Re: ACTION; (hours later)prayforpreyFebruary 14 2010, 02:50:26 UTC
[ it's a slant and lean to his spine, chest-forward, the stretch of the backs of his thighs and leather with the scent of musk and spice (accenting the cloudsmell of death that lingers, tighter and more winding than them all), a tone forearm taking the pass to pursed lips.
he breathes in, and it doesn't have the same calming effect it does on Badou, but it's something. eyes watch the sudden frenzied pass, the simple buttons and triggers they both squeezepushpull to make the other react. (that was really what it was all about, yeah? -- not just the frequency, but making it buzz.he doesn't withdrawl. doesn't move, aside from the harmony of heartbeat and (gentler) toxicity, the way his eyes shine like blood in the moonlight (something Badou's never seen) when he's stoned
( ... )
Re: ACTION; (hours later)nicotine_patchFebruary 14 2010, 05:15:09 UTC
[rasps, a bit like a warning]
That wasn't acceptance. That was gravity.
[there's a beat where he doesn't say literally, but a half-wry look not quite shared that does]
[there isn't enough smoke in the room to fully anesthetize the itchingtwitching, and restless pale fingers rake through bed-tumbled scruffy orange hair]
Re: ACTION; (hours later)prayforpreyFebruary 14 2010, 05:31:08 UTC
"No acceptance"?
[ he spits it right back, from smilingsnake corners of his mouth that pulse out smoke (for a moment, seeming more dragon than simple eden's-fall-serpent).
clicking his tongue, he passes embers back. (here, baby -- for that cremation you promised me, for that funeral pyre i'm still waiting on to light up my sky.)
he drags dirty fingers down, stained with black and red, a film clinging to the oily but jagged edges of his fingerprint -- sinks them into the carpet and rubs it against the grain, leaves a rind in the way it lays, turning it darker with the insult and the grime clinging to him.
and within that binding spell, between his knees and badou's bare (ugly, genkaku thinks) feet, upside down to him but (sloppily) right-side up to the gunslinger, is a single mark of punctuation, a questioning that never touches the monk's face but sits there, still, nonetheless -- between them like a gaping, visceral wound so much that he thinks for a second he sees puss seep out of the ground: ]
Re: ACTION; (hours later)nicotine_patchFebruary 14 2010, 17:27:13 UTC
[they could trade half-lies all day, he's sure, but tonight (this morning?) Badou's cut his gums open on truth and the lies stick in the tears like salt]
[the Undergrounder's face watches the incantation get drawn between them, and even if in the end it's ineffective as a binding spell it's got power as a catalyst, as the too-hard line of Badou's shoulders twitchessoftens at it]
[the questions are not important (they never are, huh?) - the questions are what gnaw at Badou's stomach and frame and the back of his eyelids, making him twitchtirednauseous]
[that Genkaku drawing it is the comforting, a show of vulnerability, not the awful certainty (It's Carnage, Badou and I could love you, if you let me) of before - as if the only way they can try to make sense of things is to imitate the futility of cave drawings]
[he reaches to the question mark, thinthin finger drawing a circle around it (this time, when he inhales on the joint, the smoke does it's job, and his eye shutters)]
Re: ACTION; (hours later)prayforpreyFebruary 14 2010, 20:55:57 UTC
[ and he watches that bony hand come around, watches the ring (the fucking things he tries to escape but nevercannevercan) close around the last hesitation he has (the fucking things he tries to find but -- ... sometimes can), watches the way it carves a deep mote around the castle of his uncertainty to keep it would-be trespassers. this is not for knights and squires to come in rushing, or even rival nations to reach his precipice. he will guard this jealously, possessively, pull it down in the snake's coils.
because once again, Badou is giving him exactly what he wants, and he wonders if something's going to come back and bite them one day (again)(banking on it). ]
Mm. [ is a little hum that slips out as his gaze half-lids. he hates the way the marks burn into both the carpet and his retinas like a too-bright sun, hopes that if ever for any reason Badou would find a reason to clean, this would be it
( ... )
Re: ACTION; (hours later)nicotine_patchFebruary 15 2010, 04:24:51 UTC
[Genkaku's eyes going over the hole-in-the-wall his room makes him take absent stock of the place; he barely used it, really, only as a place to hide things he considered worth hiding (scraps of paper sitting underneath highly combustible cartridges)]
[no visitors, no mementos laid out but piles of ashes (not the ones that belong to him, no, just the ones he's created - yes there is a difference)]
[the unprecedented invasion of privacy, and an altar made in such a barren, useless place - these things don't offend him as they rightly should]
[finishing another deep inhale, Genkaku still isn't looking at him]
[and it's entirely without thinking that his fingers drop and lightly touch the other man's kneecap, a brief tap (not quite a bird on the window, that doesn't fit) to pull his attention back]
[and once he has it, he extends the joint back for him to take]
Re: ACTION; (hours later)prayforpreyFebruary 15 2010, 05:06:54 UTC
[ they're back aligned. it's not as surprising as it should be, not at all thrilling or righteous, but it's ... comforting, somehow. sitting with him. breathing the same air, taking in his scent with every spiced breath he breathes, rubbing at the tense muscles of his neck (he needs to meditate, it's second-to-none, but getting high is a decent substitute for when he can't clear his head well enough).
the fox's den is not where he will find the answers to his own hissed questions. houses are not as sacred as homes, and Badou's home is his skin, his cells and his marrow, his scars and his fists he uses to bruise others. that is where he'll find what he wants -- in sadism, in masochism, in want and need and everything that he seeksdesiresgrapples.
the tap on his knee brings his focus back (the one he wasn't evading because of shame, no, never anything like that -- just seeking, a god of the underworld tilting his head over a water trough), sharp and almost painful in the way he snaps his head, stares at the man before him
( ... )
come collide with me.
Reply
he breathes in, and it doesn't have the same calming effect it does on Badou, but it's something. eyes watch the sudden frenzied pass, the simple buttons and triggers they both squeezepushpull to make the other react. (that was really what it was all about, yeah? -- not just the frequency, but making it buzz.he doesn't withdrawl. doesn't move, aside from the harmony of heartbeat and (gentler) toxicity, the way his eyes shine like blood in the moonlight (something Badou's never seen) when he's stoned ( ... )
Reply
That wasn't acceptance. That was gravity.
[there's a beat where he doesn't say literally, but a half-wry look not quite shared that does]
[there isn't enough smoke in the room to fully anesthetize the itchingtwitching, and restless pale fingers rake through bed-tumbled scruffy orange hair]
[not enough ash by a half]
Reply
[ he spits it right back, from smilingsnake corners of his mouth that pulse out smoke (for a moment, seeming more dragon than simple eden's-fall-serpent).
clicking his tongue, he passes embers back. (here, baby -- for that cremation you promised me, for that funeral pyre i'm still waiting on to light up my sky.)
he drags dirty fingers down, stained with black and red, a film clinging to the oily but jagged edges of his fingerprint -- sinks them into the carpet and rubs it against the grain, leaves a rind in the way it lays, turning it darker with the insult and the grime clinging to him.
and within that binding spell, between his knees and badou's bare (ugly, genkaku thinks) feet, upside down to him but (sloppily) right-side up to the gunslinger, is a single mark of punctuation, a questioning that never touches the monk's face but sits there, still, nonetheless -- between them like a gaping, visceral wound so much that he thinks for a second he sees puss seep out of the ground: ]
?
[ he dots it off, hesitantly ( ... )
Reply
[the Undergrounder's face watches the incantation get drawn between them, and even if in the end it's ineffective as a binding spell it's got power as a catalyst, as the too-hard line of Badou's shoulders twitchessoftens at it]
[the questions are not important (they never are, huh?) - the questions are what gnaw at Badou's stomach and frame and the back of his eyelids, making him twitchtirednauseous]
[that Genkaku drawing it is the comforting, a show of vulnerability, not the awful certainty (It's Carnage, Badou and I could love you, if you let me) of before - as if the only way they can try to make sense of things is to imitate the futility of cave drawings]
[he reaches to the question mark, thinthin finger drawing a circle around it (this time, when he inhales on the joint, the smoke does it's job, and his eye shutters)]
Reply
because once again, Badou is giving him exactly what he wants, and he wonders if something's going to come back and bite them one day (again)(banking on it). ]
Mm. [ is a little hum that slips out as his gaze half-lids. he hates the way the marks burn into both the carpet and his retinas like a too-bright sun, hopes that if ever for any reason Badou would find a reason to clean, this would be it ( ... )
Reply
[no visitors, no mementos laid out but piles of ashes (not the ones that belong to him, no, just the ones he's created - yes there is a difference)]
[the unprecedented invasion of privacy, and an altar made in such a barren, useless place - these things don't offend him as they rightly should]
[finishing another deep inhale, Genkaku still isn't looking at him]
[and it's entirely without thinking that his fingers drop and lightly touch the other man's kneecap, a brief tap (not quite a bird on the window, that doesn't fit) to pull his attention back]
[and once he has it, he extends the joint back for him to take]
Let's get fucked up.
Reply
the fox's den is not where he will find the answers to his own hissed questions. houses are not as sacred as homes, and Badou's home is his skin, his cells and his marrow, his scars and his fists he uses to bruise others. that is where he'll find what he wants -- in sadism, in masochism, in want and need and everything that he seeksdesiresgrapples.
the tap on his knee brings his focus back (the one he wasn't evading because of shame, no, never anything like that -- just seeking, a god of the underworld tilting his head over a water trough), sharp and almost painful in the way he snaps his head, stares at the man before him ( ... )
Reply
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