fartbunnies (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fartbunnies) wrote2014-10-08 02:32 pm
fartbunnies) wrote2014-10-08 02:32 pm
(no subject)
Who: A monster and a man.
What: The beast slays a hero.
Where: A red-light district.
A demon watches him while he sleeps.
How it detests the world that lives in his eyes. Blinding with brightness, less savory sights gilded with optimism… These things burn the creature’s skin.
But his eyelids are now shut. There is no light in this dim alleyway, empty and silent amidst drunken prattle. The stench of cheap perfume and cheaper liquor mixes with something more palatable for the beast, something more familiar.
Long, pale fingers sift through soft brown curls. The hands are barely human, covered in a thick layer of pale, white powder that serves to mask the scarred flesh beneath. There are so many marks, almost as if the thing has scales.
A cracking noise can be heard, but only between them both, drowned out by a raucous round of laughter. Green eyes peer into the red lights around them, glinting with morbid satisfaction. The darkness has them surrounded, has him surrounded, because the monster has grown accustomed to living in it.
Withdrawing that one hand, it surveys the damage. One of its many long, red fingernails has broken off, and a strange sound leaves its throat. Ah, that was the noise, it ponders, snake-like tongue darting over the caked layer of make-up to catch droplets of an oozing liquid.
Red on red, though the textures are distinct. The monster grins remembering how its prey had tasted, how his lips were soft but desperate, and how his empty head could barely register that the “stranger” with whom he exchanged saliva was familiar.
And deadly.
Oh, how beautiful that taste had been. Loneliness. For all the time he spent smiling upon the world, he often worked to hard, was bound to work himself to death… But this monster had a special wish, just as his was special (“To rid the world of all its bloody conflict through commerce, and profit” “Ahaha! Who says flattery doesn’t get you anywhere? It gets you everywhere.”). This demon had taken it upon himself to rid the world of all its possessions, to cleanse the sins of all who had once breathed oxygen, so perhaps something beautiful would be born anew.
But first, he wanted to experiment. To destroy a small world, the one of happiness and jiggling chesticles, the one of hard work and precious friendships, full of burdens that would soon break the camel’s back. How the menace despised it. People like this only interfered with his plan, acting as if life was worth living.
Sickening.
It licks its lips again, using that hand to guide the merchant’s chin, moving his head into a grotesque angle. Blood oozes into the dirt, a trail of lipstick is smeared across his mouth. The red coat smells of alcohol.
“Sakamoto Tatsuma.”
The demon rises from the dirt.
“How foolish you are.”
It turns to smile over the body, promptly giving the corpse a hard kick.
“Were.”
And just as quickly as it had appeared, pretending to be a different creature of the night, the kind with a hollow laugh and supple body, willing to spread its legs for a wanton customer…
The demon disappears into the night, heading towards its comrades, fellow ghouls, walking a path that ultimately leads to damnation.
What: The beast slays a hero.
Where: A red-light district.
A demon watches him while he sleeps.
How it detests the world that lives in his eyes. Blinding with brightness, less savory sights gilded with optimism… These things burn the creature’s skin.
But his eyelids are now shut. There is no light in this dim alleyway, empty and silent amidst drunken prattle. The stench of cheap perfume and cheaper liquor mixes with something more palatable for the beast, something more familiar.
Long, pale fingers sift through soft brown curls. The hands are barely human, covered in a thick layer of pale, white powder that serves to mask the scarred flesh beneath. There are so many marks, almost as if the thing has scales.
A cracking noise can be heard, but only between them both, drowned out by a raucous round of laughter. Green eyes peer into the red lights around them, glinting with morbid satisfaction. The darkness has them surrounded, has him surrounded, because the monster has grown accustomed to living in it.
Withdrawing that one hand, it surveys the damage. One of its many long, red fingernails has broken off, and a strange sound leaves its throat. Ah, that was the noise, it ponders, snake-like tongue darting over the caked layer of make-up to catch droplets of an oozing liquid.
Red on red, though the textures are distinct. The monster grins remembering how its prey had tasted, how his lips were soft but desperate, and how his empty head could barely register that the “stranger” with whom he exchanged saliva was familiar.
And deadly.
Oh, how beautiful that taste had been. Loneliness. For all the time he spent smiling upon the world, he often worked to hard, was bound to work himself to death… But this monster had a special wish, just as his was special (“To rid the world of all its bloody conflict through commerce, and profit” “Ahaha! Who says flattery doesn’t get you anywhere? It gets you everywhere.”). This demon had taken it upon himself to rid the world of all its possessions, to cleanse the sins of all who had once breathed oxygen, so perhaps something beautiful would be born anew.
But first, he wanted to experiment. To destroy a small world, the one of happiness and jiggling chesticles, the one of hard work and precious friendships, full of burdens that would soon break the camel’s back. How the menace despised it. People like this only interfered with his plan, acting as if life was worth living.
Sickening.
It licks its lips again, using that hand to guide the merchant’s chin, moving his head into a grotesque angle. Blood oozes into the dirt, a trail of lipstick is smeared across his mouth. The red coat smells of alcohol.
“Sakamoto Tatsuma.”
The demon rises from the dirt.
“How foolish you are.”
It turns to smile over the body, promptly giving the corpse a hard kick.
“Were.”
And just as quickly as it had appeared, pretending to be a different creature of the night, the kind with a hollow laugh and supple body, willing to spread its legs for a wanton customer…
The demon disappears into the night, heading towards its comrades, fellow ghouls, walking a path that ultimately leads to damnation.
no subject
I really like this! There's something strikingly inhumane about the poetic descriptions you're using to use on Takasugi - and yes, he is IC. And I like it a lot that you have quotes from Sakamoto in it, bits and pieces of him which serves as such a huge, striking contrast. Sakamoto might be dead, but his corpse is clearly more human than Takasugi, never mind that the latter is still alive.
And of course, can I just say how much I love the fact that Takasugi is obviously so affected by Sakamoto even if he's dead? This is, like, the canon version of our OTP, to be honest. So creepy, because Takasugi is creepy. And fucked up.
Thank you so much for writing this for me, bb! Again, sorry for the late. ♥!!!
no subject
I'm happy. I wanted to write a little Halloween fic. And that too I didn't canon review or anything so this Takasugi is very purely based off of your interp. Thank you for letting me write with you and grow with you as a writer!
Also, I hope you're feeling better. Please don't work too hard! Get some rest and eat, you.