[the shopping was nice, it was normal, the sort of thing he didn't really do much but still existed in the scope of a world he easily understood. he thinks a lot these days about being a good roommate and what that means- robby's dad said he should learn karate about it, online sources said to be polite and quiet. he wonders about learning to cook properly, and doing chores better. things like that.
(he misses his parents a lot sometimes. makima reminds him just enough of both in small ways it aches sometimes.)
he glances over when she offers her hand, a little surprised. did she want to hold hands? or for her to give him something? the direct question (order, some would say. he doesn't think of that, some people are just more direct, aren't they?) is easier. he offers her his hand, curious.]
[ a tiny little paw, and so chilly! makima takes the smaller hand in her's and cups around it. ]
Mhm, [ as if she's confirmed exactly what she was thinking, ] It's cold, isn't it? I've got just the thing.
[ and slipped into his palm with nimble fingers, being guided to close his around it is a tiny marble shape. a dull, constant heat drawls from it like a palpable pocket-sized heater. inspecting what she's put in his hand will reveal a bloodstone— probably coldblood, from how blue it is. ]
My hands get cold easily. [that mild anemia of his. good for passing out and cold fingers.
he watches her with a small blink- her hands are warm, but then there's something in his hand. he senses a little something from it, not unlike what he feels from sleepers, and when he brings it closer to inspect-]
Is this a bloodgem? [whoa] I've never seen one before, it's so warm...
[then a pause as he looks up to her.] Is it really okay for me to have this? [he thinks they're expensive, or something like that. it is doing wonders to warm his hand]
[ before letting his hand go for good, she cups it in her’s and gives the top a gentle rub and pat. ]
I want to take good care of such a good boy, after all. [ and whatever it was that she could sniff off of him. it’s partially what drew her to him. he has something. a bit of an energetic static to his scent. ] Have your hands always been prone to the cold?
[he regards it for a few moments, though 'good boy' makes something in his chest tighten. he doesn't know about that, not after what happened in the forest with that bear and the guy with the weird hair.
he's already lost it twice and he's barely been here a few weeks. sometimes he wonders if he's changed at all.
it takes a moment for her question to register, and with it he nods.] Yeah, I'm a bit anemic. [after another long pause he says,] Miss Makima, how do you keep um... controlled here? Calm, I guess.
[ he's gone quiet, thoughtful even. then oh, hoh, what a question. there are plenty of ways she could answer it, but one that may bring the most comfort? her eyes stare and her lips have pulled flat with neutral attention. hm . . . ]
With the correct guidance. [ control is something makima weaves into her people until they come to believe having agency is a stressful thing. that, at least, builds lasting dogs. imposed control often brings about resentment for some reason (it was a funny thing to observe, how humans ebb back and forth to loving control, loving her but despising the concept of being controlled— the poor things), so reliance on that should be null to a minimum. her voice comes creeping but curious in her soft ways with words: ] Is something bothering you?
[that answer sounds right to him. that's what he's been trying since he was ten, really. and with master reigen things were a lot calmer for a long time, until recently.
he cups the gem in both his hands so the warmth spreads through them better. answering her question is surprisingly easy. she just seems so... capable.] I had powers before coming here. Sometimes I can't control them.
[same flat tone as always, even if there's a weight to how he stares down at the gem in his hands.] This place makes people lose control all the time. It's... scary.
[ it takes self-control to keep from smiling. it's wonderful news, all in one drop. she holds the proper amount to seem troubled, stopping their walk as she did.
he's already frightened. more fright would only help her case. ]
There's never true peace without order, whether individually or collectively. They bring out the worst in people— evil people. Chaos is a real, scary thing. And it's everywhere you go, Shigeo. [ it's then that she allows her lips to bloom with sympathetic elegance, something that is actually genuine, made known when she places a hand upon his shoulder. i can't control them. it's scary. he misses her. he loves her presence. there is nothing quite more rewarding than to be called for. ] But it doesn't have to be that way.
[here's mob glancing up at her, nodding in agreement to those wise words. chaos is really scary, maybe the scariest thing if he's honest. chaos is the closest way he can describe waking up to find destruction around him.
and it seems to be everywhere here, chaos. he latches on to the last part easily. it doesn't have to be that way.
the request has him consider for only a moment before glancing around. there's something like the trench version of dumpsters nearby, and he lifts a hand, making the pair lift easily into the air along with any litter and rubble around them.
then he looks to makima, the blue-purple of his aura seeping out. a bit of a power vacuum really, like it's ready to devour any power that gets near it, held back by mob's attempt at pushing it down.] We call it psychic power, in my world. It can be... really dangerous.
[ he doesn’t have a contract with an entity. he isn’t an entity. he is a boy, a youngling, a chick too frightened to start branching with those oversized wings. the way that power pulls and exerts—
makima sees a prize. an excellent guard dog with an oversized choker, but his potential is grand. she could train him. give him the best home, the tastiest food, a warm bed and comfy clothes. playmates. friends. a big backyard so widespread he’d think he has freedom. he will love her. and she will give him all the love he’d ever need.
with a hand still on his shoulder, she bends down to his height, with her golden spiral eyes lighting up with potential. with excitement, even. she is not only pleased, but looking forward to it. ]
You don’t wish to be a danger to others. [ that’s a fact. she says her next words with the utmost confidence, and a smile that genuinely says “it’s going to be okay”. ] I can help you control your powers, Mob.
[ mob. he likes his nickname. it is a welcoming and comforting gesture, like the warm, open arms of a mother. and like dangling a fruit over a starving man’s head, ]
With me, you’ll never have to worry about hurting good people again. What do you think?
[he lowers the dumpsters carefully, the glow dimming back to unremarkable, the power pushed back down again as much as he could. when makima kneels, touches his shoulder, he can't help but think of master reigen doing the same a long time ago, when he was younger and scared, directionless.
he thought he changed more since then, after everything, but the trench makes him feel the way he did as a ten year old, nervously knocking at the door of what the sign claimed to be a psychic. it isn't enough, he didn't change enough, not for this. hanazawa proved it, the slips against suzuki, ritsu-
when makima says he doesn't wish to be a danger his chest feels tight. (60%) she's so confident of it and so right. he doesn't want to hurt anyone. he doesn't want to ever hurt anyone again. he nods, stiffly, intently, more feeling in the movement than his flat words could ever manage.
then she says she can help him. she calls him mob, she seems so confident still, so calm. (70%) it's so easy to think of reigen still.
(so easy not to notice she never said anything about not hurting bad people.)
his tone is still low and flat but there's a faint tremble to it when he says,] I don't want to be dangerous. I- you can really help me?
[ just as she does with everything else she wants. she simply takes, and simply because she can. makima’s hand upon mob’s shoulder travels down to his own, the one that holds the blood get she’d just given to him. her fingers wrap with gentle carefulness around his own, encouraging his fist to squeeze around the warmth the stone gives off. ]
Let’s go back home, so we can talk more about it.
[ home, she says. it is nothing but a temporary living space, but home means everything to someone who wants to belong and feel safe.
(she would know).
but the truth behind that is something she’s already noticed and seems to take quite naturally: they’re being followed. ]
miss makima seemed like the kind of person who was quietly determined, good at whatever she put her mind to. he follows along squeezing the stone a little, finding comfort in the warmth seeping into his palm. maybe everything would be okay. (65%)
he nods. home.] Okay.
[it figures he'll be oblivious to anything as it's time to move again, thoughts too wrapped around everything they just spoke about. there is a point he pauses to glance behind them, maybe not unlike a dog scenting something it doesn't recognize but not yet on alert about it. just a faint confusion before glancing back ahead.]
Mob, [ not unlike a warning, but not because he did anything wrong— there was not enough urgency in her voice, nor upset in her features. she simply waits for him to take a step past her so that she could keep herself facing him. she begins uncurling her fingers, and holding their bags out to him with an easy crouch. ] I need you to take these, and keep walking. Will you do that for me?
[mob blinks but takes the bags, the question in his gaze though he settles on.] Okay.
[he clearly wants to ask more- did she forget something maybe? but after a beat he settles for just doing as she says. it's not like he can't ask her later, and if she says she wants him to keep walking she must have a reason. he trusts her.
[ good boy, she thinks. his glance behind them will garner a looker: evil santa. makima doesn't have a blade on her, or any other weapon . . . ah, well. it's not as if she needed it, but for once in her life? she's uncertain about where her abilities would take her. rather than frightening, it's exciting, but she does an impeccable job at simply looking ready. ]
Not the Santa Claus I'm used to.
[ evil santa has an axe, and a mouth too big to really close from that putrid smile keeping his beard bloody and just ugly. makima stands poised, her hands at her sides— until she holds one up, and imitates the aim and hold of a gun. get a little closer, big boy. ]
[mob stops dead when he does catch sight of the... santa? he's extremely sure that isn't what santa is supposed to look like ever, but the beard and red suit don't leave much wiggle room. he clutches the bags tighter, makima is in danger (75%) isn't she?
even if she sees calm.] Miss Ma-
[just as he tries to speak is when the santa seems to decide lunge with the oddly unnerving tinkling of bells, seemingly keen on devouring the fingers and hand pointed at him.]
[ and in that wide, open mouth of manic ho ho hos— an invisible bullet jingles all the way. santa's head has a hole in it, a gaping lunar crescent that has left room for arteries and grey matter to spew onto the side he's about ready to fall over. the tongue hangs now that it has less of an encasement— no teeth, and whatever was still there was chipped and broken into fragments.
makima feels pain from within her chest, but doesn't demonstrate it. it's only when she's physically forced to rest on her legs does she realize the slump she's in, the cold sweat that starts, and the sparkling sweat that beads from her temples. then her nose, then the sweet taste that feeds her tongue.
so that's what darkblood tasted like. and so, that is what's been done to her. limitations. she just about smiles past her bloody, glittering lips as it flows in a way that blood really doesn't— it doesn't drip. it kind of just . . . flutters around like dust.
oh, she'll get you for this one too, mariana. either that, or makima is deeply infatuated. ]
—Mob?
[ she's calling for her pup, now. she's certain he'll respond. he was tense before. ]
mob watches in silence as santa collapses into a bloody sack of limp limbs all his own. his head feels weirdly quiet as his gaze dips to broken teeth scattered nearby with lumps of gum still stringing to them. it was just a monster, is the thing, like mogami torn limbless and bleeding on the floor was an evil spirit, it's a monster so-
(90%)
(hopefully the eyes were destroyed in that bang because otherwise? santa might twitch.)
makima calling snaps him back from static enough to rush over, suddenly registering, the odd dark dusting to her temples of a blood he's never seen before. his hand hovers by her arm, usually placid tone shaky.]
[ the santa does indeed twitch, but makima herself steadies her breathing. easy in, and out— but she does feel oddly winded. she sits upright and offers her hand to him in hopes of getting a steady base. ]
I've been worse to wear. [ a small smile even when her lips are darkly stained with glittering blood. in the meantime, santa twitches once more. her senses of dull, and she's distracted. ] Would you assist me?
[mob nods hastily, taking her hand to try and help her. he also does not notice how the top of the thing's head shifts, its pair of wide eyes rolling then landing on them. the way it lifts itself despite the fact it's head is barely attached anymore.]
I'm glad you're okay. [he says so sincerely, and of course just as santa chooses violence once again. this time mob raises a barrier around them in time, the creature slamming against it and smearing blood and bits of viscera over the blue-ish energy.
mob flinches a little at the sight. (91%, 92%, 93%) the barrier flickers and santa hand lunges for-
makima. (94%, 95%)
the creature is instantly thrown back, mob's expression going from the muted unease to something hard. santa slams into the ground, cracking the pavement with a sickening thud.]
[ makima might as well say this part, she allowed to happen on purpose. when santa lifts, she could have set off just one more burst to keep him down, or even say the simple words "stay down", and the demon's body would comply. makima has stolen her victory—
but this one was for mob. what would he do? her protects her, his energy swells, he could do so much more. he has protected her, and now, under her belt, she approves of the spot she leaves for him. ]
Thank you. [ once she's up, taking his hand in one of her's she uses her other to place on his head. ] Monsters don't deserve to get up, Mob. You've done well.
[makima getting up is a relief, even if it doesn't feel like the danger fully passed. he's becoming much more aware of how dangerous this place really is, with creatures like this, how physical they are. different from spirits, who all but pop when exposed to enough energy. this is so visceral, so messy.
he doesn't like it. but it doesn't really matter what he likes or not.
her words give him a little pause- maybe she's right? they didn't seem to want to do anything but hurt and kill. they didn't listen, couldn't be reasoned with. even pressed down by his powers the creature twitches like it would try all over again.
so maybe he's done well. maybe. he doesn't really feel it.]
Was it... a person once? [he has to ask, glancing over to it. if he loosens that grip it will get up, he knows it, and then he'll have to-]
[ he wants certification and strong reasoning for his actions. they bother him. he is too kind . . . and that could get in the way. from the pressure her body weighs as she keeps herself up, makima sees her world spin. she manages to keep upright, and places her hand on his head. ]
This one . . . Smells like a devil, Mob. [ the cup forming upon his crown slides to the side of his face and into a stroke of his hair. ] It could never be human.
[ and now, from behind him, she slowly drops to her knees and guides her hand to his shoulder, to the hand that keeps the demon in a vice grip. she raises it for him gently from the elbow joint, as if to help him take aim. the order is said close to his temple, calm, despite her fatigue and sweet scented bleeding: ]
[a devil. so like an evil spirit. he's exorcised so many of those under master reigen's guidance. recently he started thinking more about them thanks to dimple, to mogami, to that family out by the ruined house. but it was still the same, when they hurt people they needed to be exorcised.
they had more sentience than this creature anyway, which makes his stomach twist. (96%, 97%)
(it was always easier to follow master reigen's lead than worry about this sort of thing, and miss makima was so kind. she was bleeding. she helps lift his hand.)
for a brief moment enough of him twists against this that his power on the creature flickers. without fail it doesn't try to run away, doesn't try to protect itself. it just wants to hurt and it crawls up with a gurgling howl, still wanting to get to them, to miss makima.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(he misses his parents a lot sometimes. makima reminds him just enough of both in small ways it aches sometimes.)
he glances over when she offers her hand, a little surprised. did she want to hold hands? or for her to give him something? the direct question (order, some would say. he doesn't think of that, some people are just more direct, aren't they?) is easier. he offers her his hand, curious.]
no subject
Mhm, [ as if she's confirmed exactly what she was thinking, ] It's cold, isn't it? I've got just the thing.
[ and slipped into his palm with nimble fingers, being guided to close his around it is a tiny marble shape. a dull, constant heat drawls from it like a palpable pocket-sized heater. inspecting what she's put in his hand will reveal a bloodstone— probably coldblood, from how blue it is. ]
no subject
he watches her with a small blink- her hands are warm, but then there's something in his hand. he senses a little something from it, not unlike what he feels from sleepers, and when he brings it closer to inspect-]
Is this a bloodgem? [whoa] I've never seen one before, it's so warm...
[then a pause as he looks up to her.] Is it really okay for me to have this? [he thinks they're expensive, or something like that. it is doing wonders to warm his hand]
no subject
[ before letting his hand go for good, she cups it in her’s and gives the top a gentle rub and pat. ]
I want to take good care of such a good boy, after all. [ and whatever it was that she could sniff off of him. it’s partially what drew her to him. he has something. a bit of an energetic static to his scent. ] Have your hands always been prone to the cold?
no subject
he's already lost it twice and he's barely been here a few weeks. sometimes he wonders if he's changed at all.
it takes a moment for her question to register, and with it he nods.] Yeah, I'm a bit anemic. [after another long pause he says,] Miss Makima, how do you keep um... controlled here? Calm, I guess.
no subject
With the correct guidance. [ control is something makima weaves into her people until they come to believe having agency is a stressful thing. that, at least, builds lasting dogs. imposed control often brings about resentment for some reason (it was a funny thing to observe, how humans ebb back and forth to loving control, loving her but despising the concept of being controlled— the poor things), so reliance on that should be null to a minimum. her voice comes creeping but curious in her soft ways with words: ] Is something bothering you?
no subject
he cups the gem in both his hands so the warmth spreads through them better. answering her question is surprisingly easy. she just seems so... capable.] I had powers before coming here. Sometimes I can't control them.
[same flat tone as always, even if there's a weight to how he stares down at the gem in his hands.] This place makes people lose control all the time. It's... scary.
no subject
he's already frightened. more fright would only help her case. ]
There's never true peace without order, whether individually or collectively. They bring out the worst in people— evil people. Chaos is a real, scary thing. And it's everywhere you go, Shigeo. [ it's then that she allows her lips to bloom with sympathetic elegance, something that is actually genuine, made known when she places a hand upon his shoulder. i can't control them. it's scary. he misses her. he loves her presence. there is nothing quite more rewarding than to be called for. ] But it doesn't have to be that way.
Show me your power.
no subject
and it seems to be everywhere here, chaos. he latches on to the last part easily. it doesn't have to be that way.
the request has him consider for only a moment before glancing around. there's something like the trench version of dumpsters nearby, and he lifts a hand, making the pair lift easily into the air along with any litter and rubble around them.
then he looks to makima, the blue-purple of his aura seeping out. a bit of a power vacuum really, like it's ready to devour any power that gets near it, held back by mob's attempt at pushing it down.] We call it psychic power, in my world. It can be... really dangerous.
no subject
makima sees a prize. an excellent guard dog with an oversized choker, but his potential is grand. she could train him. give him the best home, the tastiest food, a warm bed and comfy clothes. playmates. friends. a big backyard so widespread he’d think he has freedom. he will love her. and she will give him all the love he’d ever need.
with a hand still on his shoulder, she bends down to his height, with her golden spiral eyes lighting up with potential. with excitement, even. she is not only pleased, but looking forward to it. ]
You don’t wish to be a danger to others. [ that’s a fact. she says her next words with the utmost confidence, and a smile that genuinely says “it’s going to be okay”. ] I can help you control your powers, Mob.
[ mob. he likes his nickname. it is a welcoming and comforting gesture, like the warm, open arms of a mother. and like dangling a fruit over a starving man’s head, ]
With me, you’ll never have to worry about hurting good people again. What do you think?
no subject
he thought he changed more since then, after everything, but the trench makes him feel the way he did as a ten year old, nervously knocking at the door of what the sign claimed to be a psychic. it isn't enough, he didn't change enough, not for this. hanazawa proved it, the slips against suzuki, ritsu-
when makima says he doesn't wish to be a danger his chest feels tight. (60%) she's so confident of it and so right. he doesn't want to hurt anyone. he doesn't want to ever hurt anyone again. he nods, stiffly, intently, more feeling in the movement than his flat words could ever manage.
then she says she can help him. she calls him mob, she seems so confident still, so calm. (70%) it's so easy to think of reigen still.
(so easy not to notice she never said anything about not hurting bad people.)
his tone is still low and flat but there's a faint tremble to it when he says,] I don't want to be dangerous. I- you can really help me?
no subject
[ just as she does with everything else she wants. she simply takes, and simply because she can. makima’s hand upon mob’s shoulder travels down to his own, the one that holds the blood get she’d just given to him. her fingers wrap with gentle carefulness around his own, encouraging his fist to squeeze around the warmth the stone gives off. ]
Let’s go back home, so we can talk more about it.
[ home, she says. it is nothing but a temporary living space, but home means everything to someone who wants to belong and feel safe.
(she would know).
but the truth behind that is something she’s already noticed and seems to take quite naturally: they’re being followed. ]
no subject
miss makima seemed like the kind of person who was quietly determined, good at whatever she put her mind to. he follows along squeezing the stone a little, finding comfort in the warmth seeping into his palm. maybe everything would be okay. (65%)
he nods. home.] Okay.
[it figures he'll be oblivious to anything as it's time to move again, thoughts too wrapped around everything they just spoke about. there is a point he pauses to glance behind them, maybe not unlike a dog scenting something it doesn't recognize but not yet on alert about it. just a faint confusion before glancing back ahead.]
no subject
no subject
[he clearly wants to ask more- did she forget something maybe? but after a beat he settles for just doing as she says. it's not like he can't ask her later, and if she says she wants him to keep walking she must have a reason. he trusts her.
se he does just that with one backward glance.]
no subject
Not the Santa Claus I'm used to.
[ evil santa has an axe, and a mouth too big to really close from that putrid smile keeping his beard bloody and just ugly. makima stands poised, her hands at her sides— until she holds one up, and imitates the aim and hold of a gun. get a little closer, big boy. ]
no subject
even if she sees calm.] Miss Ma-
[just as he tries to speak is when the santa seems to decide lunge with the oddly unnerving tinkling of bells, seemingly keen on devouring the fingers and hand pointed at him.]
cw: violence/gore
[ and in that wide, open mouth of manic ho ho hos— an invisible bullet jingles all the way. santa's head has a hole in it, a gaping lunar crescent that has left room for arteries and grey matter to spew onto the side he's about ready to fall over. the tongue hangs now that it has less of an encasement— no teeth, and whatever was still there was chipped and broken into fragments.
makima feels pain from within her chest, but doesn't demonstrate it. it's only when she's physically forced to rest on her legs does she realize the slump she's in, the cold sweat that starts, and the sparkling sweat that beads from her temples. then her nose, then the sweet taste that feeds her tongue.
so that's what darkblood tasted like. and so, that is what's been done to her. limitations. she just about smiles past her bloody, glittering lips as it flows in a way that blood really doesn't— it doesn't drip. it kind of just . . . flutters around like dust.
oh, she'll get you for this one too, mariana. either that, or makima is deeply infatuated. ]
—Mob?
[ she's calling for her pup, now. she's certain he'll respond. he was tense before. ]
cw: gore
mob watches in silence as santa collapses into a bloody sack of limp limbs all his own. his head feels weirdly quiet as his gaze dips to broken teeth scattered nearby with lumps of gum still stringing to them. it was just a monster, is the thing, like mogami torn limbless and bleeding on the floor was an evil spirit, it's a monster so-
(90%)
(hopefully the eyes were destroyed in that bang because otherwise? santa might twitch.)
makima calling snaps him back from static enough to rush over, suddenly registering, the odd dark dusting to her temples of a blood he's never seen before. his hand hovers by her arm, usually placid tone shaky.]
Are you okay?
no subject
I've been worse to wear. [ a small smile even when her lips are darkly stained with glittering blood. in the meantime, santa twitches once more. her senses of dull, and she's distracted. ] Would you assist me?
no subject
I'm glad you're okay. [he says so sincerely, and of course just as santa chooses violence once again. this time mob raises a barrier around them in time, the creature slamming against it and smearing blood and bits of viscera over the blue-ish energy.
mob flinches a little at the sight. (91%, 92%, 93%) the barrier flickers and santa hand lunges for-
makima. (94%, 95%)
the creature is instantly thrown back, mob's expression going from the muted unease to something hard. santa slams into the ground, cracking the pavement with a sickening thud.]
Leave her alone. Don't get up again.
no subject
but this one was for mob. what would he do? her protects her, his energy swells, he could do so much more. he has protected her, and now, under her belt, she approves of the spot she leaves for him. ]
Thank you. [ once she's up, taking his hand in one of her's she uses her other to place on his head. ] Monsters don't deserve to get up, Mob. You've done well.
no subject
he doesn't like it. but it doesn't really matter what he likes or not.
her words give him a little pause- maybe she's right? they didn't seem to want to do anything but hurt and kill. they didn't listen, couldn't be reasoned with. even pressed down by his powers the creature twitches like it would try all over again.
so maybe he's done well. maybe. he doesn't really feel it.]
Was it... a person once? [he has to ask, glancing over to it. if he loosens that grip it will get up, he knows it, and then he'll have to-]
no subject
This one . . . Smells like a devil, Mob. [ the cup forming upon his crown slides to the side of his face and into a stroke of his hair. ] It could never be human.
[ and now, from behind him, she slowly drops to her knees and guides her hand to his shoulder, to the hand that keeps the demon in a vice grip. she raises it for him gently from the elbow joint, as if to help him take aim. the order is said close to his temple, calm, despite her fatigue and sweet scented bleeding: ]
Focus on its head.
1/2
they had more sentience than this creature anyway, which makes his stomach twist. (96%, 97%)
(it was always easier to follow master reigen's lead than worry about this sort of thing, and miss makima was so kind. she was bleeding. she helps lift his hand.)
for a brief moment enough of him twists against this that his power on the creature flickers. without fail it doesn't try to run away, doesn't try to protect itself. it just wants to hurt and it crawls up with a gurgling howl, still wanting to get to them, to miss makima.
(98%, 99%) ]
2/2 oh like. gore cw haha
(no subject)