May 23, 2014
otakuran replied to your post:For anyone wondering/thinking/asking, this is...
Verde-kun is rather fiesty~
He's an idiot.
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otakuran replied to your post:For anyone wondering/thinking/asking, this is...
Verde-kun is rather fiesty~
He's an idiot.
*hesitate* ... ... *walks around in circles* ... ... *decides to just go for it and knocks on the door* M-Mukkun~
The illusionist heard the knocking — there weren’t many people who would visit him or call him by that name. His eyes narrowed and he barely shifted from his seat on the ratty couch in the middle of his room.
He paused for a moment, turning the several possibilities over in his mind. He could try ignoring the call — pretending he wasn’t home… which would lead to two outcomes; the man would break down the door or leave. The former seemed more likely than the latter.
Perhaps he already knew he was there in that exact position and this was just some sort of strange harassment. It was, after all, quite difficult to know what was on that man’s mind sometimes. At least, it was a topic he tried to stay away from. To relate to someone like Byakuran was undesirable.
He couldn’t avoid confrontation.
Finally, he rose, heaving a sigh as he approached the door and opened it to greet his unwelcome visitor.
"Is there something I can help you with…?"
His pleasantries only extended to his choice of words. A neutral expression had come over his face, sans the quirk of a smooth eyebrow.
|| So it's been a while since I've posted a picture of myself as myself but I really ought to be in a watch commercial or something with this picture. You can crop half my face out, though. 8D.... The hoodie and the watch were both given to me by Otakuran / masterhibari (mujihi-shinya, binary-manipulator)... huhu...~ Thank you, dear~ <3 ||
Mukkun~ I wanna introduce you to someone~
"Do you, now…?"
He’s not really impressed — nor is he in the mood to meet anyone.
“Kufufufu….I’m not sure I’m interested.”
@Otakuran || 01. Dreaming of a White Christmas
He has long found hope dead in this place. This dark, dank place where what little light entered had never been good. He had learned that the sliver of pure white was not anything pleasant or beautiful… and he had already begun to lose sense of his time between each of the times.
How long had he been here…?
Too long.
How much longer would he be here… ?
It was not a matter of a few days … not a matter of a few weeks… but perhaps something closer to a few months which felt like years. Perhaps it had been that long – because he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happy…nor could he concretely formulate the faces of those he found precious. They were faceless now – that boy with flat affect … the boy resembling a dog …. His precious vessel, that woman Dokuro Chrome… his student … the proud and beautiful skylark …. The Vongola Sky. Instead, they had been replaced by a cold, cold sky… his white light of no redemption. The light that washed those faces away, turning his vision red.
He was unable to escape his mind… trapped…affixed in this room.
There was nothing in the darkness and nothing in the light. The aching of his joints and the cold metal about his limbs spoke of nothing but long term imprisonment. Cuts about his body – bruises – tears of muscle – there were all things he had learned to become numb to, yet were phantom reminders of those brutal fingers at his hips, the presence ripping apart his insides, the man-would-would-be-god.
His back had been against a wall, but he could no longer find the energy to stay upright and consequently, slumped over, curling as his cheek pressed against the cold ground. He was used to this… this imprisonment. No…. He no longer looked for hope – what he needed was a miracle.
One day
((I will be active in here again 8D, otakuran visiting again heh heh))
Birthday Present for Otakuran
((Disclaimer: completely not double checking this stupid marshie and this is gross and sort of feely I guess))
He supposed things were better when the albino slept -- at least, it was a time he could accept the other man's company in that cold room of his without feeling disgusted with himself. The bright whiteness of the sun shining past overcast clouds and through the large floor length windows did nothing to warm anything within the room. A cold light to match the cold man lying beside him in bed.
It hadn't started off this way and in fact, it was only recently that Byakuran had decided to sleep in the same room as him afterward. A strange move he could not understand .... after all, had he been in the same position, he would not give him, a wrathful spirit, an opportunity to strike. But the Millefiore don was always so incredibly deliberate, so hard was it to imagine there was no meaning behind everything he did. Trust came easily to neither of them -- so Mukuro had to wonder why the sudden change?
He shifted in bed, sitting up to the best of his ability, the chain attached to his metal anklet dully clinking under the blanket barely covering red-marked bare skin. He pulled the covers gently up his shoulders, taking care not to cause a disturbance in this peaceful moment by waking the man slumbering beside him.
He knew, from the intel he had gathered previously... that today, at least, was a special day for Byakuran marking the birth of the "god" of a "new world order." The days had seemed endless here at first, but slowly he had begun to place himself into a rhythm of day cycles -- deducing here and there from snippets of conversation he managed to overhear exactly what day it was.
"....."
He finally glanced down at the head of white hair in that plush pillow so close. Strangely, he had grown used to their proximity... and he couldn't recall when that had happened. Somehow, the man beside him had gotten under his skin... made him think all of this -- the chain now felt especially heavy on his skin -- was normalcy when it shouldn't have been.
"It's your birthday, isn't it...?"
He murmured mostly to himself, his "partner" in bed still apparently asleep.
"How pitiful you're here."
Heterochromatic hue turned away and met the white of the wall. He suddenly almost felt a little sorry for the man beside him. Alone with an enemy on one's birthday .... was something to be pitied. Birthdays were meant to be celebrated with those considered close to one's self (though he had admittedly turned away the opportunity to celebrate his own "birthday" many-a-year).
To be all alone.... he hadn't quite thought of it before, but this man was almost like a stray if one thought of it in another way. To be all alone with (supposedly) infinite cross-dimensional power... was a burden... as if one were the last of a species. Special....but Isolated.
His hand reached over, grabbing onto the top of the silver bed post (a familiar action, by now), as he leaned down, midnight silk draping down to meld starkly onto pristine white. He drifted closer to the shell of a paler ear.
"Buon compleanno, Millefiore...."
The words were so quiet as to be immaterial... as mist clearing from windswept swamp. He had been mistaken, he supposed, though he would never reveal any of his inner machinations to anyone. Byakuran was not alone on his birthday...
He leaned down to press a soft kiss to warm skin.
....he was not alone at all.