❛ THEY ARE DISGUSTING. ❜ gentle amusement drips from his tone. his breath hot & in already oppressive tenor he can almost hear the labouring of his chest as he mimics his once human need to breathe. old habits die hard. samurai ( GHOST OF THOSE WHO TAUGHT HIM FIRST ) fixates on a dragonfly’s tango, alighting to & from the surface of the water of the pond they pass, never disturbing it. kita is much like that dragonfly, he thinks, in all his teasing self. he dances, always quick & careful not to make a sound, n not to disrupt water beneath, but in the end, something got him, devoured him, before he could devour another mosquito, another pest. distance to the kekkai shortens, & saigō feels himself grow quiet, only glancing slightly to land on the hand clinging to his arm. thoughts move to his own mother: a saint, holy figure bathed in rays of sunlight & drenched in divinity. & like most holy things, she died before her time, laid to rest clutching a handful of the morning glory they pass. what would she think of him now ? her son not only warrior spirit, but spirit himself ? what would she think of how he drove that blade through his own abdomen, tasted sticky copper essence of his own self, fully aware of what he would become ? what would she think of him, of kita ? they grow even closer to the yokai, can hear it, sense it. full of anguish & hate for its mother, some would say. as much as repulsion cast a large shadow over saigō, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for monster too. isn’t his empathy / everlasting, what led him to kabuki ?
❛ not too far now… i do not know what state the mother is in… i hope we can help her… if not, all we can do is help the family, & maybe, help the little bastard. ❜ he says it with a grin, nudges kita gently. ❛ you & i alone on earth would get boring after a while. you’d have no living to seduce, & i’d have no reason to intervene. you love trying to make me jealous. ❜
❛ you want to help it ? the thing ? ❜ the gentleness of his nose crinkles , alabaster keeling back in another round of revulsion -- a sigh , extending saccharine tone to meet with vitro breath -- then , sillage extends : simply out of habit , as if to defend his right to disagree . lips purse and free hand sifts through ebon silks , voice a firmless tone . he knows little of this truth -- normalcy of a mother’s loving hand moving to quell a worried thought with little more than a will to try harder , be better , feel only the part you play . in this world , skill and a pretty face can only take you so far . ambition is a weapon you must keep sharp , and perfume will be your wetstone / a man has his blade , and we , have our wits . in a way , he knows that her thoughts were warped ( the old bat’s life was falling apart -- why would she care if he took her title , reformed it , made it less ... faded ? her appeal had been lost to the wind , a floret falling from grace ... i only did what you told me to do . had her blade not become dull ? ) ❛ couldn’t you just , i don’t know , stab it a lot ? ❜
looks to the moon now , as if to mingle with what binds them . call him selfish . he will not care . ❛ you're too nice for your own good . ❜ he knows that he is callous / knows that this seems trite -- but he wants to rest ‘pon the chest of the man he loves , take in the love that ebbs from him , genuine . ( when is it that i began to see a human corpse as carrion ? when is it that the child died , and the princess took his place , kicking corse with bloodied zōri and ignoring the way it’s death rattles mingle with a woman’s faux intone ? do we not address bones ? do we not live with the dead ? as i wrack my brain and heart , i cannot , for the life of me / for the death of me , find the urge to care . but at least , as i walk with you , i feel a little more human . ) ❛ ... but you’re right . sometimes . ❜
romaincrisis
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germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
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