Title: Calling All Cops
Author: Daisy
Fandom: Deadman Wonderland
Setting: AU, Deadmen are allowed to live with an Undertaker, as a sort of 'parole officer' who goes with them to work/shopping/etc.
Pairing: Nagi Kengamine (Owl)/Azuma Genkaku, Nagi-Centric
Genre: Horror/Angst
Rating: M
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 642
Type of Work: Vent Drabble
Status: Complete
Warnings: Nagi POV, Death, AU
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Sometimes, when I see all those people without these damn collars on their necks, so happy and joyful when I live with painful memories, all I want to do is hurt them.
AN: SO I'm pretty pissed off right now. In short, some guy wants us thrown out because we threw away our garbage. It's fucking idiotic. Thought I'd write some angsty/angry Nagi to get myself feeling a little better.
Calling All Cops ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sometimes, when I see all those people without these damn collars on their necks, so happy and joyful when I live with painful memories, all I want to do is hurt them. I see these terrible mothers yelling at their kids, and all I want to do is snap their necks. I see these guys catcalling young girls and making them switch to the other side of the street just to feel less harassed, and I wish I could just reach out and punish them all by my lonesome. I'm almost positive Genkaku would let me, too. He always tells me how perfect and beautiful he thinks I am when I lose sight of my sanity.
I look around at the construction site I'm assigned to, and see all the sweaty assholes wiping their foreheads and giving wolfish grins to innocent victims. I can already feel the way the blood would smear thin and nearly pink across my face, how it would feel running down my palms and dripping off my fingers. The guitar riff piercing my thoughts hits a crescendo and I'm almost positive I'm about to either vomit or slit my own wrists. The latter in order to do some damage before I'm ultimately struck down by some cop or Wonderland employee.
A small girl screams and wails on the other side of the fence and I can feel my blood pumping against my veins, throbbing to be let out and punish the father who simply yells at her to shut up. My wrists pulse and I take in a few deep, calming breaths, but to no avail. I give a glance at my supposed 'parole officer', whose eyes are closed as his fingers nimbly travel the strings no doubt like a person walking a long-memorized path home. Licking my lips, I decide it's time.
With deft hands and deaf ears, I pull an exacto-knife from my work belt and drive it home through my upper arm. Before anyone has the chance to question me, my Branch of Sin takes over and the entire worksite is surrounded by the Bloodshot Eyes of the Owl. I grin ferociously as I activate them, each individual ball exploding harshly and taking out many of my workmates in one fell swoop. The Eyes move around, now, to the street, and I hit and kill everyone; except the girls, the young ones. Those ones are safe, crying that their mother, father, or both have just perished, but I did them a huge favor. Nobody deserves to live if my baby died. The babies that survive this will grow to know exactly how I have felt, and somehow that pleases me.
It isn't until I've ended probably fifty lives that I realize that the guitar had stopped being plucked, and Genkaku now stood on the wall he'd been sitting on.
"I hate to stop such a pretty picture," He tells me, giving me a little, knowing wink, "But the boss'll kill me if I let you get away with this unscathed."
With a few cords his weapon is shaken into action, and he fires several blasts of air at me fast enough to knock me over and leave welts and bloodied spots. I can't help but take it as a welcome attack, falling to my back and resting there to be dragged home in those special handcuffs. I know I'll get rewarded for this, but for now I let the pain linger and remind me just why I wear this collar.
Because I let stupid people get to me, now that I feel alone. Even Genkaku's affection doesn't make me feel like my wife's had… Not entirely, at least. As he drags me home, cuffed and with his guitar shoved to the center of my back, I sigh. So, this is the life I'm resigned to.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: