hey so how about you write about togami's thought process as he switched the crime scenes during chapter 2
* do they also become... blackened?
-- that could have been the end of things, but... no. byakuya discovered the body and decided to... intervene, making things even more complicated.
he’s there so quickly that he’s able to catch the door in one slim-fingered hand, watching the behemoth of shadow and shame slink away down the hall. thankfully, togami has always been light on his feet, stoatlike in a way that never appears deadly until it’s far too late. the room is dark before him, beckoning mystery a temptation so overpowering that he has no choice but to flick the lightswitch on.
the scene before him is horrific, yes, but he doesn’t so much as blink. the heir stands, straight-backed and inquisitive, lip curling as the stench of blood (copperlike against the roof of his mouth) rolls towards him on the lazy gust of air he’d earned. there lies the new victim, crumpled like a paper doll someone had simply gotten bored of. he says nothing as he examines her, head craned in question.
slowly, he begins to think. eventually, he begins to smile.
the killer’s secret weighs on his shoulders in a different way than it should. it’s less lead cape and more angel feather, airy and enabling. byakuya doesn’t have to close his eyes to remember the pictures he’d seen in his library at home: that wench had made this too easy on him, he finds himself chiding, as he turns on his heel and props open the door.
it’s an easy path to follow, and one that doesn’t play against him too harshly. yes, the sight of such an injury had made him reel a little, and, yes, he’s dreading getting his hands dirty (or, god forbid, the cuffs of his shirt), but he isn’t upset. in fact, byakuya makes his way to the school’s library on the same cloud of indifference and distance he’d made a home on at least ten years ago. nothing connects just yet, and that’s the way he’ll keep it, for as long as he can.
he mourns the loss of his favourite reading lamp for a little while as he loops the extension chord around his arm, tutting his tongue against his teeth when he realises that unplugging it had slipped his mind. he feels fine, but the palm of his hand now houses a gentle tremble, one that simply hadn’t existed an hour ago. strange. he must be cold.
the walk back takes longer, somehow.
without reluctance, this time, togami enters the locker room and releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. the exhale makes the baby hairs across the victim’s forehead flutter, like tiny insects making an escape, and byakuya has to fight the urge to double take: she’s dead. that’s certain. he’s got no time to get jumpy. it has to be now, or the blood will clot, become impossible to work with.
she doesn’t weigh much, and the heir is stronger than he looks. of course, with her inability to assist him (he begins to sweat when his hand lands on her exposed wrist, not quite warm, but not quite cold) he runs out of breath quickly, stomach churning like a mutinous sea (from the physical exertion, of course).
it’s that same wrist he’d touched that’s roped up first, the skin still sensitive enough to turn red when pressed too harshly. togami ignores this as he ties the chord around her throat. this props up her chin, though her head still lolls uselessly to one side -- those saucerlike eyes look through him, glassy and faraway. he’s too busy with his work to meet her gaze. even so, when he steps back to examine his handiwork, comb the scene for flaws of any kind, they seem to fix on him, daunting without being threatening.
the tremor in his hands moves to his knees.
the expression on his face remains both removed and smug as he continues his work, reaching forward and running a finger over the apple of her cheek. she’s cold, now, at least (though somehow this makes it worse, and byakuya’s chest lurches dangerously beneath his brooch). the tip of his nail comes away streaked with blood. he leans over to the wall and presses the pad of his forefinger against it, breathing only though his mouth. she’s close enough to reach out and push him, if she were able.
his shoulders have taken on the quiver.
abandoning his usual cursive, togami pens his message (the killer’s message, if it all went to plan, and, oh, it so usually does) in the best impression of the pictures he’d studied as he can, allowing for this newfound quake in his spine. the job is far from a bad one, something a copycat killer would admire with reverence, but, strangely, byakuya isn’t proud. the amused twitch of his lip had long since fallen away into a tight grimace, teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. with his clean hand, he nurses his jaw and steps away. the eyes meet his.
he doesn’t heave, but he wants to.
as quickly as that feeling had come, he’s dismissing it, pushing it back into the corner of his mind that worries about exile and heirs and stranding it there. instead, he takes on his father’s demeanour, tight lipped and stone faced. this was the perfect way to gauge exactly who he was up against. the wench had no right to trust him with such a secret -- it was up to her discretion to let him in on her dilemma. he hadn’t murdered anybody.
he was a togami, and, no matter the circumstance, togamis were always right.
i always here ryan reynold's voice in everything you write, and you strike the perfect balance of the silly and the serious, and it's just some A+ shit and ur amazing
beep beep how am i doing | @undyinglegends
s a k r a, whomst i’ve stanned for close to an entire damn year…. making me cry…
Animalistic | Approachable | Broken | Closed-Off | Cold | Crafty | Crazy | Defensive | Devious | Difficult | Disheartened | Emotionally Detached | Frightened | Frightening | Genuine | Guarded | Headstrong | Heartless | Human | Immature | Impatient | Inhuman | Insane | Intuitive | Lost | Mature | Noble | Patient | Pitiful | Primitive | Pure | Reliable | Remorseless | Reserved | Resourceful | Short-Tempered | Simplistic | Sly | Soft-Hearted | Struggling | a Threat | Trapped | a Troublemaker | Trusting | Understanding | Unique | Unpredictable | Unwavering | a Victim | Wicked | Feeling Vindictive | Guilty of Something | Hiding Something | Lost in Thought | Planning Something | Scared of Me | Scaring Me | Someone I can Trust | Someone I Can’t Recognize Anymore | Someone to Fear | Someone Worthy of Respect | Weak to Manipulation | Weighed by Something
You:
Aren’t Being Yourself | Belittle Yourself | Don’t Want to Hurt Me | Don’t Want to Leave Me | Drown Yourself in Something | Feel Alone | Feel Empowered | Have a Plan that Involves Me | Have No One Else to Turn to | Have Nowhere Else to Go | Have Seen Some Things | Haven’t Been Sleeping | Lie to Yourself | Lost Faith/Trust in Me | Lost Something/Someone Important | Need Me/my Help | No Longer Believe Me | See Me as a Thing | See Me as Someone Else | Seek to Hurt/Harm | Seek to Manipulate | Think Highly of Yourself | Think I’m Hiding Something | Think Little of Yourself | Think You Know Best | Want to Hurt Me | Want to Protect Me | Want to Sleep with Me | Want to Use Me
“ - Ah. Bayonetta. ” The bounty hunter turned toward the Umbran Witch, one of Bayonetta’s pistols very clearly held in her hands.
Though she hadn’t considered her act one of disrespect or one worthy of scorn, she nonetheless found herself feeling a bit like she’d been caught in an ill-conceived act in the moment. Thank goodness her mask did some work to hide her very brief deer in headlights look. Her curiosity caused her to pick it up fairly absent-mindedly... “ Pardon me. This belongs to you. ” She wastes no time holding the firearm forward for its rightful owner to take back, making her lack of any ill will clear. “ I was only looking it over, as I’ve never seen firearms quite like the ones you use in my travels... excuse my curiosity. ”
@undyinglegends // Starter Call. // Samus for Bayonetta!
