[he doesn't even bother checking the slimy wreckage of the shack; Genkaku might have been cleaning, but that'd get old real quick]
[it's a toss-up between the Zen garden and the pipes, and a look(listen) to the network confirms which is the better bet]
[his boots clunk quietly along the maintenance shaft steel, his head canted upwards in search of a lazily hanging outstretched foot, ears listening for beads clinking in the flow of steam]
[ ... there's too much at once clawing at him suddenly, it makes his breath hitch and his chest tight. ]
[ the intimacy of needing to hurt, the need for the intimacy to hurt; the memory of the exhilaration he'd felt and the want to slam the gates down on the frequency (like he always did when camaraderie came paired like ion charges to that intimacy). ]
[ in all of that, "fall" is the one word that stands out to him. it's not numbers (never is), and it's not death (like it always is), and it's not brothers (as his curiosity had been imploring him to ask Gojyo -- who knew he should've been asking someone that much closer?). ]
[ "fall" rings loud and clear, with a quiet undertone of a word that could be a smoky mirror to it: "loss". ]
[ he doesn't ... do anything. he doesn't know how. he wants to touch him, reaches out to do so, (remembers it's Badou and not some snarling fox,) and lowers his hand back down to his side. touch won't comfort him. touch won't Save him. ]
[ with a beat of hesitation (and who but Badou could give him that?), he swallows, and steps forward in the silence, putting his own hand over the flame. ]
[ there's no pained twitch as he snuffs it out completely, hot metal scorching skin. ]
[it's a toss-up between the Zen garden and the pipes, and a look(listen) to the network confirms which is the better bet]
[his boots clunk quietly along the maintenance shaft steel, his head canted upwards in search of a lazily hanging outstretched foot, ears listening for beads clinking in the flow of steam]
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Yeah, an' how'd ya do it? 'Cuz I'm bettin' it wasn't intuition.
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[shrugs]
Y'wanna make me bleed? Fine. The old bloodstains are over there, ain't they? Freshen up the paint.
[he looks around, finding rust-coloured smears on the far wall]
Right there.
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[ the intimacy of needing to hurt, the need for the intimacy to hurt; the memory of the exhilaration he'd felt and the want to slam the gates down on the frequency (like he always did when camaraderie came paired like ion charges to that intimacy). ]
[ all addictions, fighting for dominance. ]
[ -- his gaze follows, purely accidental. ]
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I don't wanna bleed you. Not when you're just handing them out.
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What'cha need?
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I need a lover.
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[never felt so much sympathy as for a snake]
I know.
An' I know knowin' don't make it all better, too. ...It makes it worse.
But I still wanna know you.
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I watched him get beaten to death and fall.
He was ...my. Brother.
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[ "fall" rings loud and clear, with a quiet undertone of a word that could be a smoky mirror to it: "loss". ]
[ he doesn't ... do anything. he doesn't know how. he wants to touch him, reaches out to do so, (remembers it's Badou and not some snarling fox,) and lowers his hand back down to his side. touch won't comfort him. touch won't Save him. ]
[ all he can manage is; ]
... Thanks.
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[after a few moments, without conscious thought, he numbly pulls out his lighter and sparks up a cigarette, fuck the sweltering heat]
[and the air in front of him goes hazy with the flicker of fire (an effigy he's still burning)]
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[ there's no pained twitch as he snuffs it out completely, hot metal scorching skin. ]
... C'mon. Let's get you cooled off.
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[the lighter is re-pocketed, and he nods]
-- Alright.
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