[there's no coffee cups in the sink today, and the stains of ash on the table aren't as thick as usual]
[in another part of the shack, there's a humming buzz behind a closed door, a livewire thrum Genkaku knows all too well (can probably feel in strings-bitten fingertips]
[it's a bit of a lullaby, maybe, unceasing background noise familiar as a TV turned low]
[ in extending an arm full of carnage, he takes her just beneath the pegs, drawing her warmly into his lap. (the black matte doesn't care if it's slicked in diluted blood, never has.) ]
[ he's calm, he's okay, he's alive. when his rounded fingers and thick knuckles place on the board, there's no show; there's just him and the V and Badou's passage into Their Space not hindered by showmanship, so close and intimate. ]
[ broad shoulders relax and lean over the instrument and the rest of his body follows while he slouches, bangs obscuring his vision. ]
[ he plays a string of keys that electronically lilt, buzzing in the air that Flagpole Sitta had left supercharged and toning it down to a low key, dissipating the energy. ]
[ the irony is not lost when his voice is a warm hum, twice as rich as the notes; ]
[ there are times when Genkaku's attention span is less than perfect, and the precision needed to play a guitar is actually -- one of the times his mind roams the most. during the most succinct times, it's still on its normal busy tracks of bloodshed and salvation, hypocrisy and blasphemy all ripped out in chords that bring his thoughts to a realistic symphony. ]
[ aloneliness is usually what tenders this reaction, however; his body bent, his eyes closed, the amp's buzz almost louder than his fingers, his breathing a steady slip that pours from diaphragm to scars to lips. ]
[ he thinks, he feels, he drowns. ]
[ the notes take a dive for a lower octave, fingers pressing and bending silver strings all the way to the inlay. (owls turn their heads and snakes keep slithering and a fox is going to devour one or the other and it's a lot easier to get to the one on the ground ain't it.) ]
[ when he rocks back into the seat of his chair, shoulder blades find purchase, and it's that swayinglooking that jerks him from metaphor and reverie. ]
[ the strings halt immediately, a chord of discord giving a shriek of feedback that the monk doesn't wince to. ]
[ the door slams on the rehashes the same way Genkaku drops the bottle of alcohol on the table in front of him. his arm uncurls, red welts and lacerations offered over. ]
[in another part of the shack, there's a humming buzz behind a closed door, a livewire thrum Genkaku knows all too well (can probably feel in strings-bitten fingertips]
[it's a bit of a lullaby, maybe, unceasing background noise familiar as a TV turned low]
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[ an amused hum and a thick rasp responds as he drops back down into a sprawlsit, examining his Pay Off. ]
We just gotta fix that. Anything specific you wanna learn next?
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Huhn, I ain't actually thought 'bout it.
[he shrugs, handing the question back amiably]
I picked this one, you pick the next one. What'cha wanna teach?
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[ in extending an arm full of carnage, he takes her just beneath the pegs, drawing her warmly into his lap. (the black matte doesn't care if it's slicked in diluted blood, never has.) ]
[ he's calm, he's okay, he's alive. when his rounded fingers and thick knuckles place on the board, there's no show; there's just him and the V and Badou's passage into Their Space not hindered by showmanship, so close and intimate. ]
[ broad shoulders relax and lean over the instrument and the rest of his body follows while he slouches, bangs obscuring his vision. ]
[ he plays a string of keys that electronically lilt, buzzing in the air that Flagpole Sitta had left supercharged and toning it down to a low key, dissipating the energy. ]
[ the irony is not lost when his voice is a warm hum, twice as rich as the notes; ]
Learn to play what ya feel.
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[at the other man's direction, he hesitates, and ... nods]
[a few months earlier, he probably would have grinned and barked a laugh]
[even if it's ironic, even if it's a longshot,the prospect doesn't seem as ridiculous as it might have been before]
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[ aloneliness is usually what tenders this reaction, however; his body bent, his eyes closed, the amp's buzz almost louder than his fingers, his breathing a steady slip that pours from diaphragm to scars to lips. ]
[ he thinks, he feels, he drowns. ]
[ the notes take a dive for a lower octave, fingers pressing and bending silver strings all the way to the inlay. (owls turn their heads and snakes keep slithering and a fox is going to devour one or the other and it's a lot easier to get to the one on the ground ain't it.) ]
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[ the strings halt immediately, a chord of discord giving a shriek of feedback that the monk doesn't wince to. ]
[ ... he doesn't pass the guitar back. ]
-- Yeah. Just. Make your own music.
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[still perched, he nods again, round, low notes still bouncing around in his head]
[he looks a little hopeful]
I'll try.
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[ he goes back to tendering wounds as if Badou weren't even there, lighting up another cigarette over the smell of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. ]
[ -- he doesn't want to ruin Badou's happiness, he doesn't want to call attention to -- ]
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[-- the redhead hates that gesture, that brush, but at least the blood almost covered that shitty, shitty red pressurepoint]
[the V is braced on the floor between the other man's gangling legs, the neck of the guitar leaned on a skinny thigh]
You okay?
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[ his throat clamps down and his jaw tightens, and he ... lies. ]
I think so.
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[-- he's not sure what this is about]
...What's up?
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[ he's really just wasting it. ]
[ but he needs it. ]
It ain't important.
[ "fix me". ]
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[there's some small doubt in his eyes (at the withheld information), but Genkaku's made his intentions clear]
[the Undergrounder picks up the bottle, takes away the monk's cigarette]
[one is placed between his teeth. the other is upturned over that extended arm]
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[the cigarette is flicked to the monk's robes, which light quickly from the splashes of alcohol]
[he returns the way he came, to try some new notes]
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[ (what was the clinical amount of time it took the insomniac to hallucinate? he just can't remember--) ]
[ he recalls his last nightmare in violent detail: ]
[ Badou's legs are trembling, Badou's bangs are falling, Badou's arms are wiry and wrap around him like a loverfox. ]
[ Badou is teasing him, Badou is moaning, and Badou is -- laughing. ]
"Call me 'Owl'."
"... What?"
"I'll fuck him outta you."
[ and when Genkaku lays back, when Genkaku obliges, he feels a sickness plummeting at the bottom of his-- ]
[ Genkaku smells burning. ]
[ Genkaku is burning. ]
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