down, even if they are taken away from you later. If the warriors speak at all, it's mostly in the form of ominous utterances.
❖ THE CHAMPION
Even if one were to stagger out of the shrine's cavern before being approached, the Aions arriving here will swiftly find themselves in a hopeless situation. Not only are there soldiers here to collect there is a moderately sized military barracks built around the shrine itself, and this particular squadron is not on your side. You will be swarmed before you can get far at all. There seems to be a mix of two squadrons here, some wearing heavy armor and red accents, while the others wear full face masks and dark cloaks.
Once you've been captured and pulled from the shrine, you will given a formless white gown made of moderately comfortable fabric, with sleeves reaching your elbows and its bottom reaching down past your knees. You will not be given pants or shoes. You're in for a journey, apparently - no matter who plucked you from the cave, most of the heavily armored soldiers in the prompts above will turn out to be 'Hylician soldiers', while the smaller number of black-robed warriors are referred to 'Achamites'. After the initial dealings with the shrines, all prisoners will be passed off to a squadron of Hylicians, though a few Achamites may follow along depending on the location.
Where are you all going? Back to Hylici, apparently.
Each group arrives with several 'whips' made of unknown materials. What makes them so special only become obvious when one of them inevitable snakes its way around your body. Whether it be your ankle or your neck, being bound by these cords puts you under the influence of whoever is holding the other end of your leash. Your mind remains untouched, but you will find yourself physically incapable of performing physical actions that go against their will. While the possibilities are frightening, thankfully they all just seem to want one thing: for you to come along as a good little prisoner and to not cause any of them too much trouble.
The rest depends on your character's legacy:
❖ THE LOVER
The small island the shrine is built upon is approached by several modest boats with colorful sails. They carry what appears to be a collection of fearful fisherfolk and town guards. They are reluctant to speak with those being pulled out of the shrine or even look them in the eye. If they have their choice, the entire process will be done in silence. If you try too hard to upset them, the guards will sternly bring you to heel.
❖ THE CELEBRANT
The infrastructure of an entire festival ground seems to be built around this shrine, and as a result, there are an usual amount of people present. While most keep their distance, a few will engage with the local guards that arrive to capture the Aions, complaining that this is going to interfere with their preparations for the upcoming Lover’s Festival. They are pushed aside in short order, and the rest of the retrieval will be done in a stern but business-like manner.
❖ THE MARTYR
At first, those arriving to capture the Aions will be hesitant to even enter the barren crater this shrine is held within. Once the presence of the new arrivals becomes clear, however, they will run in as if crossing the no man’s land of a battlefield and complete their work with gusto. It appears to be mostly military folk and they seem to lack any patience or sympathy for those they capture.
❖ THE SOVEREIGN
The captors here seem to be a mixed bag, almost as if two separate squadrons have arrived at the same time. One is a gathering of people who give off the impression of mountain folk, while the others are well armored soldiers. Though it will be hard to make out the specifics, there seems to be some manner of disagreement between these two parties over what should be done, but the ones kitted out in full military attire win out in the end. By then, they are completely out of patience for further resistance.
❖ THE ARTISAN
The people here seem to have mixed feelings about your arrival. On one hand, it seems to be a moment of considerable trepidation, on the other, they seem unbearably curious about your nature. They will ask questions about any unusual features you have, or what your skills are, while others from the group try just as hard to shush them. Ultimately, they don’t seem that enthusiastic about having to capture you, but they also don’t seem to think they have much choice.
❖ THE INNOCENT
Among rolling hills of flowers, at first it seems as if this shrine may not be visited at all. Before the arriving Aions can escape it, though - naked and weakened as they are - a group of fairly normal looking townsfolk will arrive. They pause as they spot you near the shrine, almost like they are hesitating about coming at all. In the end, they will converge upon you and ask for you to please cooperate. They won’t hurt you, as long as you come with them.
❖ THE SEEKER
Armored soldiers are the ones to first pull you from the shrine, but as you arrive outside of it you'll see that it is situated at the edge of a great forest. An ancient observatory is build into the cliff face behind the shrine, and your captors are apparently in the process of negotiating with a series of robed individuals that have emerged from it. According to them, the soldiers kidnapping you are trespassing. Unfortunately, they are not the ones with weapons.
❖ THE WANDERER
When you first emerge from the shrine, it will appear as if you have just missed a skirmish. There are a few bodies scattered about, all wearing woodland armor made of leather and fur. The victors, it seems, come in the form of fully armored soldiers. Thoroughly irritated by the fight that just happened, they will not waste time on niceties. If you try to ask them what just happened, the best you may get is a sneer about ‘those damn forest people.’ You may spot a couple more bodies on the trail leading out of the forest as well.
❖ THE FIREBRAND
The first thing to be seen beyond the cavern entrance is a sheer drop into a raging canyon river far below you, with only a narrow path leading up the steep cliff face. It would be a difficult situation, even without black-cloaked warriors making their way down it to collect you. Struggle too much and you'll be at risk of being thrown into the chasm. These masked assailants are largely unmoved by your protests and will drag you the entire way up the cliff if you force them to. "Your soul will be claimed," they say.
❖ THE VISIONARY
The view from the mouth of the cavern is awe inspiring, revealing the foreign shapes of a world you've never seen before. Unfortunately, the altitude of this shrine means you will also be greeted with sharp wind and biting cold. Fortunately, or not, a party of mountaineers and three black-cloaked warriors will arrive to collect you. Despite their seeming inability to defy the orders of the warriors, the mountaineers will toss you some shoes and blankets for the trek down, even if they are taken away from you later. If the warriors speak at all, it's mostly in the form of ominous utterances.
❖ THE CHAMPION
Even if one were to stagger out of the shrine's cavern before being approached, the Aions arriving here will swiftly find themselves in a hopeless situation. Not only are there soldiers here to collect there is a moderately sized military barracks built around the shrine itself, and this particular squadron is not on your side. You will be swarmed before you can get far at all. There seems to be a mix of two squadrons here, some wearing heavy armor and red accents, while the others wear full face masks and dark cloaks.
Once you've been captured and pulled from the shrine, you will given a formless white gown made of moderately comfortable fabric, with sleeves reaching your elbows and its bottom reaching down past your knees. You will not be given pants or shoes. You're in for a journey, apparently - no matter who plucked you from the cave, most of the heavily armored soldiers in the prompts above will turn out to be 'Hylician soldiers', while the smaller number of black-robed warriors are referred to 'Achamites'. After the initial dealings with the shrines, all prisoners will be passed off to a squadron of Hylicians, though a few Achamites may follow along depending on the location.
Where are you all going? Back to Hylici, apparently.
WAITING
After you've been handed off to the the Hylician military, you have a long road ahead of you. Loaded up onto carts, and then eventually onto river borne boats, the people collected at the shrines will all be brought to a forest in the center of Horos. Along the way, the squadron ferrying you will combine with others from neighboring shrines, more and more captives arriving in your group the closer to your destination you get. Along the way you will be fed and watered well enough (though only with military rations), and at night you will be given flimsy bedrolls to sleep around the fire with. Captives will be under constant watch by the Hylician guard, and anyone who shows any signs of resistance will be required to be bound by one of those magic whips, usually around the ankle or wrist. The rest of the trip is spent being pulled along in carts or the storage bays of boats. After the groups start converging, captives of the same legacy will not necessarily be kept together.
The final muster point of the Hylicians and their captives will be among forest ruins. For what purpose you have arrived they will not say, but the entire group will be camping there until preparations are complete. Sadly, you won't be allowed much space to explore - not without being bound and under watch. If you've behaved yourself it's possible to move about the central ruins, but only if the guards are confident they'll be able to wrangle you when necessary. It does allow for moderately private conversations along the pillars and walls of the ruins, but venturing out into the forest itself is definitely out of the question.
From beginning to end, characters will spent about two weeks in transit and waiting in the ruins. To what end is yet to be seen, but if you listen closely, you may hear whispers of a 'ritual space' being prepared.
QUESTIONS
Are everyone's homeworlds really gone?
That's a complicated issue, and while the fate of their world is not without hope, they may certainly get the impression its been destroyed from the dream they had. Alternatively, they may refuse to believe what they felt and attempt to dismiss it as only a vision. More about this situation will be revealed as the game goes on.
Can I only experience one end of the dream sequence prompt?
Characters may experience one ending, both endings, or neither. If they experience both they will struggle to recall which came first or which feels the most 'true' to them, as both will simultaneously be the thought they are reborn with. If your character refuses to pursue either path they can simply linger in the middle until the infinite worlds above them start being extinguished one by one, eventually expelling them into darkness in a similar style to the light prompt. Which dreams they experience will not dictate their intial sect affiliation.
Is it possible to pull another character back from the end of the light or darkness dreams?
Yes! If your character is able to resist the pull of either end, they will have the chance to try to pull another character back from the edge of the abyss or the edge of oneness. Whether or not they succeed is entirely up to the other character, though.
Do you come out of the chrysalis wet?
For most intents and purposes it's the same experience as hatching out of a real butterfly chrysalis, so yes, a bit.
Can my character resist the influence of the whips?
Those possessed of particularly strong wills may be able to struggle with the whip's control in brief spurts, but not long enough to make a full escape attempt. They may be able to take an impotent swing at one of the guards or fight against being pulled along, though. Naturally, doing this will indicate to the Hylicians that you are a problem, and their handling of you will become harsher the more it occurs.
How cruel will the Hylicians be to the player characters?
The Hylician military are not friendly people and come across as being a bit callous even at the best of times. However, unless you provoke them, they will be primarily focused on just getting the job done with as few interruption as possible. If your character makes a habit of pissing them off, either by constantly fighting back or just by being persistently obnoxious, their treatment will get worse. If driven to it, they may take the opportunity to take out their frustrations on particularly troublesome prisoners, via physical punishment, humiliation, or deprivation.
That's a complicated issue, and while the fate of their world is not without hope, they may certainly get the impression its been destroyed from the dream they had. Alternatively, they may refuse to believe what they felt and attempt to dismiss it as only a vision. More about this situation will be revealed as the game goes on.
Can I only experience one end of the dream sequence prompt?
Characters may experience one ending, both endings, or neither. If they experience both they will struggle to recall which came first or which feels the most 'true' to them, as both will simultaneously be the thought they are reborn with. If your character refuses to pursue either path they can simply linger in the middle until the infinite worlds above them start being extinguished one by one, eventually expelling them into darkness in a similar style to the light prompt. Which dreams they experience will not dictate their intial sect affiliation.
Is it possible to pull another character back from the end of the light or darkness dreams?
Yes! If your character is able to resist the pull of either end, they will have the chance to try to pull another character back from the edge of the abyss or the edge of oneness. Whether or not they succeed is entirely up to the other character, though.
Do you come out of the chrysalis wet?
For most intents and purposes it's the same experience as hatching out of a real butterfly chrysalis, so yes, a bit.
Can my character resist the influence of the whips?
Those possessed of particularly strong wills may be able to struggle with the whip's control in brief spurts, but not long enough to make a full escape attempt. They may be able to take an impotent swing at one of the guards or fight against being pulled along, though. Naturally, doing this will indicate to the Hylicians that you are a problem, and their handling of you will become harsher the more it occurs.
How cruel will the Hylicians be to the player characters?
The Hylician military are not friendly people and come across as being a bit callous even at the best of times. However, unless you provoke them, they will be primarily focused on just getting the job done with as few interruption as possible. If your character makes a habit of pissing them off, either by constantly fighting back or just by being persistently obnoxious, their treatment will get worse. If driven to it, they may take the opportunity to take out their frustrations on particularly troublesome prisoners, via physical punishment, humiliation, or deprivation.
iii! and aah, so chuffed to see someone playing from madk!
Dunno. Cult shit. Human sacrifices.
[ It's said at a weary deadpan, and it might be hard to tell if that uncaring tone of voice is because he doesn't mean what he's saying, or because he just doesn't care even if he's right. He's certainly been reckless enough that that latter option is a possibility. Over the past few days Makoto must have caught sight of Gen tousling the guards at least once or twice, earning a swift beating each time but failing to learn anything from it and still bristling whenever the guards prod at him.
That would certainly explain the bruises he's sporting, and he winces as he shoves the last of his bread in his mouth. Chews, swallows, before looking at Makoto once more. Some prettyboy with weird eyes. But probably not as innocuous as he looks, if that tone of voice is any indication. ]
What, you doing a survey of everyone here? Or are you just nosy.
i'm just so happy to see he is recognized by someone!! ;w;
why? because he reminds him of some of the kids he'd gone to school with, back when he had been human himself. they were not kind or enjoyable memories. it's with some effort that makoto keeps his smile from gaining more of a sharp, antagonistic edge. )
Hm. I thought as much, as well. ( though his tone of voice seems to disagree — that he's either conceding this to him or mocking him.
he's been keeping tabs on all of the other captives in the camp, but it's true that gen has drawn his attention more than others have. the aforementioned faux-familiarity aside, he's his own age, which is a similarity he rarely gets to enjoy in hell. this stranger had grappled with their untenable situation in a way that makoto had found as honest as it was stupid: fighting with the guards would only garner bruises and blood, as he sported now, or the embarrassment of one of those whips dousing the fire of your indignation. still, those actions had seemed more genuine than what he says now. really, the answer doesn't matter — it's all baseless speculation. he just wants to hear the first things that come to people's minds, allowing it to paint in their silhouettes with unique, individual context.
the perceived defensiveness of the question just makes his smile broader. ) Is curiosity a crime? ( he makes a show of shrugging his shoulders, sighing. ) It's not as though there's much we can do in this situation. Having some idea of what they intend to do with us is just about as much as we can.
it's such a great series! i have an old journal for datenshou i'd love to dust off someday hehe 😌
It pisses him off, that pretense at pleasantry. But even more than that, it reminds him of some of the shitty, manipulative people he knows (knew?) back home. People he knows he should be wary of, even if he'll die before admitting out loud that he's cautious of them. That glib shrug earns a low huff, equally tailored to seem casual, and Gen scuffs a hand through his hair. ]
Didn't say it's a crime, but it's pointless. Asking the people you've been asking. [ Gen very much gives off the impression of being a delinquent thug, which he is, but he's also just a little bit shrewder than the dumb muscle he looks like; it hadn't escaped his notice that Makoto had talked to a few other people before meandering his way. ] You think anyone who knows what's gonna happen to us would just be sitting around all quiet and obedient? If you really cared about what's gonna happen to us, you'd be asking them.
[ It's punctuated by a jerk of the head towards the myriad soldiers scattered around -- a challenge and an accusation rolled into one. Calling Makoto cowardly, underhanded for only talking to his fellow prisoners, because the lack of bruises on that pretty face hasn't gone unnoticed, and Gen stares him down after making his point. Predatorily looking for a reaction, as most thugs are wont to do. ]
tbh i only got into it recently and i'm obsessed! and PLEASE if you do let me know... i would love
but he doesn't miss that faint twitch of the eye either. he suppresses the instinct for his smile to take a far more impish twist. anything he learned about what it was that the stranger despised was another piece of ammunition he could slip subtly up his sleeve for later.
his eyebrows arch leadingly at the stranger's brusque assertion — he would hate to have it pointed out to him, but it's very much a response that he's picked up from J, something to egg him into continuing without giving away too much of his own thoughts on the matter. he is more observant than he would expect of many high school delinquents, though to stop there is a race only half-run. his inferences aren't really on the nose, but it's at least an effort. makoto lifts a hand to thumb the ridge of his jaw, his pale eyes tracking the line of the gesture toward where the armed guards stood, ringing their encampment.
he seems to take it into careful consideration for a moment before his smile returns, slick and oddly serpentine. ) I would have considered it, but I've already found them to be... less than talkative on the way here, ( said as he moves the same hand away from his jaw and towards his throat — it's easy to miss, given how distracting the scar and stitches there are, but there are some fading bruises camouflaged in the same place, courtesy of one of those whips. he sweeps his hair over one shoulder. ) I'm not expecting anyone to have answers. Just passing the time.
( a lie, of course — he's trying to measure the people he finds himself surrounded by — but makoto has found being underestimated can give him useful advantages. one can think of him as a coward all they like, because in certain ways they would be correct, but it carries its own risk — it only makes it more of a shock when it becomes apparent what he's capable of. )
Besides, ( he continues, his tone honeying, ) it doesn't seem like that approach has been going all that well for you so far.
absolutely! in the meantime i'm just hyped to see makoto around hehe, we support a horrible lad
Hates that slimy pretense at geniality, hates the way something cold and sharp creeps into it, hates the casual tone of voice that accompanies it. Gen says nothing, but he also isn't really listening to what Makoto's saying -- it's probably bullshit anyway, it's usually bullshit that accompanies those sorts of saccharine-sweet smiles. Instead, his focus is on looking Makoto over, taking in those graceful movements, the odd color of his eyes, those lurid scars.
Maybe Makoto can feel the quiet intensity of that stare raking over him. It's probably for the best that he does. Because there's no other warning before Gen abruptly reaches forward in response to those honeyed words.
It's not a particularly hurried or quick movement. Instead it's controlled, deliberate, a very purposeful invasion of Makoto's private space to gauge how he reacts. Gen makes to wind his hand into the luxurious cascade of Makoto's hair, closer to the scalp, and tug his head to one side -- not meant to be violent or painful, but again, deliberate. Prodding at Makoto to see how he reacts.
If he shies away from the reach of fingers, that's fine; he'll take it as a victory that he got the guy to balk. If his hand's smacked away, that's fine too; any reaction is better than nothing. But ideally, Gen wants to accomplish the double purposes of making it clear he has no qualms about using physical force, and also getting a better look at the scars at Makoto's throat without his hair falling in the way. ]
The hell are you, anyway?
[ The question's breathed at a quiet, surly deadpan, so close to Makoto's face that most people in his position would find it discomforting. That's the point. True to his image of being a delinquent thug, Gen's knee-jerk response to anything he dislikes is to try to exert control over it. And so far, he's not really liking what he sees of Makoto. ]
ugh i just feel so blessed you're enabling him like this
there is nothing in the careful composition of makoto's demeanor, appearance, or words that seeks to win others over to his side under the trappings of friendship and camaraderie — not honestly, anyways. allies were, after all, only useful as such until the moment that they weren't. he's a canny enough liar that he weaves truths and untruths with such deft alacrity that it was impossible to discard everything that he says out of hand or trust each and every word. that gen can so easily see through that candied deception is refreshing in the way that it cuts to the quick — in that, and in how it had been in-line with exactly what makoto had been goading out of him. he knew from the other young man's run-ins with the guards that he put stock in the power of physicality (for better or worse), and so each conversational move made had been poking at him, prodding at him, seeing just how far and how easily he could provoke him.
ah, and it had been easy enough. if makoto noticed what he was doing soon enough to do something about it, he pointedly decides not to. he gives in easily to the brusque demand of the hand knotting into his hair, following it to cant his head and bare his throat to the stranger. he has all the docility of a family pet with its head in the hand of its master. annoyingly enough, his smile persists, though there's something sharper and more feral in it now.
really, he is far gentler than he had assumed he might be. is that heart not quite so hardened as he wishes others to think it is?
it's a bold move to play at seeing who might be able to unnerve the other first, but this has been a game that makoto has been playing for the last three years. more and more often nowadays, he doesn't lose. the stranger's face looms close enough to his now that he can feel the warmth of his breath, but after everything that he's done and that's been done to him, there's nothing in that which would even begin to faze him. instead of replying with his words, just as boldly, he reaches for gen's other hand. he might pull it away, certainly, but he was the one that had reached for makoto first — with that in mind, he thinks it's a well-minded enough gambit to try. his thin fingers loop around his wrist and lift his hand to his neck, encouraging them to inspect the scar and the stitches there himself, so that there's nothing lost in translation.
because this isn't something makoto would give away so easily. not when there's fun to be had. )
Guess, ( he breathes, the word a faint hum in the vocal chords beneath the thin skin of his throat. his eyes lid mostly closed; two bloody slits with something pale and inhuman peering out of their depths. )
just two well-adjusted teenagers having a perfectly normal one
It's only a brief slip. The slightest hitch of a breath, the whip-quick shift of his eyes to glance down towards Makoto's hand, the tightening of knuckles against the tangle of silken hair. Then Gen recovers, putting up no resistance and silently permitting his other hand to be drawn forth until fingertips are touching against those glaring stitches.
Fine. Two can play this game. He didn't crawl his way up the hierarchy in his miserable little hometown purely through nepotism. ]
Weird hobby you got.
[ His tone of voice is kept impressively even, feigning casual, but at this close proximity there's probably no missing the flicker of discomfort in the squint of his gaze, the way his hand tenses before starting to explore. The tactile sensation of thoses stitches is ... gross, frankly. Unsettling. It's more a testament to his stubborn pride than anything else that Gen drags his fingertips against the seam between Makoto's head and throat for a prolonged moment.
Before sharply digging a fingertip into the gap between two stitches. Just hard enough that it'd bruise regular skin -- maybe hard enough to pry apart that incision and draw a drop or two of blood, he figures. His other hand casually grips tighter into Makoto's hair, knuckling against the curve of his skull as he drones, ]
You some sort of zombie?
[ He feels ridiculous saying it, has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes but -- whatever. He's already spotted more than one person wandering around with moving, twitching, responsive animal ears. Maybe zombies are real, too. Why the fuck not. ]
they are so incredibly normal...
if they were in hell and the same misfortune had befallen gen of ending up in the same situation as makoto, that one brief lapse would've been the moment where he'd have him; the syllables of his name would've fallen apart on his tongue, turned sharp as razor-blades and as caustic as acid. lucky for him, then, that they are here, and the only real "power" makoto has in this situation is a distinct lack of care as to what happens to himself. he enjoys it, though, that ever-so-slight rattle in his breath as the otherness of the demon in his grasp shakes his core. it's not that he's without his own reactions, though. the further tightening and tangling of the grasp in his hair brings about a new tautness around his eyes, furrowing a once-composed brow. ow.
he can't help but laugh at the choice in words. "hobby." it's a dry, crackling chuckle that shakes loose from somewhere in his ribcage; the sound is dark and mocking, though... it doesn't really seem like it's directed at gen himself. when he speaks again, the tone is subdued and has a rasp that hadn't previously been there, ) You think this looks like something I'd do to myself?
( of all the possibilities for self-inflicted wounds there might be in the world, he feels like "decapitation" is probably... low on that list. though he supposes he might be half-right. he is, after all, getting pretty adept at redoing the stitches.
the fact that squeamishness doesn't get the better of him is a point in his favor, really; makoto hadn't been certain he would've made it even this far. his hand falls away as the fingertips probe at the macabre juncture, feeling little more than pressure crossing scar tissue and sutures. even still, something coils tight in his chest, preemptively tense, recalling similar scenarios with J and keiran and knowing what was probably going to come next —
the sensation of a finger forcing apart the seam between two of the sutures is a familiar one, though that familiarity doesn't make it any less pleasant. his shoulders rise in involuntary alarm, his lip further curling from his teeth, half-changing his smile into a teeth-bared snarl. a wordless sound of pain lifts from the back of his throat, regardless of how much he hates that it does. makoto is a sadist, not a masochist, and his sensitivity to pain is no different than any human. even still, he's willing to grin and bear it to make a point. he can scarcely move his head for how tight the grip is on his hair, and the prying at his neck feels so much more viscerally alarming when he's relatively certain too much of this thing could actually kill him, this time. and yet he sets all of that aside, steeling his nerve so he can lift his hand to gen's once more. it settles over his own, light as air for just a moment before adding pressure — not much, but just enough to open the new wound slightly more, so that crimson blood begins to leak from it in earnest. )
The blood. It's warm, isn't it? ( hurts. pain and discomfort form a block in his mind, but he forces himself around it; the breath he takes before continuing shakes faintly as he draws it. ) My heart, beating, forcing it to run... Odd for a zombie, wouldn't you think?
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And frankly, the sensation makes his stomach churn a little.
It's nothing overt, not like he's about to feel sick. But Gen's expression does tense with disomfort at the feel of blood seeping from that deep wound, beading around the shape of his finger before starting to run down the contour of his hand, painting lurid lines down that pale throat. And while it's not like he's unfamiliar with the warmth of blood on his hands, this is different from the more familiar feeling of tingling at his knuckles, the almost-pleasant numbness that accompanies punching someone in the face and feeling his own skin tear. This is more -- (The iron stench of blood, clinging nauseatingly to his face. The sensation of too much blood starting to dry sticky against his skin. And the way light slid off those liquid splatters almost prettily, impossible to look away from. It's all a little too familiar.)
He'd been regarding that morbid sight in silence, expression kept impressively cold and flat but the sudden additional pressure of Makoto's hand against his finally earns a proper reaction. Gen tenses, his next breath huffed out hoarse and a little halting, before abruptly yanking his hand back away from the warmth of Makoto's throat. The move's so quick that it might have torn another stitch or two, his fingertip inadvertently hooked against the edges of that injury, but like he cares. It's Makoto's fault for getting him to dig deeper in the first place.
With his hand free he stares sharply at his quarry for a moment before looking down at his soiled hand. Letting out another slow breath before shaking it to flick off the worst of the blood, then pointedly reaching forward to wipe it dry against the front of Makoto's robe. His blood, so it's only fair that his robe be used to clean it up, right. ]
Not into that sort of fantasy shit. And I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions. Spill it, or don't.
[ Delinquents live and die by their ability to maintain control and put up a strong front, so of course Gen does an admirable job feigning calm even as his skin prickles with the lingering warmth of that gruesome wound. But as Gen withdraws his hand from both Makoto's robe-front and the tangle of his hair, maybe Makoto notices the way he avoids meeting his gaze for a moment or two too long, instead looking down at his hand where blood's clinging under the curve of his nail. Contemplating it in sullen silence for a moment before finally directing his glare back up at Makoto. ]
Dunno if you did that yourself, but you sure don't look like you mind. You into that sorta shit? Surprised you're not getting the guards to lend you a hand, if that's the case.
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only the seam which forms in the parting of skin — the sensations of subcutaneous layers of fat, of ruptured blood vessels still thrumming with pulse, of taut sheets and strings of muscle. each and every human being is made of the same, even if it was rare enough that it was forced so abruptly to the surface of one's awareness. as for makoto, he doesn't seem to care in the slightest that a rivulet of bright blood was running down the pale sweep of his neck and beneath the hem of the white robe he had been given. so what if it did? he will not be wearing this stupid thing forever — either circumstances will change and he will be able to find some real clothes, or they will all imminently perish. until then, the scarlet bloom of blood staining the fabric is something he would wear with pride.
he expects the consequences, both positive and negative, of each and every thing he does. he knows there's only so much he can push this human before he breaks rather than bends — it's just finding where that line lies. his search didn't go on very long. there's precious little makoto can do in this situation to minimize damage, but he recoils as best he can at the sharp and sudden movement; even still, there's a sharp hiss of pain through his teeth as several more of the stitches are disturbed, either loosened or altogether ruined. it wouldn't be that much of a concern if he had his effects on him. without needle and thread, he wouldn't be able to appropriately fix this issue. until he could, it would only scab and ache.
a calculated risk. recovering from the snap of pain that the withdrawal had caused, he reassumes his serpentine smile, balling the long end of one sleeve of his robe so he can press it to the seeping wound. he doesn't take his eyes off of gen's face, even as the other teenager wipes his hand off on the front of his own robe.
no fun. but, then again, he's already gotten more surprise and enjoyment out of him than he expected at this point, so he decides to give up the ghost of the charade for now. he doesn't think there's anything he loses from sharing at least some information, though full and comprehensive pictures were things that makoto jealously kept for himself.
the other boy is kind enough to let him go. makoto gingerly recovers his composure, not wanting to further traumatize the stitches; one of his hands presses the sleeve to his neck and the other combs his fingers through his hair to rectify whatever dishevelment gen had inflicted before sweeping it over his shoulders and away from the blood. he keeps his silence, instead watchful as he observes the way the stranger ruminates over his bloodied hand for a long moment before speaking up once more.
for a moment, it seems he might keep his secrets. then, seemingly apropos of nothing, ) Demon. That's your correct answer. ( he takes a breath, ) And this, ( his eyes flick downwards then, toward his throat, ) means I wasn't always one.
( he surveys the guards appraisingly; one might think he was seriously considering it, but, really, he has no affinity for the pain that comes along with this, but arguing would be lying — especially given the last reason he'd had for having to re-affix the stitches around his neck. not that he was above lying, of course, but only when it had a positive outcome for him. instead he resolves to return his unusual gaze back to gen, replying, ) And face the ignominy of one of those whips again? I think not. ( he rolls his thin shoulders in a shrug, continuing in a tone that verges on "long-suffering," ) No, if I decide it's time for another divorce between my head and shoulders, you've already proven yourself more than apt to wrench it off for me.
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A demon?
[ Feining calm is second nature for him, and Gen's body language reads languid and careless as he sits back, propping his weight on his arms. Every inch the textbook, cocky, overly-confident delinquent, unshaken even in the face of a demon. Only a terribly keen eye would notice the way he continues fidgeting a little bit with his bloodstained hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the curve of his nail where grit of leftover blood lingers. The tactile sensation grates at his nerves but he can't seem to leave it alone, either. ]
Always figured demons would look more ... impressive. Big, red skin, horns, wings. All that shit. [ The Hollywood cliche, in other words. ] You're not that much to look at.
[ Pretty enough for a guy, he supposes, but weird eyes and creepy demeanor aside, he doesn't look like the type to strike much fear into anyone. And so what if he can apparently pull his head off and put it back on? Even if he can recover from all sorts of injuries, that seems more like a party trick, comparatively speaking. There's still the slightest touch of tension in his shoulders as he cocks his head to give Makoto a look-over, too distrustful to fully let his guard down and still acclimating to just how weird this place (and apparently its residents) are, but it's obvious he doesn't see Makoto as a direct threat. Yet. ]
And I ain't doing shit for you. Do it yourself. [ A pause before the corner of his mouth quirks up in the start of a humorless smirk. ] Or -- what, gonna offer me a deal? A "demon" that can't even get out of this ridiculous place, or else you wouldn't be putting up with those guards and their bullshit. What kinda deal can you cook up, huh?
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humans typically don't question him, but it's difficult to do when he's stepping through a portal he had peeled open between hell and the mortal plane, dressed in full finery, pouring their ears full of all of the promises that they would have dreamed a demon would make to them once they could finally muster one. sitting as he is here and now, wan and bedraggled and bleeding and moderately pathetic, he could perhaps begrudgingly admit that it was more difficult to accept... though even the thought of doing so threatened to spark a dangerous and indignant fire. as it is, he stares gen down, chin lifted almost imperceptibly.
"you're not much to look at." he flinches visibly. brat! he says that now, but only because he's reduced to this! he curses now more than even when he had stood teetering at the cliff at the mouth of the shrine to the firebrand that he couldn't draw his wings — how he would love to pull them out to snap at their fullest length here and now, just so he could watch this guy eat at least some of his words.
but as much as his gains climbing the hierarchy of hell these past few years has given him a newfound sense of pride, makoto isn't yet blinded by it. as annoying as it is to have this pointed out to him by gen, this is an important moment that he chooses to learn from. all of that hard work means next to nothing here. he will have to start from the bottom rung once more, but he's far cleverer and more ruthless now than he was when he had been new to his second life as a demon. he will have to utilize all that he has in order to scrounge back whatever power, knowledge, and clout he had had to leave behind in the ashes of hell.
until then... there are worse things to be than underestimated. it's so much more unpleasant when this stranger looks at him that way than when he had mislead datenshou or fjord, but he will bear it.
really, he had only said that to provoke him — he doesn't think he will be nearly so cavalier as he had been with his head as he had in the past, considering the lingering doubts he has about his former immortality. he leaves that behind, changing tact so that he can find a conversational handhold and wrest back some control. ) Have you bothered to speak to anyone else trapped here with you? More often than not, they don't seem the type to allow themselves to be penned here like this, and yet here we are.
( he lets the implication rest — he doesn't want to painstakingly explain every point, because that's just annoying. but it does let him know something: in the same way that he had others he's spoken to seem to be devoid of abilities and powers they once had access to, this one seems to have nothing of the sort. otherwise he wouldn't have said something so inane. )
Were we on Earth, though, and you had summoned me... ( with his free hand he rests his chin in the cup of his palm, elbow propped up on his knee. ) Anything. ( he says it with the ironclad certainty of experience. he smiles. ) Anything the heart might be desperate enough for that one would summon a demon. Though it would come at a cost.
( most human requests are pedestrian enough. violence to slake thirst for revenge, initiated by betrayal or pettiness or wrath or love. greed. lust. once you got the hang of it, reaping mortal souls really wasn't as challenging as one might think. )
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And on some level, Gen knows prodding at a so-called-demon is a monumentally stupid move in the event that this guy's really telling the truth. He knows he shouldn't be so quick to make enemies of unknown caliber in a place like this where he has no resources, no connections, nothing at all to defend himself with, but ... it's kind of freeing, having nothing left to lose. Sure, why not. He'll antagonize this pretty-boy demon for a few moments longer just for the immediate rush, to distract himself from the miserable circumstances and the ache of the bruises he earned from those guards. And if he manages to properly earn this guy's ire from all this shit-talking, then. Well.
If he dies because of it later, then he dies. ]
Yeah? All that tells me is that it doesn't matter what you were before ending up here -- we're all the same sad sacks here.
[ That said, his gaze hardens a bit as Makoto continues. Spouts some bullshit about 'anything' the heart desires. Some of that insufferable, arrogant confidence seeps out of his expression, replaced by something much colder, and Gen meets Makoto's gaze flatly for a moment before lying: ]
Don't have anything like that.
[ Or, well. Maybe it's it's true. After all, the person he wants more than anything is probably dead, embraced lovingly in the arms of another. The thought grates at his nerves, whatever endorphin rush he'd gotten from bullying a reaction out of Makoto rapidly fading, and Gen looks away as he scuffs a hand through his hair. Though it's not like he's necessarily scared of the way that Makoto looks at him, hand propping up his chin like he's some insufferable scientist observing a sample, the fact remains that Gen isn't particularly eager to pursue this line of conversation. So he switches tack. ]
Point is, we're not on Earth at the moment ... I think. So all your talk about 'anything' [ he does a half-hearted job of mocking Makoto's cadence with that word, just obnoxious enough to be annoying but not quite there in terms of being truly grating ] doesn't mean much, yeah? Aren't you just the same as being human again? Or whatever you were before you 'became a demon.' Just with weird eyes and faster healing. Fat load of good that's gonna do you.
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at first his only response is to stare levelly at gen, then he raises his shoulders in a shrug. )
So it seems.
( there's a bitter sort of irony to it. after years of toil and trouble, he'd finally scrounged together a modicum of power and prestige, only to have it immediately stripped away. he's not entirely unconvinced his pathetic dancing at the end of his strings isn't some cosmic joke for God, if He exists at all.
unable to view the shape and the weight of gen's soul, he doesn't have a perfect idea of whether he's lying. fortunately, he doesn't really need to. all humans have the makings of such desires in their hearts — it's just whether or not they are still fledgling seeds, as of yet unsplit and unsprouted, or if they have spread so far throughout the body and the mind that they were no longer able to be pushed aside and ignored. demons, constant and eternal, just have to wait. with gen, it's hard to say whether or not his heart already weighs as heavily with grief, doubt, shame, or regret as makoto's heart had when he had called J to his room, but it doesn't really matter. he smiles knowingly at him as if he had the answer already.
he allows the change in conversational track without issue. )
I can't argue. You're not wrong. ( he won't even bother because the evidence is easy enough to find speaking to any number of the people they were trapped in here with. he momentarily retrieves his sleeve so he can see if the wound on his neck is still bleeding; the two fingertips he touches to it come back red with blood, so he returns the sleeve and pressure. ) I wouldn't still be here if you were, and I'm not the only one. ( he breathes out a sigh through his nose, eyes sinking closed for a long moment before blinking open once more. he continues with a leading smile, ) So, with that being the case, what's there left for us to do here but wait, speculate, and get to know our neighbors?
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The way this guy talks about hypothetically leaving this place ... either he's truly delusional (and thus a threat in his own right) or he really was (is?) a demon of considerable ability back where he's from. Strong enough to deal with all these soldiers and their strange weaponry? Skilled enough to evacuate this place, when they don't even know how they've been brought here? Really? It's a ludicrous thought that Gen has a hard time accepting, and even if he does force himself to absorb it, that just pisses him off a bit.
Because why the hell is he stuck here, then? In the midst of all this fantasy nonsense, instead of back home, dealing with more mundane bullshit.
Gen sighs as he starts gnawing at a hard bread crust before deigning to look properly at Makoto once more. ]
So talk, then.
[ He's well aware that Makoto was probably hoping to mine information out of others instead of divulging anything about himself, but Gen has no shame about chucking the ball in the other's court first. Part of him genuinely is a little interested in whatever the prettyboy might say, and another part of him just wants the distraction from the various physical discomforts he's dealing with -- the myriad bruises, the hunger, the gnawing pangs of nicotine withdrawal. ]
Let me get to know you, since you're such a nice little neighbor, yeah? Wanna tell me what demons spend all day doing? Torturing souls in hell, or whatever. Or, what, maybe about what you used to be before you became so almighty and special? Enlighten me.
[ Obnoxious, needling, provocative. Even delivered at a sloppy deadpan, words tossed out carelessly between bites of his rations, it's clear Gen's trying to goad Makoto into talking -- maybe even saying a little more than he might have originally meant to. Not that Gen even has any long-term plans about what he's going to do with that information, but he's always been the type to scrabble for power; even if the odds are stacked against him in this place and he's in no condition to be making more enemies, he just can't help being prickly. ]
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it's an added benefit of being cryptic that it gives gen the question of whether or not he was more dangerous than he led on. in the grand scheme of things, yes, absolutely, makoto was a dangerous creature to deal with. when it came down to brass tacks, though, that answer shifted and changed. he's uncannily skilled with small blades and the construct of human anatomy, but he will with absolutely zero contests of strength with anyone who sized him up and (accurately) thought they could get the better of him. his skill is in guile and duplicity, in maneuvering and manipulation... he might not cut a very threatening figure himself, but he has a remarkable ability to convince those that do to make his safety their prerogative.
the answer is that, had he the full width and breadth of his abilities as a demon still, he would have drawn his wings and flown away before they'd even had the opportunity to capture him at the shrine. simple enough.
his expression goes flat at the imperative. what exactly do you think I've been sitting here and doing, then? but there's a shard of J's attitude embedded in that response and even the acknowledgement of that causes the burn of bile at the back of his throat, so he bites it back. he recomposes himself with a somewhat drawn smile, one that verges on condescending (in the way that seems intentional, as if to bait further annoyance). unfortunately, he's not so easily goaded, though that doesn't mean he's entirely unreasonable. ) One of the very first things I learned as a demon is that one should never give away for free anything that has value. ( and though one could easily make a case that makoto's ramblings had no inherent value (potentially true, as it depends on the individual), but given that they are prisoners with nothing but themselves and the robes they wear, he thinks it's evident enough information is the only thing left to them and therefore valuable. ) That's the only thing I'll tell you without something about yourself in return.
( he lifts his shoulders in half of a shrug. ) It doesn't have to be anything too deep or dark, if you prefer. Like... you could tell me your name, to start.
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Not that he's particularly surprised. Doesn't take more than a glance to tell this guy's the type to make good use of a silver tongue, probably the type to get what wants or needs through the use of pretty words and technicalities. Well-accustomed to the exchange of barbs and provocations, sly and conniving. The type Gen doesn't like having to deal with.
He gives no audible response at first, only giving a barely-visible, dismissive roll of the eyes at that condescending 'lesson' Makoto lays on him. Like hell he's going to show any respect towards whatever demonic 'wisdom' is being extended his way, even if he doesn't necessarily disagree with it. And while Gen's always been the type to rely more on his fists than on words, he can at least play along with this pretense at 'friendly chit-chat.' ]
You think anyone's going to offer you anything 'deep or dark?' You reek. [ Not literally. Though honestly, given the rough conditions they've been forced to endure, maybe there's a tiny kernel of truth in that insult. He's certainly itching for a hot shower himself. ] Like a rat. I'd trust a street fortuneteller more than I'd trust you.
[ He could definitely throw Makoto further than he trusts him.
Still, after a pointed pause to let that dismissive remark settle, he deadpans, ]
Minegishi. [ A name, as Makoto requested. But surname only. Not like he believes in any of that videogame nonsense about names having power, or whatever, but he's not in the mood to have some creepy guy calling him by his given name, either. And before Makoto can respond he adds sharply, ] Let's say I don't wanna know your name. What value you gonna offer me in return?
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in the end, as he's overly cautious and thought-out with his words and only tangentially concerned with his physical well-being, makoto can be a very annoying creature to try to coerce — that is, for any creature that isn't the demon known as J.
his expression flattens out at the reply, eyes narrowing to match the unimpressed line his mouth presses into. petty insults just aren't any fun, as any effort put into defending oneself from them just ended up confirming them in the long run. so instead he huffs out a sigh, shaking his head. ) You asked. Whether or not you decide to believe what I say is entirely up to you.
( his dramatized indifference dries up immediately, however, upon the admission of the name. with how sharp and keen his attention gets in that moment, an overly-contented smile curling the corners of his mouth, one might find themselves believing that there was some sort of power in giving a name to a demon. there isn't, but even still, makoto keeps it as jealously as he might a handful of gold dust. )
Well, then, Minegishi-san, ( he pronounces each distinct syllable of his name with a vaguely sing-song lilt — he knows that the rules that he's lived the last three years of his life under don't apply here, but there's still a placebo thrill in the mastery of another's name on your tongue. that he doesn't ask for makoto's in reply doesn't disappoint him in the least. if anything, it's a preferable position to be in. but as it is, he's not really here to play a guessing game. ) That's hard to say. What has value to me might be — or, rather, would most likely mean nothing at all to you.
( which, by nature, he finds ridiculous. information from even the most surprising of places can be very useful, if one is industrious enough to find a way to utilize it.
he hums, thoughtful. then he replies in a steady stream, never missing a beat in its recital: ) What did you ask a moment ago — what demons do every day? For labor or leisure? The answer to both is surprisingly similar to what it would be for humans. It's more common for powerful and well-known demons to get summoned to collect human souls, so the rest work to fill out all the other jobs you can think of in a society. And in their free time... well, they eat, drink, sleep, fight, fuck, laugh, lie, and do whatever they can to make sure they see the next day.