quirofiliac
He’s used to this. It’s horrible to say, wasn’t it?
He’s used to the strange, strange things that seem to plague him everywhere he goes. It’s this goddamned town, he tells himself each and every time. That’s why his luck was either magnificent or simply abhorrent– it was almost as if Morioh had decided to flip a coin every single day, right at the start of Kira waking up and determining whether “heads” or “tails” meant good and what meant the opposite.
But he was used to it. He always would be, too, because he had no choice in the matter. Running like a stray cat, biting hard down onto a raw flank of beef it’s managed to snatch, and choosing to dart into an alleyway as its only safe haven… That was never meant to be a permanent option, but it was now, wasn’t it?
“How do you know my name?”
His voice was quiet, stilted, and almost meek.
Eyes remained closed to the ground, not yet bothering (not wanting– it’d be cruel to suddenly decide that he wanted this.) to look the other in the eye. Not even when there were howls – impossibly quiet as they were – that he could only assume were to be of the damned licked at his ears.
Her name was Molly, and she was a tourist.
She had lovely, voluminous red hair (but it was clearly dyed. it was an unnatural shade, almost a firetruck red.) with bright, lively green eyes. Freckles were sprinkled across her cheeks (maybe she was a model. she had a small gap in-betwixt her two front teeth… that would’ve made her unique in that sort of world, after all.) that were all clearly done (and he kind of hates that he knew this.) in eyeliner pencil. He wonders how they didn’t wash off even as she cried, cried, cried– sobbing right at him, screaming at him in a mix of English and broken Japanese “why”.
“…”
Kira still doesn’t look up nor does he think to move. He’s more akin to a statue right now, arms straight and unbearably stiff at his sides with both hands not quite balled up into fists but almost. His head’s tipped downwards a bit, lips having since formed into a long, big frown.
Upon the question (two, actually. that’s what gets under the skin first– the ego to believe that they could ask not only one but two questions without waiting for an answer, first.) that was tossed his way, he clenched his jaw.
“No.”
He’s more bold in his approach this time, sharp and blunt. Refusal in its purest form, because he doesn’t think it’s fair. And it’s not– how could it be? If he were a little more on edge, he thinks, he would’ve gone as far as to stamp his foot down on the ground to demand further attention.
Kira’s better than that, though. He always has been.
Waiting for his self-proposed silence to cover the both of them just a little further, he quietly attempts to relax his jaw. It hurts, like an ache. Fingers balled up tighter, in towards his palms to finally form clenched fists. He might need them, he thinks.
It’s then that he decided to speak, voice unmistakably firm and big.
“How do you know my name?”
his silence, it could have been BITING for some, IRRITATING TO OTHERS. to them, it was common. it was normal --- the world wasn’t use to THEM of all things making an appearance to simply speak to the LIVING. they know kira’s role in hell will be exquisite, but his TORTURE IS UNTIL DEATH.
he would not be a victim, nor a prey. phoenix was certain that the VICTIMS, once they stopped screaming in despair, could inform him a bit more of what the other HID with head lowered.
he seems so unlike what the spirits had spoken of. of the MONSTER IN MORIOH that stole their hands & later their life. he had seen the women die, but so had phoenix & their interest was lingering, but not blind.
he settles with turning their own head to the side & away from the other, choosing to INHALE despite having no need to do so to begin with.
“ as i said, the dead speak MUCH about you. that last woman you killed, she looked PETRIFIED. you killed her so brutally. ” a shrug comes from them, uncaring if that would cause any DISTURBANCE in the other.
the overlord tends to SPEAK BEFORE THINKING. none could silence them anyway... being the priest of hell & the executioner at that allowed them such a pleasure.
“ i have no name to give to you in return. my apologies. ”
none that THEIR MOTHER could bother informing them off. a liability, she called it. something they’d love to know more of, but finding more joy in their current position. BLACKEN GAZE LOCKS BACK TO KIRA WITH TILTED HEAD. the mask hiding scars reflecting the light of the moon above them.
“ i look forward to having the chance to speak with you one day properly. you seem QUITE controlled over yourself; --- something many lack these days. ”
