Her presence had lit up in his mind like a beacon, and in some way, Mukuro had found himself grateful in knowing the safety of his most treasured pawn.
Now very much a creature of the night, the Mist had found it hard to raise from his slumber as the strings of sunlight teased at his eyelids, fought for motivation to pull himself from his warm cocoon of blankets and dreamless sleep, to pull his pants off the floor and dress himself for the day, to step into a world full of humans whom he hated with the greatest fervor. But for his doll, the fragile child who had been his window to light and sanity in his darkest hours, he would do such a thing, would go the extra mile and reflect some semblance of humanity if only to show his vessel the smallest sliver of gratitude.
He did not reach out to her mentally. Doing so would key others with detective abilities in the area to his strength, would let them remember the signature and form that his mind took as it wandered. Not that he could travel so far without a body in this city as it was, with his abilities dulled and his senses hazed, the Scientists had left the Demon they housed with clipped wings and broken claws, nearly powerless and defenseless save for his cunning and creativity.
It was quite sad, he thought, quite a pity indeed, that the child who awaited him would have to endure such cruelty, would have to look into a world and a situation not unlike the experimentations this body had experienced in the past. Had he cared for the child more, perhaps he would have had a greater will to shield her from the evils of this world, from the vile and disgusting fog that hung over the city, created from nothing more than the manifestation of anger and hatred and all the negative aspects of human nature.
Even now, to a man who had all but thrown away his humanity, the feeling of it, the great tension it left in the air, left him on edge, hackles raised in a sort of mix of sickness and an alert mind, kept ever on his toes by the nausea that plagued his every day life.
She was close now. The feel of the younger Mist’s flames drew him from his thoughts and he pulled his gloves over slender fingers, fastened his belt over the waistband of his trousers, laced his boots and curled his fingers along the shaft of his trident, let the weight fall limply in one hand as the door shut silently behind him.
She was fatigued, her signature was faint, tired. It was not a stretch to wonder why such a state had fallen upon the little illusionist, a girl whom he had selected himself for her overwhelming potential to manipulate the Mist. While her strength was great, its magnitude was drowned out when compared quantitively to his own. With such limitations upon her abilities, she surely would have trouble maintaining a treatment of her condition.
There was no better way to announce his presence to his precious Nagi.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, only metaphorically, a gesture in spirit, as his presence joined her own momentarily, dancing through her mind like a mirage. There was an image of his hand over her own, a symbol of shared strength, and a supplementation of her waning illusion with his own, tailored towards driving away her fatigue, renewing the life of her illusionary organs.
The spiritual gesture was followed by the sound of his footsteps against the marble tile of the lobby, the echo of his laugh through the space. She would turn to find him exiting the stairwell, gloved hands held at his hips, thumbs resting upon the top of his belt, trident dangling through loose fingers, carrying himself with the same lion’s gait as he always had, tall and strong and proud.
He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, of sorts.
“It is certainly not the nest you are used to, but in any case, welcome home, little dove.”
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
jbbartram-illu
janainaart
titsay
stormborns
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
