Do you want me to help you take a picture? (from Hughes)
Another familiar voice. Eyes threatened to water at the visual of soft leafy browns and serene creamy feather hues that bloomed in their sight. Maes Hughes. He was normally dead when they arrived, dead too soon, dead too quick, ripping up their heart each time they watched the series or visited the world only to see his grave. Having to witness his death and be unable to prevent it sometimes, well... it never felt right, and always turned their stomach. But to see him on the other side of them now... Asking such an innocent but excited inquiry. It gave a feeling of... Contentment, maybe? They blinked owlishly at him, willing the watery-ness to stop, and standing straighter. Their hair hung over their eyes and they flashed a soft smile.
"I'd love it. Though my camera is a bit unique. You just touch this little space here and when it makes the click noise it's taken the image." They stepped closer to him, showing him the screen of the phone. Standard array of buttons, the big white button obvious enough to tap on. They demonstrated it for him, speaking still. "The image will pause for less than a second then zip down to this corner. A tinier version will stay here and that's how you know it's saved. You can take multiple if you want. Would you like to test it first?" Casually, their hands offered up the smart phone device to him, leaving it in camera mode. "The buttons on the side are to give predetermined zooms and to turn the camera screen off, so I'd advise not to press any of those~"
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King didn't like to lose it around him. But the reminder of his death when they passed by the cemetery where he was typically buried in... They felt their rage crack their expression, the originally neutral discussion about cameras had turned to family, again, and King wasn't sure how to express their pain and anger about their family's death, only to feel frustration wash over them seeing the grave that usually held their living friend's dead body. Cold fury washed over them as they recalled they would never in any lifetime have the opportunity to bury their family, and they stopped dead in their tracks, eyes locked on the military burial grounds. Shoving one balled fist into their pocket, and the other angrily swiping through their black hair, King spoke.
"I just can't fucking understand people sometimes. You have every choice to fuckin' smile and exist with joy in life and you decide to fucking kill someone. To take lives that exist with the same joy and innocence. There's never a good fucking reason to kill someone, it's always a bad thing. Like-" And here we go, King's impulsive tongue speaking before they've thought. "-I hope that the fucking bastards that killed my wife and our family rots in an abysmal hellscape, since that's all they will ever deserve. [I hope they suffer something fierce and that hell tastes like burning piss laced with shards of glass poured down the throat of their soul every second of their afterlife. I hope they never learn to regret so they may never face the peace of redemption. I hope they suffer every agonizing choice for ripping them from me. I want them to suffer something awful. I hope- I hope to whatever awful god made those prophecies, by stars, I hope they were right.] ... Sorry, that got... a little much for a second."
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King had been waiting on Jean for a date, it was the one time King was back in Amestria after traveling around, and after not seeing one another for a while, they set up a day to meet up. King assumed Jean was late because of work, and that was absolutely fine by them, they were just... irritated. At other things, of course.
Flick flick. More ambient noise of someone still talking...
Flick flick flick. And still talking, but louder, as if the voice was getting even closer.
FLICK FLICK FLICK FLICK. A hand touched King's shoulder in an overly familiar way, the voice still droning on in that sickly flirty tone.
BAM!
Their lighter slammed into the stone wall across from King. Cold blue eyes snapped over to the interloper that was yammering on and on in their ear and that was previously touching them.
"[You piece of worthless shit.]" It sounded like Xingese, but not quite, how peculiar.
They glared hatefully towards what appeared to be just some annoying stranger, but someone who was... well, clearly a problem. Well, whatever the case was, King honestly couldn't pretend to care. What rumors the guy had going on, or thoughts in his head, none of that mattered. All King cared about was that they were wearing a beautiful outfit in the colors he had once told them were his favorites, and this guy was annoying them, and had been for hours now. Sadly, their lighter faced their anger before the guy did, fallen on the ground like a discarded ball of paper, the brick that it had hit actually had a slight crack. King scowled at the man that had been flirting with them, overly chummy and insolently pestering them.
"I told you I was waiting on someone, did you think I was [fucking] joking? [Do not touch me.] You must think I look like some little lost Xingese woman, in desperate need of a big strong Amestrian man to rescue me. [Newsflash], I'm waiting on someone far more greater. You are nothing to me, you will never be anything to me, you need to learn to take a [fucking] hint and go away."
English was spoken a little, a bite to the words foreign to this land, full of anger. As the guy didn't back down, but instead rose up a little, his pride clearly insulted, it seemed his only plan of action was to get angry about it. As he started at King, poised as if to strike her, they quirked an eyebrow up- and let him, dodging slightly to evade a strike to the face and forcing him to strike their shoulder instead. As he struck them, and witnesses around saw the strike, King grabbed his fingers, bending them quickly until the joins cracked out of place, turning the man with their hands until his face was pressed into the wall. Strong arms locking his behind him and crushing his body into the wall by metal legs locking, and heeled shoes digging into the ground behind him.
"You think that just because I'm a woman in a pretty dress, that I won't put your [fucking ass] on the ground? [Honestly, just die.] Mmh, that was mean, wasn't it? Who am I kidding, you can't understand that anyway. I don't suppose you'll leave well enough alone if I let you go, hm? I really should call the authorities to get you. This bruise on my shoulder should suffice for why you're going to spend the night in jail, after all." King leaned in, lips almost brushing his ear, voice dropping low enough so no one but him would hear. "If not for witnesses, I would make you disappear like the bug you are."
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King held it together admirably. Oh they were so very strong, because it was him. If they lost it around him, he would be forced to act in some way. It would disrupt his job, his entire mission. Oh, but the fallout that occurred when they were behind closed doors, it was like someone threw a grenade, and that grenade was King. BOOM. There was a literal hole punched into the outside of the hotel pillow, King's fists trembling at their side, threads falling from one of their fists. Red irritation around the knuckles of the fist that the threads fell from. Their eyes glowed vividly under their thick bangs, but because of the downward tilt of their head, Kurapika could see it easily without strain.
"I know you have to listen to that garbage thing to get information, but I wish you'd know not everyone with incredible wealth is like that. Not..."
Whatever King was about to say died on their tongue, mouth agape as if in the process of speaking, only to close again as they thought better of the impulsive words. King's fists trembled from containing their rage, and the pillow that had a hole in it was squished and turned over, and abruptly another fist was crammed into it. Instead of making another hole, it just shot-gunned the stuffing out the first hole, spewing fluff everywhere on the bed.
"I hope they die. I hope they die. I hope they die. I hope they all die for this."
King could remember the feeling of one of their past deaths, the terror that they felt as someone got the same sickening desire for their blue eyes that the corrupt of this world craved for Kurapika's clan's red eyes... They could remember the sickening feeling of dying from such a slow blood loss, the inability to fight back, the loss of sight as their eyes were carved from their sockets... Their stomach turned and they bit their tongue, blood in their mouth as they snarled.
"I'll kill them. I'll rid them of their feet first, peel their skin back like a fucking fruit, make those fucking collectors and harvesters the same fucking fear they are so desperate to inspire. I don't care. I'll kill them. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care."
And yet, they seemed to care very much, the rage that boiled in them had them destroying another poor unfortunate pillow, knuckles reddening and palms bloody from their nails digging into their own flesh.
Me, motioning to the blankets: I just wanna crawl inside here and like, kiss all over you.
Her, mobile gaming without looking up: I know you just wanna crawl inside my skin like all the time.
Me: I mean, yeah. It looks so cozy!
Her: It's not.
Me, gasping and then laughing: Well maybe it's like a blanket! Sometimes blankets aren't cozy until you share it with someone. Maybe your skin isn't comfy because you're not sharing it!
King, for all their fighting capabilities, and strengths, is an idiot that often pushes themself too far. When fighting in other worlds, they will get injured to such an extent that results in death or extreme irreparable damage. They value others well beyond their own, extremely self sacrificing, and if they fail to protect someone they fault themself greatly as if they can fix the wrongs of the world with inner turmoil alone.
King has charged into a battlefield before, gotten into the slew of enemies, fought for eons only to fall from assuming they could handle the number when they could not. As capable as they are they overestimate themself and overextend quite often. The only thing that slows this drive is if they have someone they absolutely cannot leave and they stay near to protect or fight beside.
You did something bad. You're paying the price for it each day, aren't you? You're picking at your skin and fighting everything off because of your own actions. You resent your own free will because of the harm it brings. You should lay down a while.
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King had been drinking with him, slowly sipping their drink and having fun, giggling and telling stories of 'near death', brushing them off like they weren't a big deal, and then came the question. And their swaying stilled, ice clinking against the glass. They forced a smile, tensed laughter spilling from their lips.
"My biggest regret? Not meeting you sooner! You're an absolute treasure, Jean~" But they knew he was serious, so with a smile tighter than a military tucked bed sheet, they answered after a considerate hum, eyes staring at his hands instead of his face. "Mm... Not seeing my children's faces before they died." King saw their wife, got to say good bye to her. But their kids... Well. He did ask, to be fair, and King was drunk enough, and trusted him enough, to answer.
