He wonders, he supposes, how much he has said the same thing to Mr. Fushimi--in so many different ways. Mr. Fushimi has refused it, every time, has thrown it back in his face, has made it abundantly clear that he wants no praise, no overtures of kindness in any form.
I believe in you, too--would it do any good to say the words now? Would Mr. Fushimi understand them now, better than he had before?
Perhaps.
Reisi thinks not.
He has not said it in the way that Mr. Fushimi needs to hear it, that’s all. He has tried straightforwardly, obliquely, and through metaphor, and even action. There is no avenue left that Reisi sees that is different from what he has tried before.
So there must be something else to tell Mr. Fushimi, indeed. Mustn’t there? Some truth that Mr. Fushimi must want to hear.
“Thank you, Mr. Fushimi.” He pauses for a moment, and adds, “It means more to me that you have said so, than I feel capable of conveying to you.”
👗 for armicudium i'm too lazy to switch blogs but yes pls
Reisi got him a shirt full of abstract, sharp designs, and a pair of comfortable, fur-lined shoes.
He hopes he has not misunderstood Mr. Fushimi’s sense of style! After all, Mr. Fushimi is far more stylish than he is. The jacket he picked simply because it looks “cool”, but it is perhaps practical as well.
And if Mr. Fushimi needs a more formal outfit, well! Reisi is sure that Mr. Fushimi is not one to pick out such things himself, so he would recommend something like this:
[i was so sure you’d read this one when i did it before?? but maybe not………… and then i was rereading that one and i was like, wait. i don’t even remember writing this one. even i forgot i did it twice and the one you read was this one. anyway since i’ve apparently done it twice i’ll do a drabble of what probably happened afterwards]
It is about five minutes before he can find it in himself to stand up, and when he does, he takes the collar of the jacket in hand, folds it neatly and tucks it under his arms. With no more or less strength than the bare minimum required, Reisi pulls the sword out of the van. The rest of the men have cleared the space, but Hidaka remains, guarding him.
“Are you…” Hidaka glances up at him, wide-eyed, in a way that Reisi isn’t used to from his subordinates. There’s less of a measure of respect or deference in it, and more of something like pleading. “Aren’t you going to give us the order to go after him?”
“Did you think I was giving him a head start, to clear his head?”
Hidaka shakes his head furiously.
“No, sir! No, I just thought–” Seemingly without realizing it, Hidaka reaches for his sword–in a casual way, not reaching for the lock, but merely resting his hand on the hilt. He catches himself, and folds his hands behind his back. “No, sir.”
Reisi smiles, and sits back down. The movement jars his bruised rib, and it takes him a moment to get his breathing under control. He sets the sword and the jacket down at the foot of his cot, and draws his own jacket tight around his shoulders again.
“I am not going to send you after him,” he says, finally. “Not tonight, not tomorrow.”
The furrow between Hidaka’s eyebrows deepens, but he says nothing.
“Mr. Fushimi will come back on his own, or we will consider his time with Scepter 4 ended.”
“Where’s he going to go?”
Reisi tilts his head.
“That is up to him. He is not without funds, but I can assure you, I will not be tracking where he spends them.” Not that Mr. Fushimi would allow for such things, of course. He’d be cautious. Reisi would expect no less of someone he’d chosen personally.
Hidaka shifted from side to side.
“I imagine you think I ought to be concerned,” said Reisi, finally. “I imagine you are surprised that I am not.”
“No, sir.”
Reisi bowed his head.
“Then, are you concerned?” A very long pause. Too long, Reisi decides. “You may answer freely.”
Hidaka’s answer is very nearly instantaneous.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I am glad to have you in Scepter 4,” says Reisi, as though that is the final word on the subject. “I should like for my subordinates to express empathy for those who were once their fellows, and yet remain to do their jobs.”
In the distance, Ms. Awashima calls out orders, and Reisi begins to notice the chill of the winter air, even with his jacket draped over his shoulders. He’s been confined to this van, for the moment, by the doctor’s orders, but he doubts he is necessary outside of it, at this point.
“Thank you, sir,” says Hidaka, after what seems like an eternity.
“I no longer require you to guard this van. In case of emergency–” Reisi gestures to the sword by his side. “I will be fine. Go and see if Ms. Awashima requires your aid elsewhere.”
Hidaka’s exit is polite and perfunctory, any worry about Mr. Fushimi either forgotten or consciously set aside in the face of the amount of work that will need to be done. With the doors shut, and his subordinates safely out of sight, Reisi lowers himself to the bed, trying to find a comfortable position to lay down. Everything aches, and yet–
The Slate is no longer in his possession, and consequently his Sword no longer hangs over his head, reminding him of how much he’s been trying to control. Mr. Fushimi is no longer here, to purse his lips and click his tongue at Reisi for trying to work too hard. If he’s relieved by the first aspect of this situation, it’s impossible to tell–
But it’s in Mr. Fushimi’s hands now, he decides. For tonight, at least.
Reluctantly, he shuts his eyes, and tries to rest.
🎧 ......s we ats listen ik this is probably 5 years late
( send me 🎧 and I will make a playlist for our characters // @armicudium )
trainwreck // banks • holy branches // radical face • structure // innerpartysystem• i found // amber run •we had everything // broods• circles // eden• glory // radical face • obsession // innerpartysystem• wake up // eden • obstacles // syd matters • i’ll be good // jaymes young
the word reismells came to mind and i had to log in here immediately ; it probably smells like green tea & some part of me thought cinnamon
REISMELLS
i love it oh my god
and yes exactly. like a soft vanilla-y cinnamon green tea smell, not exactly like red hots, but it’d be a difficult balance because i can see a little bit of that spicy cinnamon too?
but yes, he has that weird streak in his personality, and i think cinnamon would suit it very well
evident is it that the man has some sort of TENDENCY to watch from a distance; silent like a snake, waiting to grasp its unsuspecting prey------------but with no such INTENTIONS ( not always, at least. ) and ever-observant is he to notice the apparent young man, standing in the same place for QUITE A WHILE, as the blond took his barren, black coffee to expel the side-effects of his lack of sleep. the dark-haired individual’s back faces erwin, so he cannot see his fact, but he notices his posture---------------------slack, tired, discouraged? obviously, he knows not every detail of the young adult’s life, so he’s left to hypothesize that maybe he’s had a BAD DAY or something similar.
though he fails to check for time, it can’t be far later than NINE IN THE MORNING, he muses, the colours in the sky align with the season to hint toward this guess, anyway. perhaps he doesn’t attend school, or has nowhere to be at this point in time, allowing for a moment of STILLNESS that erwin knows many young people aren’t allowed enough.
the ceramic mug retains the heat the beverage loses, and transfers it GRADUALLY to the palm of erwin’s hand. the post-october sky stewards falling leaves to congregate at the base of a MOTHER OAK, and several unidentified souls take their unknown journeys to unknown places, places that erwin will never know---------but never CARE to know. the world keeps moving, even if you don’t.
❛ it will rain, soon, ❜ suddenly, he is beside the young man, though he does not look at him. the mug is no longer in his hand, but the REMNANTS of its presence; its WARMTH is still there. ❛ and it appears as though you don’t have an umbrella, or anything to protect you. ❜ the graying sky, as though with age, crackles in TESTAMENT to the blond’s words.
❛ forgive me, as i don’t mean to pry ... but how LONG have you been standing here? ❜
