Angra Mainyu
Arc One - Arrival - Part Eight
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Even the deepest of sleeps, forced or intentional, could not withstand the influence of the rising and falling anger and upset of the room. Driven to an already fitful rest but Ran's death, and his subsequent 'death' in mirror to that, Hisoka was not left in the depths of dreamless sleep for long. The emotions of the brunet phased through his mind, disturbing the quiet that had fallen with him, jarring the empathy that so haunted him into a growing upset. The one thing that kept the youth from another unintentional sync was the soothing touch of Tsuzuki's hand, a calming distraction in the maelstrom of phased emotion.
When the tide of emotion finally ebbed, the source of the mood shifts completely gone from the room, Hisoka finally stirred. It wasn't so much the relatively peaceful feel of a quiet room that kept him from simply slipping back into a deep sleep as it was the feel of water across his lips. Cracking open a jade eye, Hisoka spied Tsuzuki with the glass of water. Batting away the other's hand, before more of the tempting liquid could be wasted in the motion, he slowly tired to sit up.
And promptly pressed his hands against his temples as a headache began to pound there. Reaching out unsteadily, he stole the glass the other had brought and shakily took a drink from it. The cool water helped some, giving him a moment of clarity before the mental pain decided to cling to its spot, resulting in a dull ache from the overload of emotions that had not been his own. He lifted the glass to press it lightly against his forehead, his other eye opening so that he could simply stare blankly at the material of the couch that he was sitting upon.
"Never again," he muttered, "am I going to tell someone that they are dead."
Letting his breathing even out, Hisoka lowered the glass again to take another sip. He needed to relax a bit, and the pressure of the closed in room, with minds riddled in confused upset weighing down from above, was not going to help at all. He needed to get out of the building for a minute, or find some way to escape the emotions, so carelessly left hanging in the air.
Gathering himself, and his balance, together, Hisoka rose from the couch. Though still unsteady on his feet, he felt somewhat better to be standing. Better to stand against the assault - even if it was only one of minds - than to lay down and let it run over him. "I'm going to go outside," he said, looking down to Tsuzuki. "I need some air right now."
Rising to his feet, Tsuzuki looked Hisoka over a few moments, his velvety twilight eyes serious underneath the feathery sable bangs of his hair. He remained silent for a moment, studying his partner's drawn face and the weary set of his shoulders. The emotions in this place right now could not be good for him at all. Strong feelings never were good for an empath, especially when they suck the empath into the harsh images that accompanied such thoughts. And Tsuzuki understood the need to be alone after one has experienced such strong images. There were times when he still needed to be away from everyone while dealing with the harsh past of his own life.
"Sounds like a good idea," Tsuzuki replied finally, holding out his hand to take the glass from him. "Just be careful out there. I don't know if Muraki may try anything tonight, but I don't want to take any chances."
Frowning at himself for mentioning that person's name, Tsuzuki shook his head and forced a smile. Everything always came down to that doctor. Almost every case they been on up until the Kyoto incident. Afterwards they had been forced to take it easy, the mental scars of the first of the gods still in everyone's minds. Tsuzuki nearly killed himself then. If it wasn't for Hisoka, he would have gladly let the flames claim him. And now? Tsuzuki could not put it off any more. He had to face those flames again.
"I'm gonna grab some sleep so don't wake me up when you come in," he added with a soft yawn, stretching his arms over his head.
Nodding, Hisoka handed the glass back to Tsuzuki. Feeling the hesitance in the other shift to a calm determination, the young Shinigami looked at his partner, almost questioning what was going through his mind at the moment. Some sort of decision that was a long time in making, but that was all that really reached him. Unlike a telepath, Hisoka found it quite difficult to reach into the mind of another; his empathy worked on phasing and sense alone, merely picking up what was happening, rather than causing it. So, he could not delve deeply into Tsuzuki's mind in order to find what the decision was about. Aside from the determination, all he felt was the comforting warmth of wanted protection.
The meaning behind that was set aside to ponder at a later time, the jade-eyed teen turning towards the stairs and heading slowly up them. A hand always remained gripped to the railing, a support in case any other emotional surprise tried to reach up and grab him. Especially with his choice to pass by the floor with the four dead assassins. That could easily turn problematic if any of them had any sort of emotional burst of energy as he passed, and he hardly wanted to end up on the floor again by an overload of senses.
Stepping softly to keep from alerting the others of his presence, though it was hardly hidden under the lights that still shone brightly in the hall, Hisoka made his way to the roof stairs, opening the door. As he walked, the emotions of despair, uncertainty, anger, and upset all flowed through him as easily as air through a screen. Along with those feelings were the images of the others as they remembered, bits and pieces coming together. Except for one, who seemed to be a darkness of memory, but that was a welcome break in the sea of frustration and upset he was attempting to wade through. Had he any basic care for the assassins, he might have chosen to investigate later, but only Tsuzuki had ever earned his concern. It was how his life was, his own emotions and caring locked away from all the betrayal that had been brought upon him in it.
The steps were taken with more ease, a lightening air filling his pace as he rose away from the press of death and attempts of understanding therein. It was like stepping out of a crowded room and getting a breath of fresh air after the staleness of mere seconds before. Hisoka was not one to waste the free feel of it, not after the press of the indoors.
True fresh air greeted him as he stepped past the broken door of his original entrance, light eyes flickering to gaze upon it and consider how to rectify that later. Perhaps he would be able to ignore it, and thus would not have to harass Tatsumi with the broken door expense he had considered. Still, he could justify it as a business expense; certainly it was more acceptable than any junk or snack expense his partner suggested.
Walking to the edge of the roof, Hisoka stared out towards the moon, seeing most of the red hints that had angered him further faded completely from the ethereal light. Even the touch of the doctor's curse was starting to fade again, the crimson markings fading from his skin. Or so he confirmed, rolling up his sleeve to stare at them. That meant Muraki was gone... for the moment. Something he would have been fine to leave at its own, were it not for the sense of another cursed soul somewhere in the city. He had felt it upon his arrival, a quiet mind that was tainted and locked within the poisonous grasp of Muraki. He thought of that now, as clear green eyes moved to glance across the buildings, wondering who that person was, what they knew of the white-haired man, and whether or not they liked him.
Stepping onto the ledge-like edge of the roof, Hisoka sighed softly, the darkness of anger clouding his gaze again. That bastard played with people like they were his darling dolls. It was a sin he wanted to see the man hanged for, but could not do by himself. Given the tendency of Muraki's patients holding the doctor in extreme reverence, there was the rare occasion when he felt, perhaps, he was misguided somewhere in his hate. But the memories of that night, sporadic in their appearances, always stiffened his resolve. A resolve that lead him towards even darker hatred, and the desire to simply steal away each of the man's 'patients' and free them of his taint.
Or perhaps steal them away as a lure for Muraki so that he could kill him.
No flinch or wince touched his form at the murderous thought, one that on occasion crossed his mind. It was something he might do... some day. When he had the strength and power to do so. That was so far off though, which left Hisoka frustrated with his inability to fight back, and determined to find a weakness in that man. A weakness, perhaps, that the other cursed one might know of.
Leaning his weight forward, the jade-eyed Shinigami simply let his feet slip off the ledge, a quick glance already given to a lack of witnesses. A simple adjustment of his concentration slowed his descent, until the sneakers he was so fond of touched the ground again. Glancing down the street, the youth again rolled down his sleeves, hiding once more the red marks that were etched there for eternity. His decision was made, to simply go for a walk and hope that the sense of the taint would lead him to the other victim.
Then, perhaps, he would be a step closer to revenge.
--
Still gazing up at the night sky, Ran was brought of his silent angsting by a slight movement in his peripheral vision. Frowning lightly as he was suspicious of everyone who came near Koneko at this time of night, he leaned forward a tiny bit on the fire escape to peer at the street where he'd seen something. The fire escape shrouded in shadows from the small alley it was extended out over, hidden by the building next door. The boy's blond hair caught light from a streetlight and for a moment he almost mistook him for Omi before noticing the differences in stature.
Hisoka. The empathic Shinigami.
The one who just a bit ago had passed out quite cold.
If it had been any of the other members of Weiß he'd seen stepping out for a walk, he'd have dismissed it and possibly slunk back into his room so they wouldn't possibly see him and wonder what he was doing just hanging out on the fire escape. Them being in a random place late at night in front of their own home he could ignore. But not this one... Just where was he going?
Moving carefully to not make a sound, not yet really knowing how to fly or make himself invisible or any of those Shinigami abilities, the man swung himself over the side of the fire escape to climb down, pausing to make sure there would be no scrape of his shoe against the metal. Sometimes it was just eerie how quietly he had been able to move, some saying he was like the night, just blending perfectly into it with ease. Long practised abilities... Moving down to the ground of the alleyway he peered around the corner and slowly and cautiously followed after the male as he went on his walk, some of his earlier upset and confusion slipping away. This was to a degree what he was used to... slipping into a cautious and curious stealth mode to move through the shadows for investigation of whatever reason.
Though they were now dead assassins, they had not gotten that way by foolishly trusting others. Though if you currently asked Ken that, he may speak otherwise, but that's not to be thought on because he left his angst for a bit to slink in cool confident Abyssinian mode. These two Shinigami had arrived from an organisation that they really knew nothing about... knowing too much about them and saying one fact which was that... they were dead. Very vivid memories had confirmed that. But that was hardly to say that they were the only people in this non-living realm. What if they weren't even -from- this EnmaCho's Shoka Division of the Summoner's Office? Or rather... what if the non-living realm was a bit like the living... and this EnmaCho was a bit like Este? And had simply gotten to them before the 'Kritiker' of the breathing dead could find them. Spending the rest of his eternity being what he'd fought the last years of his life was not what he wanted for infinity.
Or maybe that was utterly ridiculous but he doubted it, all and all, this was still utterly suspicious... also there was something about the blonde he knew even though he had never really spoken of it. He was eaten and dark with anger and hate, wanting revenge. How could ran not know? It was like looking in a mirror... a darkened mirror though, the man a bit deeper in his need for revenge than Ran had been with Takatori even at his worst moments. That fact hardly just classified Hisoka as utterly untrustworthy, but it was unnerving. Who was this one he despised so... this Muraki? The man that had come here tonight and spoken with Hisoka's own companion? Most likely judging by the boy's reactions to just his name.
Many things to ponder on... and there was so far not much to start with considering it all. It was all unsettling though. He intended to at least attempt to figure it out, discover more about these two in any means possible. Never did he wish for any harm to come to his team, caring more for those three than he would have ever admit to himself and known he ever should... but already the worst had come to them, whether Ran was at fault, he was a direct cause in some manner. He could at least try to ensure that their afterlives wouldn't be the same type of hellish experience their deaths had been.
-end ... of this arc-
Footnotes:
there we go, arc one is completely uploaded! Arc two is nearly finished, so I'll begin posting it soon. =3 C&C is luffed to many levels.
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