THE MIRACLE OF LIFE TAKES FORM before their very eyes; a squiggle in the petri dish that would suffice to delude the common man into thinking he is god. Do it once, twice; a dozen times — until the palpitation in the quietude before a new creature wakes ceases, the grip of excitement in watching it grow quickly forgotten. The failed expreriments mount a pile in the room's corner, lifeless and discarded with their eyes still open ( under-developed, no more than bags of flesh held in vague unvarnished shapes by the cursed energy stored within them ) It is a pile that keeps growing, as Noritoshi Kamo's research is inching towards its fateful conclusion.
The subjects are wasting away as half-breeds, deteriorating more and more with each try — each more decomposed and rotten than the one that came before it. And the woman whose unique trait had darkly excited them once, is counting her days. There's a gnawing frustration brewing within Kenjaku that resembles the blood roiling in the testing tubes they hide behind — so when a knock on the lab door stirs him from his thoughts, Noritoshi's voice comes sharp, honed by that long forsaken sentiment that has visited them anew.
Glassy eyes peer over the neatly arranged bottles and bibliography to examine the sole result that may yet hold value; first of nine, the half-curse 'Choso'. For one thing, it is the only one that has displayed some level of conscience; the only one that still poses some interesting questions. Does that conscience comes from the cursed energy Kenjaku has gifted from his own soul, or the physical mind Choso inherited from his mother? Where every memory from lives and offspring past has abandoned them after living in this man's body for so long, the day of Choso's birth is still vividly carved in the mind; for it was the one day that Kenjaku experienced some fleeting gratification and that first cry of life from Choso had inspired the birth of his eight siblings as well. All in all; he was the firstborn. And he was favored.
And that was why he was allowed to hover at the door of Noritoshi's study and interrupt him with redundant information about his dying mother. In other times, before Kechizu was born, he would have rushed to her aid. But after that devastating disappointment, he realized nothing better would come out of that woman. So, he settled for testing what would come, if anything. Until it couldn't come anymore.
His eyes roll back to the notes sprawled between his hands without expression. The silence is cold, as there is nothing there to connect them; no bond that could tense or break under the weight of animosity exuded from Choso in that moment. But it is very much perceived. The slight shift of motion under the fabrics ( Kenjaku has allowed him to dress, albeit wanting to monitor his shape and growth, if only because he wanted to explore the peculiar bond between Choso and his mother — see if there's more to it than the instinct of something that was brought into light to creep back into the darkness from which it came ) A note of curiosity creeps into Noritoshi's brow with the delay in response and the way he can distinguish a restraint in Choso's voice. Verbal comprehension, visual and spatial perception, working memory — he has yet to test Eso's intelligence, but that response begs a question of whether Choso ( who they have already concluded, is capable of fluid reasoning as well ) could be capable of more complex emotional responses...
He's not entirely human. And he's not entirely curse. And yet — he clenches his fist under the gifted garment and Noritoshi's eye witholds the rekindled spark of curiosity when it meets those bloodshot ones on his offspring.
❝ Choso. ❞ The tone is somber, but soft. Summoning, but not inviting. It's called in the way he would call him if he had remembered a last minute thing to add — as Noritoshi often did, witholding the most important information for when he was already with one hand on the doorhandle. He doesn't move from the desk, the distance between them never bridged. And so the question comes off as alarmingly tranquil.
❝ Are you... angry with me? ❞
