I don’t feel like HxH 2011 fucked much of anything up, but by far the worst thing to happen in it was that they pretended Kite and Gon weren’t fucking PSYCHED to see each other after like 3 seconds of confusion
He's missing limbs--plural--now. He knows for sure a leg was taken, above the knee, but he hasn't allowed himself to look down after the ant gored a hole out of his stomach. The other might be gone too, but if it is, the pain is blurring and indistinguishable. Hard to breathe, he feels sure there are splintered ribs biting into his lungs.
The ant is becoming bored, a cat batting a broken toy back and forth, drawing out the last bits of fun. The sun is cracking over the horizon--had they really been at it all night?
Reina woke screaming, clawing at her right shoulder. Colt had been sleeping closer since the dreams started--first in the adjacent room, then the hall, then with his back pressed to the door. He rushed in, as he had every previous night for the last week, restrained her hand before she could add to the scratches she'd dug into the shoulder two nights ago.
He didn't have a chance to call out to her before her eyes flew open, wide and wavering. Those deep violet irises always blanched and gleamed when she was afraid, and Colt had become painfully familiar with the change. As he did every other night, he choked back tears, lifted the tiny girl from her nest of blankets, tucking her skinny rattail under his arm as it thrashed around.
His soft words, meant to comfort her, were losing their effect. The dreams were pulling her deeper each night and with each addition to her recollection, she was becoming more and more inconsolable when she woke. In the minutes following her awakening, she would mumble horrifying things about blood and claws, pain, something about a monster... but as quickly as she recounted the details, they would slip from her grasp. Colt would carry her to the kitchen as she quieted, make her a cup of cocoa--powder mixed with hot water, as she had become visibly repulsed by the taste of milk mixed into it--then send her back to bed. Her second sleep was calmer, and when she woke in the morning, she'd forget the dreams entirely.
He has exhausted his nen, too much effort put into staunching the blood flow to torn off limbs. He barely manages to throw out a Silent Waltz when he rolls a 2. He's beginning to lose focus. His last weapon, a katana, begins to dissolve in his hand--losing grip on the conjuration even though it's his oldest and dearest weapon. Slots' voice is distant, muffled by the blood in his ears, but also echoing loudly in his head--it is his true voice, after all. He thinks as Slots thinks, feels as Slots feels. He chokes back bile and blood as Slots' voice, lowered and fearful, says, "I think ya should call it, kid. We've probably only got one roll left."
Reina quieted slightly with passing nights until eventually Colt was worried at the silence coming from her room. She usually woke around two in the morning, and it was already creeping toward three. He'd not heard any whimpering, no screaming, no heavy breathing. He cracked the door and peered in, startled when he was met with an empty bed.
He burst in, feeling cool air rushing into the room from the open balcony door. Outside, perched on the railing and silhouetted in moonlight, was Reina. Her tail swished idly, heels swinging and softly tapping the rail.
Colt called out to her, feeling uneasy at how slowly she turned, how tired she looked with tears dried on her cheeks.
"Colt."
It took him more than a moment to process his name. "A.. ah? Yes? Are you okay?"
"What's nen?"
He staggered. Her voice had come out deeper, harsher than he'd ever heard it before. "It's... a type of energy that all living things have." Her eyes narrowed, confused or displeased with the answer, but Colt did not elaborate. "It's windy tonight. You should come back to bed, Reina. You'll catch a cold."
She flinched, angling her face back to the lush mountainous expanse under the balcony. "M'not Reina."
"What?"
"My name's not Reina." She was swaying on the railing, not off-balance but instead a fidgety motion as she chewed on the words she'd just said. Colt stilled like a statue, fighting the urge to walk out to her, lest she teeter over the edge
"What is it then?" he asked. His stomach felt heavy, dreading the answer. Had she been someone that he had killed? Would he even know if she was? He'd never toyed with a target or drawn out their execution, but in the mind of a victim, had he appeared more sinister?
"I dunno." She twisted and slid off the rail onto the balcony. Her tiny feet made the softest steps to Colt. When she reached him, her arms lifted automatically for him to scoop her up.
"That's.... that's okay," Colt assured. "I'm sure I had a name before too, but I can't remember it." She curled in, yawning, her eyes looking hazy and sleepy.
As she had previously, she slept and woke and forgot the dreams. She didn't ask about nen again.
The ant stalking up, cracking its neck, stretching its arms behind its back, grinning, purring audibly. It's tired, but not nearly pushed to a breaking point. He wonders if he would have stood a chance if he hadn't lost the arm at the beginning, if he'd put some distance between them instead of standing his ground while the boys ran. He'd always been good at running, at surviving.
He's flooded with ghosts from the past. Stomach growling. Hair matted to the back of his neck from neglect. Fingers throbbing and sore under dirty bandages he'd made from a ripped shirt--pinky and ring fingers on his right hand crushed, the nails ripped up at the root--punishment for pocketing an apple as he walked by a stand. He'd not made the mistake of getting caught again--went hungry for uncountable days until he was practiced enough to swipe things unnoticed. Stealing enough to gain the strength to evade. Cockily thieving after that because it didn't matter if they saw him--he was quick and he knew he'd be able to escape.
Focus lost, blood spraying from the stump of his thigh and oozing from the clotted pulp of his shoulder. The ant's feet fall loudly, deliberately onto the grass.
Taunting. Closer, it's getting closer.
Colt checked in on the girl nightly at roughly the same time thereafter. She no longer screamed, but she did still wake crying, quiet enough that Colt wasn't alerted to it. With each night she looked more determined, calculating. She paced the balcony, studying her hands. She frowned as she flexed her fingers, a dimple of worry forming between her brows.
She'd sit cross-legged on the edge of her bed and mindlessly brush her hair. She'd make a blanket tent in the corner of the room and cocoon herself inside with books and snacks that she'd somehow hoarded without Colt noticing. He tried to find her secret stash but never could.
"It's now or never." Slots is becoming insistent.
He's having difficulty hanging onto the little clown, but he manages to say, "How long? Was it... enough time?"
Slots knows his thoughts, feels his worry for the boys, his need to protect them. "It's been long enough, idiot! They definitely made it back to the embassy by now!"
He smiles, grits his teeth, swallows hard to clear the blood in the back of his throat.
The girl made a habit of hiding many things that she liked or wanted--books, food, or pressed flowers that she'd picked. She less frequently was interested in toys and would knock them around in boredom, but Colt occasionally saw a little stuffed doll peeking out from the crook of her arm. She guarded it fiercely, though Colt was unsure why, and the only time he got a full view of it, he identified it as a tiny clown. Its button eyes, previously beady black and round, had been carved into angry angled shapes and painted yellow.
Colt asked about the doll once, why she carried that one and why it looked mean. Her simple response was, "He is mean, but he's my favorite."
She answered no further questions about her little clown and after that, Colt never saw the doll again. He assumed it had been placed in safekeeping wherever she kept her other valuables.
"C'mon, kid, I know it's hard but ya've gotta--!!" Slots is dematerializing, if he doesn't meet the restriction now, he'll lose his chance. "S'the only roll ya get to pick, kid, hurry up!"
His whole body vibrates with intent, remaining arm limp at his side, shattered at the elbow. His words bubble around blood pooled on the back of his tongue.
"L... like hell... I'd die like this."
He doesn't see the ant move, only feels the surge of air caused from the movement, clashing with the veil of nen that has surrounded him. Slots is calling out a roll, the trademark br-r-r-!!! The searing precision of claws slicing through. Slots' voice fading, frantic, as he calls out "Zero!"
Pain, shooting into his jaw, the base of his skull, static, the ant's triumphant yowl.
Black. Then nothing.
The girl sliced the toy sword into an oversized teddy. It bounced off the bear's bloated stomach and sent the girl reeling backwards. When she'd asked Colt for a sword, she definitely intended to receive something of more substance. The disappointment on her face when he'd handed over the plastic stick must have been palpable.
Colt stood at the edge of the room, gripping a phone to his pointed ear while she stabbed at the cotton innards of a giant frog doll. He muttered something into the receiver, something that she found inconsequential until he sighed, "Yeah, it's about Reina."
She instantly and shrilly interrupted, "No! That's wrong! It's wrong!"
"She keeps saying her name isn't Reina," Colt continued.
The words echoed in her head. It isn't Reina, it isn't Reina, it isn't--
What is it then?
She clenched her hand around the hilt of her not-sword until her tiny fingers cracked the plastic. She gasped, eyes darting momentarily. It had come to her that morning, she remembered. It was muddy and trying to slip from her mind but--
"Y'called me out?" Slots peers around indignantly, searching for an opponent. "Where's the enemy?"
"There isn't one." He hunches over a dwindling fire, chewing a piece of dried fruit. It's sweet and sticks between his teeth and he's running his tongue across to dislodge it.
"Then whaddid ya bring me out for?" Slots yells. He shrugs, popping another bite in his mouth. "Yer a pain in the ass, y'know! Ungrateful! Idiot!"
He knows that the clown's attitude is his doing, that in a lot of ways it's the opinion he truly has of himself, but that doesn't make the words sting any less. "I know you have a will of your own, but you could at least address me properly."
The clown's inflated lips bend upward in a fit of laughter. "I'm the source of yer power. I'm the only thing that'll keep ya alive. If anything, ya should be addressing me properly!"
"I gave you a name and I call you by it. I'd appreciate if you did the same. That's all I meant."
Slots quiets at that, mulling it over a minute. His master continues his snacking, avoiding eye contact. The look on his face is... "Ya bored or something?" He doesn't respond immediately and Slots continues, "Cause if that's all, then put me away. M'not here to entertain y--"
"I don't know what I'm doing," he responds. The tone is even, but Slots can tell instinctively that there's shame behind it. "Ging is... I don't know where he is. And I don't know if I'll ever know where he is. And I put so much effort into following him... now that he's gone..."
Embers pop, spitting sparks at his feet. Slots falters at the deflated expression on his face. This isn't their usual banter, this isn't right. Bleeding through the aura that connects them, he feels unease, hopelessness, a sinking feeling of sadness. Before Slots can process it all, form the words to properly describe the feeling, his master says, "I'm alone. I'm back to square one, by myself, and I don't know where to go from here. So, I called you out because--"
I'm lonely. Talk to me. That's all I want.
Slots sobers, hovering closer, kicks the rounded toe of his red boot against his head. "Yer still just a dumb kid, Kite."
The child lined the sword up to a stuffed dinosaur, gave it a test swing. "I'm not Reina!" The sword connected like a bat, launching the toy at Colt's head. Invigorated and absolute, the sword flew upward above the high-held red head.
areudirty
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
prguitarman
germansingergirl
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
