( 人斬り以蔵 ) — ᴍᴀɴsʟᴀʏᴇʀ ɪᴢᴏᴜ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hitokiller) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synflux2024-02-02 09:08 am
hitokiller) wrote in synflux2024-02-02 09:08 am
[ closed ] why hold onto all that?
WHO: Okada Izou and "friends".
WHAT: Messy shenanigans.
WHERE: Out over the ocean, mid battle with the kaijuu, Revelation's communal bath.
WHEN: 2/3~2/4 & sometime... after.
WARNINGS: Drowning, blood, asphyxiation. More ??? potentially.
WHAT: Messy shenanigans.
WHERE: Out over the ocean, mid battle with the kaijuu, Revelation's communal bath.
WHEN: 2/3~2/4 & sometime... after.
WARNINGS: Drowning, blood, asphyxiation. More ??? potentially.
MY placeholder now
so many people come to mind as wanderer soars through the skies. ishmael, foolish girl, who thinks her insanity and ambition will take her to victory, that bloodlust is reason to be so careless. he had been like that once, too. he knows how idiotic that mindset is, and keeps his eyes trained for red hair.
he thinks, too, of that raggedy man, so alike and yet so different from him. wanderer knows a man with blood in his hands when he sees one, seasoned from fighting, known to death. he had been like that once, too, and he can only wonder if he's in one of the yachts, fighting, or eager to do so. he looks, absentmindedly, with few hopes that his eyes would find an insect so small -
but he does. foolishly human, too, throwing himself at a monster so much bigger, so much stronger. one of his hits misses, the other hits - and when he lands back on the yacht, the orca's waves throw the entire thing off balance, together with all the ones who were in it. whatever feeling has been bubbling up in his chest is utterly useless; what name does he put on it, and why does it bother him so? it's meaningless altogether, something with no room or place in his empty chest. and yet.
and yet, he still dives into the ocean, uselessly. still goes off route to look for that foolish man, utterly human, scarily fragile. his mechanical eyes see well under the water, and wanderer finds him soon enough. drowning. dying. always so easily, always in the blink of an eye. he fishes him out of the water, brings him to the shore, fusses over him, and for what reason? humans die, sooner or later, as they are fated to do so. and yet,
he has seen miyazaki do something about this, about the lack of air, about a drowning tatarasuna girl, too. gently, carefully - wanderer is so much stronger, after all, and humans are like porcelain; one, two, three, ten, thirty, over and over he pushes his palms against izou's chest, never sure if this is working, if this is right, without anyone to guide him. then once, and twice - he has no qualms with kissing, has done it before without bothersome feelings in the way. transferring oxygen is a weird experience for a puppet that does not breathe, but if all he's meant to do is push it into someone's mouth, then that much he can do, at least.
it's clumsy, the cpr, but it's the way miyazaki had done it, and he had seen the little girl come back to life, almost. )
... Are you really just going to die like that? To some damn water you swallowed? ( the world's shittiest motivational speech, if izou can even hear him, but the weight of complicated feelings in his chest are too heavy for wanderer to allow himself the awareness that he's simply - worried,
and perhaps, foolishly, a little scared. )
no subject
it's been so long since he's been that, been breathing and life and guts and body. a servant is all that but nothing tangible, just a corporeal being with the ghost of a blood-beat snaking beneath their skin, just a remnant of the deeds that carved their name into the war torn map of history. it's only recently that he's felt the weight of having hands capable of forging new memories, of having a voice so real that those who aren't his master listen and remember, and you'd think he'd tread cautiously when it came to this chance at a new life.
but, as much as he protests being anything other than a blood-soaked demon, he is, just that:
painfully human.
as his leftover strength as a servant wanes, his lungs panging for air after being thrown into that maelstrom that is the sea, izou dreams. he sees a place on earth that belongs to him and his friends when they were as children, the lot of them cheering along the bank of a river, beyond the civilized landscape of row houses and down a hill as they egg each other on and play a game of keep-away in the water. he sees his small, calloused fingers as they dig through pebbles to compete with the other boys in a competition for rock-skipping, feels the defensive anger as he stands in the way of a group of them chastising his crybaby neighbor, a boy from a better household, for refusing to get his clothes wet and disappoint his older sister. simpler times.
before he can relax fully into that dream and those days of poverty followed by joyous times, though, unaware that he's drifting further and further away, there's a something pulling his weight against the caress of the current. the shifting of his limbs. palms thrusting into his chest, if that is his chest, once... twice. many times, followed by the brush of lips on his, though in the haze of almost drowning, it's difficult to focus on the activities taking place.
a coughing episode later, with water running from his lips and down his body: )
Don't... wanna die—
no subject
something similar, perhaps, to fear. a sharp pain, a needle slowly piercing through flesh and muscle and nothing at all, because his body isn't so real, not nearly as human. wanderer has seen death so many times, has delivered it to those who deserved it and those who did not, and yet -
in his arms, fragile and weak, it's too close for comfort, too personal. he had been powerless once, unable to change the inevitable fate of those made of flesh and bones, painfully human.
at least one person. just one person. if he could at least save one person - )
You won't. I won't let you. ( he's talking, at least, breathing again. wanderer helps sit him up, head down, so the water comes out. ) Cough it out, then breathe. ( like he really knows what those mean tbh ) How are you feeling?
no subject
even in this close proximity, the words said to him sound distant, but he's trying desperately to focus, to cling to life, because it's true—he doesn't want to die, not again, and especially not like this, with frigid fingertips pressing firmly on his windpipe. he tries to tilt his neck upwards to see his savior better, but even that feels like a monumental task.
fine. he can at least tilt it to the side... and as his blurred vision begins to adjust, the first thing that comes to mind while he's stiff with the cold and distressed is that... their small form reminds him of someone whose dear hand frequently stretched out to him as a child, the very notion of it drying his throat up even more than the continual coughing did. but that's...
—just not possible, and what's more, izou can identify who it is by their voice. )
C-Cold. What, even...
( izou croaks, the back of his throat burning. he's just gonna... attempt to stand himself despite everything, and despite it being a stupid idea after nearly drowning. )