[It's certainly a sensation. To go digging through someone's head so uninvited, forced to paw through the back of their minds and observe what you've taken like a thief. It makes Molly feel-- Well, it makes Molly feel disgusting to have done it. An unwelcome visitor. The last thing he wants is to have seen this? Mineo had shared with him, a few days ago, something that was so vulnerable and open, and this memory makes it clear that this is still a bleeding wound.
He quickly tries to take both of mineo's hands, squeezing.]
Do you want me to have not seen that?
[Looking at him, directly. He will forget it instantly, if that's what he wants.]
it's a little different because molly is the one person here that mineo's willingly shared this wound with. the sentiment of losing a friend to a broken idea of justice. it's still not quite the same and he wonders how much he can throw on someone who just received another revelation yesterday.
but having someone's hands in his own is so reassuring, and it's so kind. it's more than he deserves.
mineo stills before he gives into the urge to pull away, like molly could catch his pathetic like a disease.]
It isn't. I promise it isn't-- It's just the past. That's all. I know that you told me about it, and that it's important to you. But it doesn't have to be. I can forget it, right now, if you want.
mineo seems like he's thinking about that, tempted by it even. there's an urge to give in and ask that molly not remember and they can move on from this. run away from it, and bury it deep.
but.
but.]
... no, I don't... think I get to pick and choose what I want to remember.
[even if his voice is soft, like he's still not sure. he closes his eyes and bows his head just enough to let his forehead rest against molly's.]
.... sorry, but -
.... I think I trust you with this.
[so molly might have to carry it with him. molly isn't someone that mineo can just pretend this meant nothing with.]
A childish voice inside of him bristles at that, suddenly thrashing against the concept. No. No that isn't how this works. It's asking too much, it's asking too much and you're carrying the poison arrow of it right between the ribs. You don't have to. You don't--
There's fundamental disagree there, behind his eyes, even opening his mouth to say something - before his forehead rests against his. close enough in that way where you can't focus on the other's face, only feel them there, against you. some tension runs out of his expression, and he squeezes the hands again. leaving himself right there, forehead to forehead.]
[ . . . . it's hard, when you feel like you're the reason that your friend died. and he knows that molly can feel some sort of understanding, a recognition, a 'if i kept my mouth shut then wouldn't that have been better'. but by that logic, mineo never wants to call anything that molly might relate to pitiful. it's not.
but sometimes it's so hard to look at the mirror and tell yourself that what you see isn't trash. his eyes close a little bit as he lets himself stay there for a second and take in the words.]
..... then I'll believe you, Molly-san.
I still kinda wanna say sorry.... but I mostly wanna say thank you.
[he cannot suggest therapy, because he doesn't know what it is, but,
He does open his mouth start saying something, probably about not having to say thank you either, but
It’s chaos.
This bloody dirt road, the middle of fucking nowhere. Ice still shimmers off one of the carts - why hadn’t she fucking warned you that Lorenzo was a spell caster? - there’s shouts and screams and orders being barked through the air. You can’t see Nott. You can’t see Caleb, but you can hear someone yelling off, not too far away. What was her name? Keg? Is practically cowering, paralyzed with fear somewhere across the way.
You can see Beau, scrambling to? From? Somewhere. She’s going somewhere, but it isn’t-
Between you. a man. Lorenzo. You know his name. That he has your friends captured, somewhere. Somehow. You have to stop him, and,
It’s too fucking close is what it is. She’s bleeding too. You’re bleeding, the eye on your hand is dripping, making holding your sword a little difficult and you think
Fuck
There’s the brief flash of bright pain you always feel when you use the Maledict, that’s familiar, but this time it digs a little too deep, it cuts too far and you’re on your ass before you can tell what’s happening.
Lorenzo turns to you, readying that nasty looking glaive
You can feel -
Blood splatters out of your mouth with the impact.
You grip at the blade at the end of the weapon - the part that’s not stuck eight inches deep in your chest - uselessly. the blood on your hands making it slick, the eye bleeding, and bleeding and bleeding—
It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt, is the thing you think to yourself, blade in your chest, back on the ground, looking up at this man - his boot on your stomach now, except of course. It hurts. You gasp for air, but there’s only more blood.
“An example it is.”
He looks down at you, leaning in close - as his hand tightens on the grip of his weapon it begins to twist. Excruciating pain. You’re dead. You’re dead and your brain, your heart, your betrayer of a body hasn’t quite caught the message yet.
Your mouth fills with blood again and you spit in his face. It hits with a splatter and he turns, only briefly, reaching up to touch it.
It’s cold today. It’s still morning, and it’s cold. snow is starting to fall. The man - Lorenzo - smirks down at you, wipes the blood from his face
“Respect.”
Then he twists the blade hard and you not so much hear as feel a crack.
it's painful and it aches and it's - it's funny, because mineo has been in dangerous situations before. he has his own array of scars, his instincts that come from fighting, but none of it's like this. it's not the chaos and the pain and the terror of - of this. and it makes him freeze up for a second even as he comes back to himself and.
and he worries for a second if it's too close, too confining - but his arms find their way around molly again in a gesture of a hug that's becoming way too common but.
mineo will still try to offer comfort every single time. whenever he can.]
[he is stock straight and stiff as a fucking board, just-- pure rigid anxiety, but he doesn't shove him off. trapped a bit with a hand over his chest, as if it's still - there's nothing there. Just the scars that always are, criss crossed. After a moment he settles, just
shoulders collapsing a bit and tail starting to swish, slightly irritated. maybe not at mineo.]
I know-- I know, I'm alright.
[This particular memory. Well. This one he's been over in his head a lot for the past few weeks.]
I don't give a shit-- [Snappy. He realizes before he centers himself again, huffing out and trying it again.]
It's alright. [He pauses, bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.] You don't have to forget it, unless you want to. Just a thing that happened to me.
[He does his best to shake off the last of it, adjusting his coat, fixing his belt. It's fine! Everything is fine. His tail swishes a bit like an agitated cat.]
Just-- puts it into clarity how one stupid move can really put the knife in you, doesn't it?
“…. Hm? This is….” The police station – your old familiar workplace. How long ago has it been now, since you used to walk past those doors everyday and report for work? And how much longer has it been since you could do so with pride? “…. Haha. I’ve always avoided this place, so how did I end up here…?”
A girl’s face flashes through your mind – along with her last words to you: W-Wait. What do you… Enomoto, listen to me…! But you didn’t give her a chance. You didn’t let her finish. You walked out of the apartment and that’s what led you here – alone, like always.
“Hoshino’s gonna give me an earful. Nothing good can come from working with her. …. The justice she wants to protect, huh…. Did I used to have that much passion?”
Your thoughts are interrupted with the sound of footsteps approaching quickly, and before you can hope to respond—
“Who’s there?!”
Blunt force to the back of your head before you can meet your assailant. Your ears ring. You hit the ground and everything’s dark.
. . .
When you wake up, all you can smell is blood. All you can taste is blood. All you can feel is the pain screeching from everywhere. Your arms and legs, bound. Distantly, there’s the understanding that you’re sitting, but you’ve been blindfolded and gagged. The cloth in your mouth holds nothing but the bitter taste of iron.
“Awake?”
A distant, garbled voice speaks. It’s hard to place it and yet there’s pain lacing the words when the person speaks again: “Why didn’t she go after you? Why has everyone abandoned you?”
The question is punctuated with a gunshot, followed by another and another, and you realize the next sound is your own muffled scream behind the gag as new pain blossoms in your chest as if to compete against the rest. The bullets tear past your skin and into your body, unforgiving. Will you bleed out first or will you be put out of your misery?
“Enomoto Mineo.” The voice speaks again, and this time it is not sympathetic. “Your rash and thoughtless behavior psychologically cornered someone you admired.”
A pit sinks in your stomach, and you realize that the last shot did not pierce your heart because the words were always meant to be what broke your spirit. Whether by surprise or something else you can’t name even now, you stop struggling.
You realize what this is. Judgment is coming.
“That man then wrongfully arrested people in a rush for glory, ruining the lives of many people.”
You hear the slide of metal – you know the gun has been reloaded. Even though you cannot see, you know it is pointed at you once again.
“For your inability to pursue the truth, and your cowardice that has stolen the light from others – you have been judged as evil. This is our justice.”
[you'd think they'd eventually just figure out to maybe walk away from each other and then the whole experiencing two deaths in as many minutes wouldnt be such a danger but GEEZ
anyway
there's that rise of anxiety and panic and fear and pain again, and he's still holding onto mineo's hand so he's probably squeezing hard enough with those claws to leave a mark]
given the fact that - molly can have mineo's hand, but he will feel that it is, in fact, shaking. his other hand is pressed against his chest against a wound that isn't there, not unlike molly just moments ago. he's trying to press his back against the closest solid surface like it'll keep anyone from attacking him from behind.
[That's alright. He can be scared, when he's reminded of that-- Molly will just let him back up to the wall, then, but sticking close by so he's got like at least an emotional support purple to hold onto so he doesn't fall over.]
[Emotional support purple... but at least - with the words, with Molly speaking to him and reassuring him kindly, he seems to come back. Slowly but surely, he comes back. Even as his heart thunders in his chest like it wants to escape if only to prove that it still beats - he lets out a shaky breath.]
I...
Yeah. Sorry, I...
[ . . . clearly still need to process that one a little.]
[He'll let go of mineo's hands for a moment to put his own on either side of his face - like you would a kid who's just fallen over or something. A little condescending, but also sort of comforting.]
[ . . . it is. and the thing is that it's secure, and it makes him focus on the person in front of him. the fact that he can see, and he can raise his own hands up to rest over molly's, and his expression can crumple into something just a little bit more relieved]
I am.
[ . . . ]
But I guess... that's what I wanted to tell you anyway.
[it felt -
wrong.
to know that something happened to molly, and to not offer the same up in return.]
[A lot of things make much more sense now, to him. Mineo had tried so hard to support him, help him when he was at his lowest, he feels he owes him this at least. Sharing this.]
[softly, and he calms down enough that he turns his hands so that he can take molly's and pull them off his face. he'll hold on though.]
... the thing I'm here for... It's not really a lie to say I've got some mysteries I want to solve. I do. I still need to find out what happened to my friend but I -
[ . . . took so long he died before he could. the sloth tattoo on the back of his hand burns a little worse.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He quickly tries to take both of mineo's hands, squeezing.]
Do you want me to have not seen that?
[Looking at him, directly. He will forget it instantly, if that's what he wants.]
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it's a little different because molly is the one person here that mineo's willingly shared this wound with. the sentiment of losing a friend to a broken idea of justice. it's still not quite the same and he wonders how much he can throw on someone who just received another revelation yesterday.
but having someone's hands in his own is so reassuring, and it's so kind. it's more than he deserves.
mineo stills before he gives into the urge to pull away, like molly could catch his pathetic like a disease.]
..... I don't know.
[ . . . ]
It's a pretty - pitiful thing.
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It isn't. I promise it isn't-- It's just the past. That's all. I know that you told me about it, and that it's important to you. But it doesn't have to be. I can forget it, right now, if you want.
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mineo seems like he's thinking about that, tempted by it even. there's an urge to give in and ask that molly not remember and they can move on from this. run away from it, and bury it deep.
but.
but.]
... no, I don't... think I get to pick and choose what I want to remember.
[even if his voice is soft, like he's still not sure. he closes his eyes and bows his head just enough to let his forehead rest against molly's.]
.... sorry, but -
.... I think I trust you with this.
[so molly might have to carry it with him. molly isn't someone that mineo can just pretend this meant nothing with.]
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A childish voice inside of him bristles at that, suddenly thrashing against the concept. No. No that isn't how this works. It's asking too much, it's asking too much and you're carrying the poison arrow of it right between the ribs. You don't have to. You don't--
There's fundamental disagree there, behind his eyes, even opening his mouth to say something - before his forehead rests against his. close enough in that way where you can't focus on the other's face, only feel them there, against you. some tension runs out of his expression, and he squeezes the hands again. leaving himself right there, forehead to forehead.]
Alright. I'll take care of it. But--
[His mouth twists.]
It isn't pitiful. I promise it isn't.
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but sometimes it's so hard to look at the mirror and tell yourself that what you see isn't trash. his eyes close a little bit as he lets himself stay there for a second and take in the words.]
..... then I'll believe you, Molly-san.
I still kinda wanna say sorry.... but I mostly wanna say thank you.
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He does open his mouth start saying something, probably about not having to say thank you either, but
It’s chaos.
This bloody dirt road, the middle of fucking nowhere. Ice still shimmers off one of the carts - why hadn’t she fucking warned you that Lorenzo was a spell caster? - there’s shouts and screams and orders being barked through the air. You can’t see Nott. You can’t see Caleb, but you can hear someone yelling off, not too far away. What was her name? Keg? Is practically cowering, paralyzed with fear somewhere across the way.
You can see Beau, scrambling to? From? Somewhere. She’s going somewhere, but it isn’t-
Between you. a man. Lorenzo. You know his name. That he has your friends captured, somewhere. Somehow. You have to stop him, and,
It’s too fucking close is what it is. She’s bleeding too. You’re bleeding, the eye on your hand is dripping, making holding your sword a little difficult and you think
Fuck
There’s the brief flash of bright pain you always feel when you use the Maledict, that’s familiar, but this time it digs a little too deep, it cuts too far and you’re on your ass before you can tell what’s happening.
Lorenzo turns to you, readying that nasty looking glaive
You can feel -
Blood splatters out of your mouth with the impact.
You grip at the blade at the end of the weapon - the part that’s not stuck eight inches deep in your chest - uselessly. the blood on your hands making it slick, the eye bleeding, and bleeding and bleeding—
It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt, is the thing you think to yourself, blade in your chest, back on the ground, looking up at this man - his boot on your stomach now, except of course. It hurts. You gasp for air, but there’s only more blood.
“An example it is.”
He looks down at you, leaning in close - as his hand tightens on the grip of his weapon it begins to twist. Excruciating pain. You’re dead. You’re dead and your brain, your heart, your betrayer of a body hasn’t quite caught the message yet.
Your mouth fills with blood again and you spit in his face. It hits with a splatter and he turns, only briefly, reaching up to touch it.
It’s cold today. It’s still morning, and it’s cold. snow is starting to fall. The man - Lorenzo - smirks down at you, wipes the blood from his face
“Respect.”
Then he twists the blade hard and you not so much hear as feel a crack.
Your eyes never shut.
And then it’s over. ]
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oh.
it's painful and it aches and it's - it's funny, because mineo has been in dangerous situations before. he has his own array of scars, his instincts that come from fighting, but none of it's like this. it's not the chaos and the pain and the terror of - of this. and it makes him freeze up for a second even as he comes back to himself and.
and he worries for a second if it's too close, too confining - but his arms find their way around molly again in a gesture of a hug that's becoming way too common but.
mineo will still try to offer comfort every single time. whenever he can.]
Molly-san—
... you're here, Molly-san. Not there.
[in case - in case there's any doubt about it.]
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shoulders collapsing a bit and tail starting to swish, slightly irritated. maybe not at mineo.]
I know-- I know, I'm alright.
[This particular memory. Well. This one he's been over in his head a lot for the past few weeks.]
. . . If you want to talk about pitiful.
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What would we talk about? [just a soft, idle question.] I didn't see anything pitiful. No way.
[he pulls back just enough to face molly, expression worried even as he leaves his hands on his shoulders.]
.... you want me to forget it? Or... someone else to hold onto it with you?
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It's alright. [He pauses, bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.] You don't have to forget it, unless you want to. Just a thing that happened to me.
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... then I'm not gonna forget it, if that's okay. 'cause I try not to forget anything about the people who matter to me.
[a beat]
Are you mad at yourself?
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Just-- puts it into clarity how one stupid move can really put the knife in you, doesn't it?
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.... I don't think it can really be considered your fault when you're not the asshole with a sword.
[he has to say that first.]
But I'm still - sorry it happened.
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[god,]
Well. Me too. Suppose I'm doing what I can about it now.
[1/2]
[firmly - because unfortunately that does make the world of difference to mineo.
as for the second piece, his answer takes a beat to come.]
.... yeah. I... get that.
[ . . . ]
Molly-san, you should know I—
[but why wait to speak when a memory can explain?]
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“…. Hm? This is….” The police station – your old familiar workplace. How long ago has it been now, since you used to walk past those doors everyday and report for work? And how much longer has it been since you could do so with pride? “…. Haha. I’ve always avoided this place, so how did I end up here…?”
A girl’s face flashes through your mind – along with her last words to you: W-Wait. What do you… Enomoto, listen to me…! But you didn’t give her a chance. You didn’t let her finish. You walked out of the apartment and that’s what led you here – alone, like always.
“Hoshino’s gonna give me an earful. Nothing good can come from working with her. …. The justice she wants to protect, huh…. Did I used to have that much passion?”
Your thoughts are interrupted with the sound of footsteps approaching quickly, and before you can hope to respond—
“Who’s there?!”
Blunt force to the back of your head before you can meet your assailant. Your ears ring. You hit the ground and everything’s dark.
When you wake up, all you can smell is blood. All you can taste is blood. All you can feel is the pain screeching from everywhere. Your arms and legs, bound. Distantly, there’s the understanding that you’re sitting, but you’ve been blindfolded and gagged. The cloth in your mouth holds nothing but the bitter taste of iron.
“Awake?”
A distant, garbled voice speaks. It’s hard to place it and yet there’s pain lacing the words when the person speaks again: “Why didn’t she go after you? Why has everyone abandoned you?”
The question is punctuated with a gunshot, followed by another and another, and you realize the next sound is your own muffled scream behind the gag as new pain blossoms in your chest as if to compete against the rest. The bullets tear past your skin and into your body, unforgiving. Will you bleed out first or will you be put out of your misery?
“Enomoto Mineo.” The voice speaks again, and this time it is not sympathetic. “Your rash and thoughtless behavior psychologically cornered someone you admired.”
A pit sinks in your stomach, and you realize that the last shot did not pierce your heart because the words were always meant to be what broke your spirit. Whether by surprise or something else you can’t name even now, you stop struggling.
You realize what this is. Judgment is coming.
“That man then wrongfully arrested people in a rush for glory, ruining the lives of many people.”
You hear the slide of metal – you know the gun has been reloaded. Even though you cannot see, you know it is pointed at you once again.
“For your inability to pursue the truth, and your cowardice that has stolen the light from others – you have been judged as evil. This is our justice.”
Bang!
Everything goes black. ]
no subject
anyway
there's that rise of anxiety and panic and fear and pain again, and he's still holding onto mineo's hand so he's probably squeezing hard enough with those claws to leave a mark]
Godsdammit-- shit. [wait, uh] Mineo?
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given the fact that - molly can have mineo's hand, but he will feel that it is, in fact, shaking. his other hand is pressed against his chest against a wound that isn't there, not unlike molly just moments ago. he's trying to press his back against the closest solid surface like it'll keep anyone from attacking him from behind.
oh - he's scared.
give him a second.]
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Woah there, alright-- everything's okay. You're here, remember. You're here.
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I...
Yeah. Sorry, I...
[ . . . clearly still need to process that one a little.]
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No apologies, you're alright.
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I am.
[ . . . ]
But I guess... that's what I wanted to tell you anyway.
[it felt -
wrong.
to know that something happened to molly, and to not offer the same up in return.]
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That's the last thing you remember? Before this?
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Yeah.
[softly, and he calms down enough that he turns his hands so that he can take molly's and pull them off his face. he'll hold on though.]
... the thing I'm here for... It's not really a lie to say I've got some mysteries I want to solve. I do. I still need to find out what happened to my friend but I -
[ . . . took so long he died before he could. the sloth tattoo on the back of his hand burns a little worse.]
You know...
Need to be alive to do that.
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