松野一松 「мaтѕuno ιcнιмaтѕu」 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ichininyaanshi) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lifeaftr2017-08-15 12:38 am
ichininyaanshi) wrote in lifeaftr2017-08-15 12:38 am
[day 13AUG] wake up, you're a drama queen
Who: Ichimatsu + ota
What: A man goes looking for cats. He gets one... in a sense.
When: August 13
Where: Enso D6
Warnings: Catastrophe, warnings to be added if appropriate
--
"I'm going out," he had told whichever of his brothers had been listening at the time. It might have been both, or perhaps it was neither -- if he were to guess, it would be the latter. Maybe it would have seemed a little odd to hear from the reclusive Ichimatsu, let alone in the middle of the day, when the sun was out and bearing down without relief. If so, Ichimatsu had likely shuffled off into the jungle without opening the floor to questions.
The truth is, he can't stand it anymore. It's been nearly two weeks of nothing but his brothers and a whole lot of strangers for company.
Ichimatsu needs to know if there are cats on this island.
He doubts it. Other than the fierce wildlife variety, that is -- tigers or leopards or whatever, he'd take it. Ichimatsu isn't picky. He'd just like to spend time in the company of something that won't force him to talk, or look at him like the sweaty garbage he is. If that means getting eaten by a leopard, well... no pain, no gain.
He begins at (i.) the pools south of the Storyteller's temple, to bottle and purify some water for his trip. From there, he picks a direction and goes. West, as it would so happen. With his hoodie tied around his waist and his knapsack drawn over one shoulder, he sets out on his search.
To be honest, it's all right with him if he doesn't find cats. He just needs some time to himself.
Ichimatsu spends some time simply (ii.) exploring the jungle. His knife finds its way through several trunks of trees to mark his path, and once or twice, his fingernails might be employed to do the job instead. Yes, really. A nap under the shade to escape the heat for an hour or so, or to hell with it: perhaps he simply sits on a rock, whittling away at a hunk of broken-off branch to ease his boredom.
It's just barely getting dark when Ichimatsu gives up his search for cat-kind, with less than half a bottle of water left, and begins searching for his nearest marking to follow his path home. Funnily enough, though his eyes catch a streak of clawmarks in the bark of a lush tree, something feels like it's pulling him in the complete opposite direction.
(iii.) Literally.
It's with a startled grunt that Ichimatsu jerks away from the physical pull, slamming into the jungle floor. He scrabbles at the grass, looking over his shoulder just in time to see one of his sandals come loose. A mass of black energy pulsates in an open clearing just a short distance away; a miniature, billowing cloud, a typhoon contained in its own vortex. He's never seen anything like it. A gravitational pull pounds through his skull like a sharp, sucking beat of tinnitus, and suddenly Ichimatsu registers what's going on.
Shit. He's gonna die.
That's fine, he thinks. He doesn't care. And yet he digs his fingers deeper into the soil, dragging himself forward inch by grueling inch until he can sling one arm around a tree trunk and hold on tight, his eyes screwing shut. What the hell is that thing? What'll happen if he lets go? He figures he'll find out eventually, but...
Yeah, he'll admit it. He's sort of scared to find out. So he grits his teeth and he holds on, weighing his options to the last.
Slowly, evening begins to fall across the island.
What: A man goes looking for cats. He gets one... in a sense.
When: August 13
Where: Enso D6
Warnings: Catastrophe, warnings to be added if appropriate
--
"I'm going out," he had told whichever of his brothers had been listening at the time. It might have been both, or perhaps it was neither -- if he were to guess, it would be the latter. Maybe it would have seemed a little odd to hear from the reclusive Ichimatsu, let alone in the middle of the day, when the sun was out and bearing down without relief. If so, Ichimatsu had likely shuffled off into the jungle without opening the floor to questions.
The truth is, he can't stand it anymore. It's been nearly two weeks of nothing but his brothers and a whole lot of strangers for company.
Ichimatsu needs to know if there are cats on this island.
He doubts it. Other than the fierce wildlife variety, that is -- tigers or leopards or whatever, he'd take it. Ichimatsu isn't picky. He'd just like to spend time in the company of something that won't force him to talk, or look at him like the sweaty garbage he is. If that means getting eaten by a leopard, well... no pain, no gain.
He begins at (i.) the pools south of the Storyteller's temple, to bottle and purify some water for his trip. From there, he picks a direction and goes. West, as it would so happen. With his hoodie tied around his waist and his knapsack drawn over one shoulder, he sets out on his search.
To be honest, it's all right with him if he doesn't find cats. He just needs some time to himself.
Ichimatsu spends some time simply (ii.) exploring the jungle. His knife finds its way through several trunks of trees to mark his path, and once or twice, his fingernails might be employed to do the job instead. Yes, really. A nap under the shade to escape the heat for an hour or so, or to hell with it: perhaps he simply sits on a rock, whittling away at a hunk of broken-off branch to ease his boredom.
It's just barely getting dark when Ichimatsu gives up his search for cat-kind, with less than half a bottle of water left, and begins searching for his nearest marking to follow his path home. Funnily enough, though his eyes catch a streak of clawmarks in the bark of a lush tree, something feels like it's pulling him in the complete opposite direction.
(iii.) Literally.
It's with a startled grunt that Ichimatsu jerks away from the physical pull, slamming into the jungle floor. He scrabbles at the grass, looking over his shoulder just in time to see one of his sandals come loose. A mass of black energy pulsates in an open clearing just a short distance away; a miniature, billowing cloud, a typhoon contained in its own vortex. He's never seen anything like it. A gravitational pull pounds through his skull like a sharp, sucking beat of tinnitus, and suddenly Ichimatsu registers what's going on.
Shit. He's gonna die.
That's fine, he thinks. He doesn't care. And yet he digs his fingers deeper into the soil, dragging himself forward inch by grueling inch until he can sling one arm around a tree trunk and hold on tight, his eyes screwing shut. What the hell is that thing? What'll happen if he lets go? He figures he'll find out eventually, but...
Yeah, he'll admit it. He's sort of scared to find out. So he grits his teeth and he holds on, weighing his options to the last.
Slowly, evening begins to fall across the island.
no subject
The dark Queen of the place he's left behind would toy with people like him, manipulating anything from their emotions to their memories to stir up trouble and sow the seeds of discord, but this compulsion was nothing like that.
For one moment, nothing was more important than saving some kid he doesn't know.
No one asked for your help.
Sans looks up to find both humans looking -- by his own interpretation -- hostile and on alert, and he finds himself getting irritated. It ain't like he gives a damn one way or another if they're grateful, but give him a break. His skull is aching, a dull fog is settling in all around them, and all he wants to do is sleep it off. Why the hell won't they just let him off the hook?
It doesn't occur to Sans that his unreasonable aggravation is extreme and abrupt fatigue, pure and simple.
"Nobody asked for your opinion, either," argues the skeleton, staggering back to his feet with an unsteady wobble. His pounding skull feels like it's full of boulders; Sans holds it upright with one hand while the other gropes blindly for the tree trunk nearby. "You're whining's a little late. You knew exactly what I was doing."
Holy moly, he is so tired.
"How'd-- how'd you," he huffs, giving his head a shake. "Hold up, I'm just gonna--"
Sans drops himself back onto the ground to sit, holding his skull with his hands. Whatever he was going to say, apparently it's not important enough to discuss, let alone remember. The humans are frustrated, scared, glaring at him, but uh, he's too tired to care. He'll just lean against this tree trunk and, yeah, just rest a bit. Can't even remember why it's such a big deal. What, did they want to fall into a black hole? Fine, they can march their tailbones right back into the singularity, for all he cares.
"Gimme a minute, ok?"
no subject
Such effort would have been tiring before, certainly, but not like this.
And suddenly, they have a higher priority. Sorry, Sans, it looks like they don't have time for the argument you'd like.
"You," Chara's attention shifts to Ichimatsu entirely as they shove a hand down the front of their shirt, holding his blade in front of them moments later. "If you want me to even consider returning this, you will stay with him. Neither of you move unless that thing gets closer, understand?"
Sans might be light, but they're certainly not going to trust the guy who basically ruined their wrist to carry him all the way back to camp.
"I will return shortly, with someone who can carry him."
no subject
But his heartrate is still soaring. He doesn't know what the skeleton did, but it invaded something inside of him, gripped it and shoved it around, and he feels violated in some vague sense. It's enough to foster an immediate resentment where there should be overwhelming, groveling gratitude.
He's just a great guy like that.
When the kid waves the knife around in front of his face and starts making demands, it takes Ichimatsu a moment to register. He stares for a moment, still gripping the front of his jacket. Then a dark look comes over his face. At once he seems to compose himself, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching forward.
This little punk... they're holding him hostage.
Heh. That's definitely something he and his brothers would have done to somebody at this kid's age. He almost respects that, in a way.
Almost.
"Huhh? You want me to protect this guy? I'm just weak garbage, you know." His eyes narrow. "Give it first."
no subject
His extremities prickle, his magic terribly depleted, and Sans can only think, heh, can't see the forest for the trees when you can't see the trees.
Like that's funny, like that matters when there's humans squabbling over a knife.
Why the hell does a kid have a knife anyway? Who lets them collect knives to stow in their sweater sleeves or between their mattress and the wall. Hell, on the occasions he's tried to cook in the castle sometimes he's found the drawer nearly empty of 'em.
There's a hollow thunk as Sans drops his skull back against the tree trunk he uses as a prop to keep him upright. The very second his headache begins to abate, he rasps a chuckle. He's overdone it, he thinks. Wade and him got carried away again, maybe if he stays really still, he won't do himself in by tripping over an empty bottle.
He's not drunk, he's exhausted, and he can't tell the difference.
"Heh heh heh, sure, leave it to the human," he says, a little deliriously, "Just do me a favor, pal. Whenever you get the guts to use it, make sure it counts."
no subject
"Listen to me, you uncultured trash," Chara begins, voice low- quiet enough, perhaps, that Sans will not pick up all the words being said. He might be taller than them, and they may have to look up to see him- but there is no mistaking the fact that they are looking down at him. "If you've misunderstood this to be a negotiation, then let me make this simple for you."
The knife shifts in their hand, held with the confidence of practice. Undoubtedly, they look seconds away from lashing out.
They are.
"You will stay here. You will watch him. And if anything happens to him, even the Storyteller won't be capable of putting you back together."
They give Ichimatsu a few moments, lets their words sink in- and then the knife is going back into their sweater. Their voice returns to a normal volume.
"I will return shortly. Please remain seated, Sans."
no subject
It doesn't take a whole lot of common sense to see that Chara means business. In fact, Ichimatsu is perfectly capable of picking that up. It's his own total lack of self-preservation that darkens his expression -- or perhaps, more accurately, the sour vindictiveness he's built his entire modus operandi on, brick by brick. For a moment, he doesn't see a kid, injured and attempting to control the situation. He sees someone threatening him; someone looking down on him.
It pisses him off.
There's something in their voice. He can't pin it, but it makes the inside of him feel heavy in that same, raw way that the skeleton had invaded him, and his lip curls into a silent snarl. The knife? He suddenly doesn't care anymore. If the kid buries it in his ribs within the next two seconds, it'll be a comedy. Killed with his own knife? Hilariously fitting for garbage.
They call him uncultured trash; that is the smallest offense, and he's fine with proving their point.
He turns, hands shoving into his hoodie pocket, and eyes the clearly worn skeleton with a subdued yet critical look. He really does owe that weird guy his life. He hates that, hates his own burst of petty indignation that refuses to quell, but he hates being bossed around by random pricks more.
Sorry, skeleton man. He'll make it up to you some other time.
"Bite me," he snaps.
Without hesitation, he turns and begins stalking away.
no subject
For a moment, all Chara can do is stare, completely rigid in the wake of his complete denial. They can't leave Sans here alone. They can't carry him. This... utter sack of useless human is the key component to having ANY control over this situation, and his response to that?
Bite me.
There's no more time to think. There's the slap of shoes behind him; a child running to cut off his exit before it occurs, and when they meet his gaze, they hold a knife aloft once more.
Just not his knife.
"If you stay, I'll give you this."
And with a twist of their wrist, the blade alights with vibrant, cheerful flames.
no subject
He'd envy them for being so energetic after narrowly escaping a black hole, if it wasn't so damned inconvenient.
It doesn't matter. It's not his problem.
One of them is leaving, and that's a relief, he thinks. Maybe he can finally get some sleep. One of them chases the other, stops them. Pulls out something that lights up with tongues of flame, throwing Ichimatsu's back into stark shadow.
That tugs on his drifting attention.
A dagger set alight. A shadow.
He's seen that before, not just the spine-crawling twinge of deja vu but a familiarity that threatens to shatter his ribs, break open his mandible in its urgency to crawl out of all his empty spaces, something he knows is a vacancy, as ridiculous as trying to vomit up an empty mason jar, a noisy nothing crowding up the inner walls of his skull. This isn't important, he presses the heels of his hands over his empty eye sockets, blotting the sight of it out.
This is too much. He is much too spent for this. Much too tired. It's not important, it's not, no matter how much his bones ache.
He won't think about this anymore.
no subject
Then the blade erupts into a column of flame, and the caustic burn behind his own teeth snuffs out. His eyebrows leaping up into his sweaty hairline, Ichimatsu stares, transfixed for a bewildered moment at the display. It's not as if he's never heard of things (or people) lighting up like that. But this? This... is new.
Chara speaks. Slowly, Ichimatsu's eyes track to theirs, and his lids droop once more, diminishing some of the fire-glint in his eyes. For a few seconds, he stands in utter silence. He's studying them with shameless intensity.
Hey, kid. Thought this wasn't a negotiation.
And then something occurs to him. Why is this brat going through so much effort to make him stay, anyway? What do they care? He breaks his gaze just long enough to throw a glance over his shoulder, towards the squat skeleton in a galaxy-print hoodie, looking as completely spent as Ichimatsu himself does on a bad day -- without all the jacked-up hair and sallow skin to help. That skeleton, pressing the flats of his bony palms into his eyesockets, like there's even anything in there to keep inside his skull.
Come on, really? Is that what changed your mind?
His eyes move back to Chara, and for a moment, he's biting his tongue, tightening the corner of his mouth to keep from smirking. They want him to keep an eye on the sack of bones that badly, huh? What, just because they're secretly soft? Yeah, right. He's got about half their number. Just half... but it's enough.
You know what?
"... fine," he says, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
Fine, because he feels like a giant bruise, and he's not looking for excuses to go home and continue hanging around his brothers, wearing his hoodie in the humidity to conceal the sad state of his flesh. Fine, because now he's getting sort of interested in how this is playing out. And because -- though he still hates to admit it -- he does owe that skeleton.
Fine.
no subject
They refuse to be cowed by him. The only thing keeping him alive right now is Sans
And the fact that as of yet, they do not know precisely what happens to people when they die here. There's no point stepping on cockroaches if all they do is come back.
That doesn't mean they hate him any less.
"Fine." They echo flatly. Flipping the blade around, they offer it to him hilt first- or rather, they roughly push it into his chest. The sharp edge slices their skin- they don't feel it, nor do they care.
"If you leave before I get back, I'll kill you. That fact has not changed, sir."
no subject
They piss him off. But he's impressed.
Fine, they echo, and looks like negotiations are over. As they shove the knife into his chest, hilt-first, he grunts and brings up one hand to receive it. He notices a thin line of blood on the blade, and of course his eyes move to track their hand, but he says nothing. Only tightens his grip on the handle and lets it drop to his side. It's still warm from the flames, singed and smelling of warm metal and quickly-browning iron. Heh. Where'd a child like them get ahold of something so useful?
Well, a deal's a deal.
"Sure," he says without smiling. The threat of death isn't an exceptionally effective one against him, but he seems willing to cooperate nonetheless.
Then he turns, showing Chara his back for the second time, and picks a tree to settle against; dropping to the ground and drawing his knees up. His arms wrap around his legs, the knife drooping in his grip, and he stares at the reeling skeleton.
Get a move on, kid.
no subject
All he knows is the were two there and now there's one, staring at him in a position that might mirror his own exactly -- if not for the fact he's got a knife held loosely in one human hand.
"Where'd they get that," slurs Sans. It feels like he's trying to wade through a river against the current, just trying to speak. He's tired. "Where'd they go," he adds, sluggishly tipping up his skull.
It doesn't sound like he's particularly concerned so much as curious -- and a little bewildered besides.
What were they doing out here again? What was he doing? And why's he so freakin' tired?
no subject
He doesn't really care, though. Not that much.
So he lets his charge sleep, his eyes darkly flitting between Sans and the vast panel of foliage surrounding them. Idly, he flicks the knife back and forth on occasion, trying to get it to do the flaming trick the kid had done -- to no avail. Frustration gradually curls his mouth into a frown, and he gives up to continue his vigilant watch of a whole lot of fucking nothing.
The kid better get back soon. If he stays into the night, his brothers... well, they'd notice, at least. He doubts they'd do much except wonder where he wandered off to.
The sudden question comes as a bit of a surprise. Ichimatsu's dull gaze turns away from a shadowy fern to pin Sans with a look of mild irritation. Jeez, why did he have to wake up? Clearly he's not in the shape for it, anyway.
"Dunno," he deadpans in response to both questions. He lays the knife over the top of his knees and leans back against his tree. "Said they'd be back."
no subject
There's a jumble of questions Sans wants to ask (and some he doesn't), but they're all snarled up in each other like a tangle of subterranean roots. What he ends up with is a bewildered:
"You stayed?"
Knackered as he was, even Sans could see that Ichimatsu wanted to do anything but. He doesn't think that knife is his -- or anyone's, it belongs to nobody, or nothing that ever existed -- and somehow it is. Right there. Inert and dangerous. Sans, eye lights fuzzy and unfocused, stares across at the human with open suspicion.
"You're easy to bribe." Because that's what it is, right? Bribed to stay? Surely it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. Ichi has as many reasons to give a damn about Sans as the skeleton does about the human.
no subject
He doesn't give a damn, it's true. The skeleton saved his life, so by conventional morals he probably owes Sans this favor at the very least, but he doesn't have enough sincerity behind the gesture to point it out. The knife had only been a part of it. Mostly, he's sore and tired and he doesn't feel like moving for a while. He figures someone as disheveled-looking as this guy can understand that sentiment.
Maybe, just maybe... he's a little interested in seeing how this plays out, too.
"It doesn't matter to me why you think I'm doing this," he says bluntly. Then his muddy eyes slide to Sans, edged and jeering. "If I were you, I'd be asking those questions about someone else."
no subject
"Think this is fun for you, buddy? There's a kid runnin' around with a knife."
Because that other stuff isn't important.
It's not -- so why does his thoughts keep snagging on it like a knit sweater on a jutting nail?
"If that kid gets themselves hurt," warns the skeleton, "That's on your head."
Because it's not like Sans has ever handed young children the means to do themselves perhaps irreparable harm, or anything.
no subject
So what if the kid has a knife? It's not like they didn't have one before. Maybe the damn kid just likes knives. That's no crime.
"Sure, and it looks like they know how to use it," Ichimatsu drawls slowly. The jeering look is gone, replaced heavily with a mild disdain as his cheek falls back into his palm. The drama is rapidly losing its charm; as soon as this is over, he'll go find something else to do.
"Sorry, but I don't feel like having that responsibility put on me just because you felt like taking a nap. Shut up and wait for 'em to get back."
/casually saunters back in
Multiple times, Wade had asked if they needed to stop. And multiple times, Chara had declined the offer, until it got to the point where they simply ignored the query entirely. It's pretty clear they're paying for it- red in the face, their first motion is to lean up against the nearest tree, attempting to regulate their breathing a little before calling out in a voice that's still a little too breathless.
"He's over here."
no subject
He hasn't realized that they've reached their destination until the child suddenly stumbles to the nearest tree and rests against it. Even then, Wade approaches them hesitantly, hand outstretched as if to clasp them by the shoulder but falling short. "Easy there, kiddo. Just focus on gettin' your breath back, okay?"
It's only then that he takes in the scenario in front of him-- and the individuals in front of them. The two of them-- Sans and Ichimatsu both-- look disheveled and worse for wear, though to what extent isn't immediately apparent right now. Wade's mouth quirks, and a jape is out of his mouth before he can stop himself:
"Well. Did I stumble on a hoodie convention or what's goin' on here?"
no subject
That he resents having blame assigned him because he took it upon himself to save their life goes without saying -- hell, it's probably the same resentment Ichi feels for being assigned responsibility just because Sans was otherwise indisposed.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to endure Sans's glaring for long, but of all the help that the kid could seek out, how convenient, how lucky it was that they found the one guy that Sans trusts implicitly. It's something that stands out like the kid's knowing stare had, but when Sans tries to question it, his skull pounds with a fresh headache that tells him he has other, better, less painful things to think about.
Why did the kid put themselves out like that?
Why does he care?
"...Yeah, it's like showin' up to the party in the same dress. To heck with this guy for jackin' my style."
And then: "You ok?"
no subject
Except holy shit. It's that guy again.
Ichimatsu starts rather abruptly, leaning forward with a soft noise of surprise before catching himself and jolting back into the tree. It's been hours since he overheard the creep and Tibia chattering away -- he seriously didn't think he'd run into him yet again. Ichimatsu's eyes sweep quickly for the little Pokemon, and when he doesn't see her immediately, he beats down his surprise by climbing quickly to his feet.
What a circus this is. It's not like he wanted to stay before, but he's definitely ready to hightail it out of here now.
"Keh. Only if your 'style' is garbage, too." Waving a derisive hand, Ichimatsu slides his knife into the pocket of his hoodie. "Anyway, I'm done, so I'm outta here. See ya."
And he indeed begins walking right off in a seemingly random direction.
no subject
It's both unpleasant and slightly relieving. What a waste of a day.
Attention on Wade, they don't answer Sans' question, a dirty look shot Ichimatsu's way as he takes his leave without so much as a pleasure doing business with you. They'll be seeing him again, absolutely...
"I take it you can't stand, still."
no subject
"I think you'll live. Some bed rest and you should be fine. Bet that's music to your ears, huh?"
He raises his head, whistling sharply at Ichi's retreating form to get the NEET's attention.
"'Ey! Not done with you yet, dude. I got someone here who wants to see ya."
no subject
Probably a topic for another time.
Only thing that arrests the gesture is the whistle at Ichimatsu -- Sans looks towards his retreating back, then to Wade, and finally to the kid.
"Why stand when I can catch a ride?" he jokes, his laugh sounding tired, worn thin. "...Thanks for gettin' him.
"You gonna be ok, kiddo?"
no subject
A sharp whistle sounds, and Ichimatsu knows it's meant for him. His feet root to the ground on pure reflex. He'd bite down an angry scoff at himself for acting like some trained dog, but really, he's too busy squashing the minor flare of anxiety at Wade's words. Because he knows exactly what the creepy old man is talking about.
So he wasn't mistaken. That guy... really is Tibia's dad. And what, she told him about Ichimatsu? Shit. It would've been better for everyone if she had just forgotten their entire encounter. He knows he's trapped, but Ichimatsu has never been one for going easily. He half-turns, eying Wade as if he's delusional and Ichimatsu has never seen him in his life.
"You have the wrong guy."
Believable enough, right? It's not like there aren't two others with his face strutting around.
... but he doesn't start walking off again.
(no subject)