[closed] The flesh is weak and without reason

[ofobedience]

Who: Giovanni, Kanda, and Lavi
Where: Noah
When: W5D5 - W5D7
Summary: a bad dog gets time out
Restrictions/Warnings: idk, restraints and mentions of graphic violence?



[His head hurts. Consciousness comes up on him like a white detonation behind the eyes and dully he makes an animal sound of pain, a low grunt through gritted teeth. He knows if he opens his eyes it's only going to increase and so he puts it off, remains floating in the dark pit of himself, scrabbling for an explanation as to why he feels like this. It's not something he's well aquiainted with, the kind of pain that lingers after the cause of it has ended, body healing rapidly around whatever's inflicted against it but the head, of course it would be there. Of course it would.

It takes a moment, that blinding whiteness that rattles through him temporarily eclipsing the other things, the thudding ache in his arms, the strain in his wrists, the fact he can't feel the ground. There's a moment of panic then, something fierce and raw opening up in his chest and he flexes his hands within their restraints, feels out the shape of his containment. Struggles to remember why he's here and what's going on and whether he'd done something wrong and is now facing some kind of disciplinary action or--

--something else.

Slowy, with some trepidation, he opens his eyes. And there it is, the increased acute flare in his head as the light stabs ruthessly into him, makes him choke out another kicked-dog sound before he can stop himsef. He blinks, onetwo, waits for the world to come into focus, for order to reassert itself, but no. He doesn't know where this is. Looks around, slowly. The cargo hold of a ship, perhaps, based on scent and what he can see beyond the blue glow of the holding cell's forcefield-- because that's where he is. Chained by the wrists in some holding cell and quickly now it comes flooding back to him in an unsteady rush, the riots and the blood and the exquisite abandon, how good it had been right up until the moment he'd been shot in the head.

Beyond the scent of the blood that still covers him, the industrial whiff of the cargo hold, the electric buzz of the forcefield, he can - faintly - smell lotus blooms. The sound he makes, this time it's all pent-up frustration as he pulls himself up with his inhuman strength, begins the tedious process of trying to yank himself free.]

Comments

W5D5 evening-ish

[inksplashes]

[ He's not an animal, Lavi had wanted to protest, unknowing of those traits that push Giovanni firmly into the realm of beast, We don't have to lock him up like this--

But then the waves of blood had hit him and he's no stranger to the lily-rust smell of it, to the lingering aroma of burned flesh and lost lifeblood, but there was just so much. Too much for any one man to wear when it isn't his own, and so with an easy smile and calm composure, Lavi had let his protests die in the silence of his mind.

He knows, doesn't he? Even without asking, he understands that Kanda is looking at a potential formula for his future, and whether he's trying to correct the equation now for his sake or the chained man's doesn't matter.

It's important for Yu. That's all he cares about.

So he keeps his distance, keeps to his books and records. Lavi writes about this person, named Pawn in his record, but he has scarcely enough information to scribble out two lines.

Eventually, his curiosity (compassion) gets the better of him. He may be a hostile captive but he needs water, food.

Late then, before the crest of night has fully surrended to the rise of morning, he stands outside of the forcefield. He's holding a water bottle and straw, but he doesn't advance immediately. The forcefield is there for a reason. Kanda has this person restrained to such extremes for a purpose.

Easy smile. Casual tone. There's a small thrum of fear in him but he conceals it like he does everything else. He forgets it's there.

(That too, as he does with everything else, everything human in his heart.) ]

What's your name?

[ He knows the pawn is awake. Tools of war seldom survive without paranoia and nightmares that chase off sleep like an unwanted stray. ]

[ofobedience]

[Of course he's awake. It's an accurate assessment-- he's made for war, for endurance, for outlasting the enemy in all the ways that count and this includes a reduced requirement for sleep, pared back to the bare bones of need. But even outside of that it's something he tries to evade and shuck off like old skin without succumbing because his dreams are all whiteredblack, old remembered pain and the blood splashing bright against sterile walls the screams that had filled up all the spaces until there'd been nowhere else to hide (her face, unit 67, terror writ large and an echoing sadness as the blade went in) with that one sibilant voice rising over it all, her lips poison red, six-fingered hands holding fast digging in slipping under. All those days and nights and days, back then, they still find him now. Still catch up with him.

So yes, he's awake when Lavi enters the cargo hold, comes to stand beside the holding cell with the bottle of water held in his hand.

Giovanni hears his approach, scents it, knows what he's holding even without opening his eyes and it reminds him, suddenly, of just how thirsty he is. His mouth gritty and dry as desert sand. With that renewed remembrance of the parameters of his body comes a swift wave of pain, muscles joints bones reasserting themselves, pushing him to do something to ease the ache in shoulders and wrists, all through his back, but he shuts it up and swallows it down. Ignores it. There's no point in lamenting something he cannot change, and physical pain-- it can always be endured.

There are worse things.

When he answers it's without looking up or moving at all beside the parting of his lips, voice rough-edged from thirst, yes, but otherwise cool and impassive and without discernible emotion. As though he hasn't been hanging here with his head a black hole of fear and sick self-loathing for a length of time that he can't count, can't discern.]

Unit sixty-eight.

[Less a name and more of a serial number, but for the moment it's the only one he's giving.]

[inksplashes]

That's kinda' a mouthful, innit?

[ His tone is a little softer now, though it had never been sharp or loud to begin with. The same easy smile grips his mouth, though it never quite touches his eyes or wrinkles the skin around them. He's normally better at this, faking smiles and expressions, but he's tired, and after so long spent hunched over his books and scrolls, the little details of lies start to slip.

Lavi looks to the water bottle in his hands, the straw beside it. Part of him still wants to have those chains taken down, let the man remember that he is a man, but he knows better than to consider it without Kanda. If this person has even his partner tense, then--

Then he's not quite just a man. He must be something similar, something just as dangerous and manipulated, as Yu had once been.

(How had Yu changed? What mechanism or catalyst had been there to tip the balance between human and weapon? Lavi considers this idly for a moment before stowing the thought for later. Whatever he hopes to accomplish in this conversation with 'Unit 68', it's not going to be an upheaval or some heroic display of humanity.

Lavi may have the flesh and weak body of one, but he's not all that close to being a man, either.)

Unscrewing the cap, he aims to drop the straw into the now opened bottle when the folly of that plan reveals itself. The straw slides around the rim, wayward and unconcerned with Lavi's attempts to usher it.

While it would definitely be amusing to watch Unit 68 try, as so many do with a bottle and straw combination, to capture it with those frightful teeth, he thinks better of it. With so little dignity offered by his restraints, it would be cruel to take more of it for his own amusement.

The straw is discarded then, and his hand hovers at the forcefield controls. ]

Got a shorter one, maybe? You know, like "George" or "Alfred"? You seem kinda like an Alfred.

[ofobedience]

[Slowly now, he opens his eyes, a bright hot flash of red. The look he gives the killjoy as he goes on talking is one of bored derision, as though he's intruding on someone's hard-won personal time rather than prodding a kenneled dog, restrained and unable to evade him. Because that's what this is, isn't it? He can see no other reason for it. That it could come from a place of compassion or even just genuine curiosity doesn't cross his mind at all.]

Call me whatever you like. It's all the same to me.

[His voice remains a dispassionate drawl, slightly raw-edged, but with his eyes now open he sees the way the RAC agent hovers over the controls, discerns what it might mean. It has something briefly sharpening in him, and unbidden the thoughts flash through his head, what he could do to him if he comes too close, even bound and near immobilised as he is. Tear into him with his teeth, crush bones with a well-placed kick, the sound of it singing through him and bringing, briefly, some small satisfaction. A little twist of joy.

But it's an abortive thought, one that rises and dies in a matter of moments, half-hearted. Already the heat and fervour of earlier in the day are bleeding out of him, replaced with something cooler, quieter, more resigned. What would it achieve, after all? Even if he somehow managed to kill this one, he'd still be trapped here, there'd still be Kanda to deal with. It'd only exacerbate things, ultimately. Wouldn't be worth the fleeting thrill.

And so he lets the thoughts slide sideways into nothing. Closes his eyes again. Quietly, half to himself, he murmurs--]

...Giovanni.

[inksplashes]

[ Like most men who have spent too long in the throes of battle, Lavi's senses are trained to pick up on the subtle--and sometimes not so subtle--cues of intent. The way muscles contract, the soft shift of breathing patterns, the flutter of a pupil inlaid around a crimson iris.

He sees these things, and they stir at the well within him, a volume mixed between fear and indifference. The fear is survival, mechanisms that he can no more erase than he might forgo his need to breathe, but that's all it is.

Just an ingrained, animal behavior that tickles along his conscious thoughts without invading them. Because his indifference, that frightful thing of gray and observation, is without parallel.

(When you teach a child to forget its humanity and mire them in war; a decade and a half of battles dulls the spirit within, hardens the mission at hand.

It does't really matter if he dies, as long as he does his job in the process.) ]

Nice to meetcha, Gio.

I'm gonna lower the force field and give you this-- [ He holds up the water bottle, waving it slightly so that the liquid sloshes around the plastic confines. ] But seeing as Yu would kick my ass if I let you down, I'm gonna have ta' help you drink.

[ A grin, unflinching and comfortable on his face, he waves a hand over the controls, lowering the faintly flickering field. And though his next words are delivered with just as much cheer, there's a thread of warning in them that there's something a little colder behind the smile than he lets on.

Where Kanda is fire and flaring orange, Lavi is ice and sliding blue. Two very different sides of a deadly partnership. ]

Don't make us both regret it, please.

[ With that he steps forward, indicates for Giovanni to open his mouth, and does his best to help a thirsty beast to its water. ]

[ofobedience]

[Vaguely, there's a small flutter of irritation rising behind his ribs at the sound of it, Gio-- it's not a nickname he especially likes, reminds him too much of Jack. If someone chooses to call him by name, they could at least do him the courtesy of not butchering it, the one small thing that belongs to him. But it's a distant kind of feeling, seems small and irrelevant right now whilst he's hanging from his wrists in some holding cell, pain tugging at his shoulder blades, the full length of his upstretched arms.

So he says nothing, remains there with eyes closed, completely still, doesn't open them again until the killjoy says he'll deactivate the forcefield and yes it's all still there in him, the whispered thoughts of violence, but even without the quiet threat in the other man's words he can see the folly of it. Knows that, ultimately, it'd do him more harm than good. A useless act.

And so he just watches as the other man approaches him, eyes sharp and cold and filled with that quiet impotent calculation, but held in check. Stamped down and locked tight.

The redhead holds out the bottle, makes that small indication, and for a moment Giovanni only looks at him with something like bored resignation in his bloodied face and briefly he considers stubborn refusal, rejecting the man's attempts to bottle feed him like some trussed up beast. But that's what he is, isn't it? And all it would do, ultimately, is compound his own discomfort, his throat bone dry and raw, tongue like sandpaper against his teeth.

He'd only be spiting himself.

And so, slowly, he exhales, looks at Lavi sly-eyed even as his lips part to accept the water his traitorous body so desperately craves.]

[inksplashes]

[ He is, at least, cognizant of what it must be like to be watered like a caged plant. He's been in similar, albeit considerably less restrained positions before, and his captors usually couldn't be bothered to tend to those needs of the mortal body. When they did, it was with a sharp hand at his chin and the administering was as liable to drown him as it was to sustain him, if not more so.

But then, he'd been a hostage in those situations, and there's a very different relationship shared between hostage and captor and prisoner and jailer.

So he doesn't make any jokes or jibes to lighten the tension, he just does his best not to drench this unfortunate man's face in the process. After a few sips he pauses the flow--dehydration should never be mended with haste, no more than starvation, as the body has ways of fighting the sudden change.

Once the water is half drained, he steps back, flashing a smile as he sets the water aside and motions over the force field controls again. With this completed, he lowers himself to the floor (carefully, with great slowness as his torso bends), legs folding neatly. Chin propped against his knuckles, he hums, debating if he could have Noah read the guy an audiobook or--something.

(It's bothering him more than he lets on: not just the restraints, but the fact that there's no warrant for this guy. They've as good as kidnapped him.) ]

You're like Yu, right?

[ Lavi seems surprised by the question himself, but then the pieces begin to shift and fit together. His compassion had been a driving force, but his curiosity is the underlying motivation here. ]

Uh, Kanda. The other one. Shorter. Kinda grouchy. [ Yu doesn't exactly introduce himself by first name. ]

You musta' really pissed him off to get tied up like that. Did you wreck his favorite soba shop or something?

[ofobedience]

[He does a good enough job, all things considered. Careful, and without spilling much, doesn't allow him to drink it all down in one needful draught and make himself sick. And Giovanni, he manages to bite back on the sound of protest that threatens when the killjoy pulls away after just a few sips, makes him wait-- it's not his first rodeo, this. Back then, in the early days, there'd been one experiment after another in order to determine the limits of their augmented bodies, what they can and can't endure. Withholding sustenance had been a small thing, comparatively. The least invasive, least painful and terrifying, of any of the tests they'd been subjected to.

But he doesn't want to think of that now. Pulls his mind back from it, quicksharp.

When the man is done watering him, Giovanni expects him to take his leave, go away, but he doesn't. Folds down into a sitting position instead, just outside of the reactivated forcefield's range, and he knows then there are likely to be words, questions. Exhaustion fills him suddenly, leaving him feeling emptily replete-- he doesn't want this, any of it. Would rather be left alone with his own bleak and twisting thoughts, but when has what he wants ever had any bearing on anything?

Just another thought he swiftly pulls away from. There's discomfort in it, something that feels vaguely traitorous. Instead, he sighs. Lets his eyes fall closed again.]

I'm not like him.

[Though it's a philosophical difference, isn't it? He thinks he knows what the killjoy is getting at-- he doesn't know much about Kanda, or Yu apparently, but he's seen how the man kept pace with him in the tunnels that time, and there's that metallic smell on him, something unnatural, something like himself. He'd stopped him whilst out of control out there at the riots, and quelling a berserk Cerberus Unit is no easy thing to do. There's the other thing, too-- Kanda's anger over all of this, the things he'd said, things like you don't always bow down to obey. Some fight back, every step of the way..

Perhaps he's a poorly socialised animal with only a loose grasp on the workings of other people's minds, but he's not entirely oblivious. He's capable of connecting the dots.]

A dog without a master is just some stray. A puppet with its strings cut. Worthless and broken. I'm not like that. I don't want it. I know to whom I belong.

[But it's said without force or malice, his tone smooth and cool and almost flat.]

He wants to believe that there's humanity in me, somewhere. But he's wrong. There isn't. I'm just a tool.

[As if that explains everything. And in some ways, perhaps, it does.

There's a brief delay, before he adds half-heartedly--]

Just a tool, and what you're doing here will be considered theft of Company property. You ought to let me go.

[inksplashes]

[ His expression seems immutable, frozen in between cool friendliness and mild interest despite what lurks beneath the surface. Irritation bubbles up in him at the implication that Kanda is something akin to worthless and broken, and he has a mind to defend but--

It's pointless. He's met enough people like Gio to know a losing battle when he sees it. Instead he snorts, laughter loud and derisive for a moment as the Company "property" changes gears and angles at freedom.

Lavi lifts a hand, waving it casually. ]

Nah, wrong order. First you gotta identify with me and then make your pitch about my well being.

[ It's hostage 101. Didn't he read the guidebook?

(Even if Giovanni had in fact read and applied this lesson, it would be for naught. Kanda is his superior agent and it's not his place to question the decisions made. At most, he can just feign at a lack of participation. ) ]

Anyway. I don't know why everyone assumes humanity is such a good thing to have. From where I'm standin', you're plenty human.

[ What's more human than a tool crafted expressly for war? What's more human than experiments designed to rob an individual of their empathy?

Lavi may not know the details of Giovanni's life or even how he came to be, but if he's like Kanda, then he's the perfect example of why humans suck. ]

Even if other people treat you like property, you're still human. Which means you should save your breath tryin' to get me to change sides, because I don't trust humans. We're kinda a dumb species on the whole.

[ofobedience]

[If he expects pleasant words regarding Kanda then he may do well to look somewhere other than the thing currently being held captive by him. Hahah.

But those thoughts, they're never voiced aloud and instead there's the breezy batting away of his weak attempts at persuasion, nothing he'd ever expected to hold any traction to begin with. It's clear enough to the Dog who's prisoner he is, and beyond all that, were they to release him, they must be under no illusions as to what he would do.

The havoc he'd cause, the carnage.

At least, for the moment, enough of the earlier heat remains that - unrestrained - it's still in him to tear them apart.

But he is restrained, looks set to remain that way, and the killjoy goes on talking. Quietly, he sighs. Shifts his wrists as though doing so could relieve him of the tight-packed tension gathering in him, making him ache. Unsurprisingly, it does nothing.]

Don't misunderstand-- I didn't say humanity was a good thing. Only that I don't have it. You can twist things around any way you like, but it doesn't change the fact that from the very beginning I was created to be this way, something other. I was never human to start with.

[At least, it's the way he understands it. Created in some lab to fit the specifications he was designed for, augmented and altered and twisted-- how can something like that be considered human? What Lavi's suggesting, it seems an impossibility. Naive, almost.]

And come on, now. I'm not suggesting you change sides, or that there are any sides to change to. It's a matter of self-preservation. I'm not sure what you and your friend believe will happen once the Company learns you've stolen from them.

[His voice, it's quiet, almost strained. Entirely without conviction.]

But suit yourself. No doubt you'll go on thinking whatever you like, regardless.

[inksplashes]

[ His eye begins to feel heavy, as if each of his lashes has a small weight on the end of it, blinking once, twice--

Lavi raises a long hand to his mouth, fingers splaying out to shield a yawn he really does try to contain, but trees bless, this guy's adamant objection to being labeled human is dull.

(It's not personal, he's just had this argument every day for the last three years, and he's quite tired of repeating the same song and dance. A thing made by humans in their image is no less human for the manufacturing--just a more specialized variety.

So yes, Giovanni was right. He goes on thinking as he likes and being proven right every day he sees Yu become a little less weapon and a little more ornery bastard.) ]

Nah, we didn't steal you. We're just returnin' you to sender. 'Sides..

[ Lavi settles his chin between his palms with another small yawn, every bit the image of a sleepy child who's too intrigued to do the logical thing and go to bed. ]

I think you'd probably be in more trouble for lettin' us steal Company property than we would be, yeah?

[ Not meant to be harsh or cold, though the bluntness of it undoubtedly suggests as much.

With nary a pause or segue, he's just going to keep on moving the conversation along like this is every bit an ordinary meet and greet. So what if one of them is tied up and behind a forcefield? He's had stranger introductions at Utopia. ]

Got a favorite book or movie? I could ask Noah to play something for you.

[ofobedience]

[There's a modicum of truth in there-- if they'd taken him without the intention of returning him to his rightful owners there'd be repercussions, potential recovery efforts, and Company custody is no place a killjoy wants to be. But it's not as though he won't face repercussions himself for his own monumental failure, for 'allowing' himself to be stolen by RAC agents, for losing control, for slaughtering indiscriminately and for giving his Handler the slip, unintentional or otherwise.

But they are planning on returning him, it seems, and this opens up a renewed kind of fear in him, something glittering and hard that cuts down to the bone. All of this-- the restraints, the discomfort, having their empty opinions inflicted on him, even the threat Kanda had presented earlier, the gun leveled at his head, set to kill. These things pale in comparison to what the Company will no doubt do to him upon his return (so he thinks). Disciplinary action is surely the very best he can hope for, and for things like him it's an unpleasant prospect in and of itself, but the reality as he sees it, the more likely outcome-- they'll put him down.

A drawn-out agonised death.

It'd be better, more than likely, if Kanda were to end him with a quick merciful shot to the head.

He says nothing in response to that intimation, then, though the thickness of his silence says more than enough. It's right there in the set of his jaw, the resignation in his face.

And so when Lavi's next question comes, the levity of it has him spitting out a hard-angled laugh, almost surprised.]

What hospitality.

[His eyes remain closed, but his smile is sharp, flashing razorblade teeth.]

What would I know of such things.

[It's only a partial truth-- his experiences are limited, yes, but he reads when the opportunity presents itself. Has developed likes and dislikes. Only, it's not something he wants to admit to, seems disobedient and traitorous almost. The fact that he has wants and preferences of his own, even small ones such as this, it'd just be giving Lavi another stick to beat him with. More fuel for the arguments already made.]

[inksplashes]

[ Either through sheer stubbornness or some genuine level of oblivion, he doesn't take that sharp comment to be anything but a comment on his skills as a host. Why thank you, Giovanni!

Nor does he flinch when he sees that broken smile, containing his reaction and keeping his grin plastered. It does unnerve him internally, but Lavi knows full better to let that show.

Fortunately, he's used to dealing with feral humans and keeping his stride.

(Not that it helps the pang of sympathy he feels when he sees Giovanni tighten up like a coil with the reminder of his Company masters. He feels for the guy, even knowing that it'd likely cost him his fingers if he offered a hand of comfort.) ]

I dunno. You got eyes and ears, right? You must like somethin'.

Me? I like things with hot girls. And history.

[ Ergo, Xena Warrior Princess would be his ideal show if it existed in this universe. ]

How about you? Wait, let me guess..

..You totally seem like a rom-com guy. How to Lose a Hackmod in 10 Days?

[ofobedience]

Hahah.

[It's a hollow sound that can't quite be called laughter due to the lack of mirth it contains, no clear sign of amusement at all, just a noise he makes. Something to fill up the space between them, to interject between Lavi's words. He exhales then, quiet and slow, shifts once again within his restraints despite that it brings no relief.

It's surreal, all of this. This meaningless conversation held up against a backdrop of ever widening despair as increment by tiny increment the sheer breadth of his failure begins to sink into him, the weight of it bearing down, metal bands clamped around his lungs slowly squeezing. He wants to just fold in on himself, shut it all out, but it's a hard thing to do with this man chattering on about inane topics that have nothing to do with the way he lives his life.

His life. Hahah. What a joke.

(And to be honest, he isn't sure what 'rom-com' even means)

There's the resurgence of his smile, sharp and cruel and hollow.]

Oh, I like something. I like the sound that bones make when they break. I like the sound of flesh tearing open, and the colour of blood. I like wanton destruction and carnage. Really, what kind of answer were you expecting?

[Another slow sigh, red eyes closed tight.]

I'm not exactly given much space for anything outside of those things.

[No mention at all of the fact that revenge tragedies are his bag.]

I don't know why you're bothering with this.

[inksplashes]

...So you like thrillers? Cool.

[ Said without pause or any sense of irony, though his smile does take on a slightly tighter edge. He's reasonably sure the guy is trying to scare him into silence or possibly even subservience.. but he has three years of training when it comes to ignoring sullen, threatening noises and clipped words.

(In other words, if he can learn to carry on conversations with Kanda, this guy barely registers are 'challenging' to his perspective.)

Humming, he stretches his hand out in front of him as if studying the individual digits, wriggling a finger here and there to loosen the tension building in them. 'Not given much space' sounds a lot like the guy lives in a perpetual prison, and all things considered..

He probably does.

Lavi frowns at that thought, flexing his fingers one last time before clapping them together under his chin. ]

Me either.

[ As for why he's bothering-- ]

Just felt like it. I'd ask you if you ever do things like that but it's probably be 'I kill and crush and destroy!', right?

[ He laughs, but unlike Giovanni's pantomime, the sound of it is rich and full-bodied, warm and almost joyous. ]

I'm too much of a coward for thrillers, myself. You never know if the character you like is gonna make it to the end!

[ ..Unlike when he writes his logs, knowing that every character--regardless of like or dislike--will meet a swift and likely forgotten end. ]

[ofobedience]

[The words, the warm sound of Lavi's laughter-- they empty him, only bring home in ever harsher degrees the vast distance that lies between the killjoy's consciousness and his own. There's no way to meet in the middle here, no place of common ground, at least not from his perspective. Lavi seems wrapped tight in his own sense of humanity and the knowledge of an autonomous life - just felt like it - whilst Unit 68 can't even begin to grasp what that might be like.

It just feels like subtle mockery, all of this. A bland kind of torture, but torture nonetheless. All these soft warm meaningless words whilst inside his head something threatens to break apart, what will happen from here, his return to those he belongs to and what they'll no doubt do to him, the threat of Dog Bite looming large behind his eyes and the intensity of the pain it'll cause, the slow drawn out undignified death. And this man sits here observing him whilst talking about thrillers and characters and what he just feels like doing and almost something breaks open in him, makes him want to start screaming and never stop.

He wishes he could just for a moment wrap his arms around himself. Keep the fractured parts of himself from flying apart, impose some sense of containment and stability. But of course he can't.

The blank stillness of his face wavers for just a moment, threatens to split and crumble and crack, but then it solidifies again. There's another low sigh, eyes still closed.]

Just be quiet, will you? Run along and find some dolls to play with if you're bored, you'll find them more amenable than me. And if you really have to play games with me, I'd much rather you went the traditional route. It'd give me something to focus on.

[Because pain is something he more readily understands. All of this talk, it cuts into him in a way that he can't fully comprehend. Makes him feel alien and strange and impossibly small.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[While the dog remained unconscious, Kanda had simply waited. Debated. He could have cleaned the layers of blood steadily drying on the man's skin, hardening clothes into what promises to be chafing discomfort all around, but... a part of him wonders, still, if the mere scent of so much blood would be enough to trigger the mindless berserker he'd come face-to-face with in the streets of Old Town.

Sitting on his stool outside the field, Kanda let his thoughts drift back to the riots. To the Company man he could only assume had been assigned to this one. The one Kanda had found dead, limbs scattered, and truth be told - he hadn't been sure if that had been the rioters, or the dog biting the hand that feeds.

Either way, that the Dog had been utterly lost, had surrendered with vicious glee to his most carnal, predatory instincts was undisputed.

Hell, the bastard had looked at him like he was the latest bit of prey, before Kanda had shot him almost point blank to the man's temple.

Worse, was the way the crowd had reacted in seeing their tormentor go down.

He'd had to shoot several before they'd taken the hint, allowed him to leave the streets with his dubious prize thrown over his shoulder.

And now?

Now it sits there, calmly listening to the animalistic grunts and growls, watches the way this man pulls at his chains like a dog unused to being kenneled.

This, he thinks, is going to be a long fucking night.]

Oy, mutt. Knock it off already. I'm not dumb enough to use half-assed restraints on you, so you're wasting your time.

[ofobedience]

[The words, when they come, cut through Giovanni's erratic and increasingly desperate struggling, have his head whipping to the side as he - temporarily - stills. It's a voice he knows, although through his rising panic and the cold beginnings of fear it takes him a moment to place it, for the alignment of voice and owner to trigger the memory in him, realisation coming in a confused wave. That killjoy-- what does this have to do with him why is he here how did this happen is there something he ought to know to remember to recognise...

...sluggishly, he tries to dredge it up, make sense of the clipped flashes of memory that skitter behind his eyes. The riots, the ripping and the tearing and the blood (the blood the blood the blood so much of it so much), the terrible rattleflash of pain in his head as the weapon had gone off, the distant ache as he'd hit the ground and everything went dark. That's all there is, no memory of specific faces or even singular acts, all of it coming together in a dark red rush.

(Something in his head and all through the Spine, almost a whispter, a kind of echo Come on now, hit the switch).

Fear fills him suddenly, washes over him in sickening waves because those scattered memories, their fragmentary parts, that isn't how it usually goes. Even in the thick of it there's always a cold bright kernel of self that he holds to, the thing that prevents him from turning on just anyone who happens to cross his path, to discern the difference between friend and foe. Had it gone out of him, towards the end there? Had he lost control of himself? Or is it just the shock to the head that leaves things so muddled and unclear?

Whatever the case, he can't accurately recall.

Despite that his fear is a hard gripping thing that twists and thrusts at his insides, none of it shows as he faces Kanda now. There's only the savage glint of his eyes, teeth bared, his face and hair caked with drying blood and it leaves him looking feral, inhuman to the extreme. He takes a breath, then another, and gathers himself to speak.]

You did this? Let me go. Right now. This is theft of Company property, obstruction of Company orders. This is outside your jurisdiction, killjoy, let me out right now.

[And he jerks again on his chains, hard enough to rattle his bones and rip at his flesh, sending thin wisps of bluegrey smoke rising upwards as the torn skin of his wrists quickly heals.]

[lotusmesenpai]

And here I thought I’d helped the Company by containing a rabid dog, before they decided it needed to be put down.

[Tone dry and words almost lazy, Kanda pushes up to his feet and steps closer to the containment field to stand directly before Giovanni. Hands in his pockets, he cants his head to the side, more thoughtful than anything else because Giovanni does have a point.

There’s no warrant here to use as a means of justification, no official directive to step in and meddle in the Company’s affairs.

But as he watches that tendril of steely smoke curl into the air, watches flesh knit back to smoothness in a way that he’s all to familiar with.

You too, then. Guess it’s not all that surprising.

Both of them modified, body and persona, but as he’s thought before – in such opposite extremes. Sighing, he snaps out a sharp command, his words threaded with an impatient annoyance.]

Fucking hells, Giovanni. Knock that shit off already, quit bitching, and prove to me you’re capable enough of sound thought and I’ll let you down at least. As you are now, you’re a danger to yourself and anyone – and I do mean fucking anyone – around you, including your fellow Company lackeys.

So until you can prove you’re not a rabid fucking beast, you’ll stay there, like that. Up to you how long that fucking takes.

[ofobedience]

[The words come, and again regardless of outward appearances there's a bright detonation of fear in him, a hollowed-out scrape behind his ribs and all up inside his head because it seems to him there's truth in that statement. He can't remember how it went, what he's done, only that he'd killed (and killed and killed and killed), following orders yes, but at what point did it all get away from him and turn into something mindless, savage, full of all-encompassing animal joy? He doesn't recall, can't put the shattered pieces back together in any meaningful way.

There's something rising up in him and almost he wants to scream or laugh but instead he tries to anchor himself around the command in Kanda's voice, the grounding sound of his name, at least enough to keep all the fractured parts of himself from flying irrevocably apart. One more hard yank at his restraints, and then he grows reluctantly still.

His breathing comes quick and heavy, though it's not from the physical exertion, no, but from the roiling expanse of feeling in him that he's struggling to contain. There's a moment of silence, and then he cuts his eyes at Kanda, something hard and fierce and bright in them, something calculating.

All that violence-- it's still there. Biding it's time.]

I'm perfectly capable of sound thought.

[Ha ha. Hahahahah]

[lotusmesenpai]

Could have fooled me And since I'm no fool...

[Leaning forward, cerulean eyes narrow, his gaze hard as granite as it locks with crimson, face mere inches from the force field surrounding the containment cell. Because someone like Giovanni?

Not exactly well versed in hiding the finer nuances of body language that give him away in so many different ways. There's tension coiling his entire frame tight, as if he's struggling to contain the riot of emotions that chase across his expression, war in flickering bursts in that fierce gaze. And with the way he's breathing - one would have expected this after a rigorous workout, or a pitched battle.

Not so much from someone only recently returned to consciousness.

Time to push then, before whatever he's trying to contain in order to appease Kanda shreds the remnants of humanity that debating resides deep within the recesses of this man's conditioning.]

I told you already, didn't I? An animal's body language gives him away every time. But then, so does a human's.

[Slow steps start to bring him around the cage, his gaze never breaking contact beyond a quick blink.]

Can you even remember what you were like when I found you? Look at you. Covered in blood but still craving more, huh? Tell me I'm wrong, Giovanni. I fucking dare you.

[ofobedience]

[And for his part, he keeps his eyes on Kanda's, hot red on cool blue, narrowed and sparking with all of that straining violence the killjoy so clearly discerns, the destructive urges that refuse to abate. Because it's true-- there are some things he doesn't know how to adequately conceal, has never really needed to, inhumanity jumping beneath the surface of his skin and all along the Spine as he watches the other man circle him, tries to keep it in and swallow it down even as his mind races over the things he wants to do to him in this moment.

If he can just get him to drop the energy field, if he'll just come close enough, he can kick him hard in the chest until his ribs cave in with a beautiful sound, puncture his lungs and leave him there gasping on the floor of his own ship. Get a lock on his neck with his thighs maybe, twist, break his neck in one slick movement. Wouldn't that be something, wouldn't that be--

--But Kanda asks his question, and briefly it punches down into the thick red haze of his thoughts, plucks again at the cold hard core of fear in him, causes a sickening lurch from stomach to throat like the moment before a fall. Because he doesn't remember it clearly, nothing besides the bright hot feelings that had raced through his bones, the scent of blood, the echoing sound of screams.

And that's all right, that's okay, it's what he's supposed to do-- but there's something wrong and he knows it. He hadn't been in control, wouldn't have stopped no matter who had happened to be in his way. Company or civilian, friend or foe, they would have been one and the same.

Unsteadily, he makes a sound like laughter only it's hollow and strange and threatening to spill over into something else. It takes him a moment to bite it back, to shut it up, to from coherent words instead.]

I don't know what you want. What you expect me to tell you. This is what I am. I'm a Dog, and things like me-- we'll always bow down and obey our masters, tear apart their enemies with our fangs. You want to hear me say I'm still craving more? Well, of course I am. Always. It never stops.

[His voice, it's both vicious and desolate all at once.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Of course it never stops, moron!

[This man reeks of bloodlust. The scent of it cloying, the waves of intent to kill skittering over his flesh nearly enough to make his skin crawl.

Oh, not out of fear, or even the vague sense of anticipation that it brings - but because he recognizes this kind of conditioned madness.

He's seen it in the endless parade of other test subjects pitted against him, each conditioned to throw away the shredded traces of their humanity and become the monsters the researchers were trying to cultivate.

The perfect weapons, ready to be unleashed with a mindless abandon.

This - this is what they'd tried to make him.]

Not always, idiot. Things like you don't always bow down to obey.

[Stopping near the side of Giovanni, Kanda's expression darkens, twist with self-mocking loathing for just a moment as he turns that chilled gaze on his prisoner with a piercing intensity.]

Some fight back, every step of the way. They snarl and bite and use those fangs to pierce the hand that tries to beat it down. Some prefer to become a self-evolving monster instead of a mindless attack animal. Some would use those teeth to tear out the master's throat.

[Like that boy tried to do. Like Kanda had wanted to do but never truly followed through with, beyond those smaller rebellions. And the realization of that, that he'd bent, but that boy and this man bad both been broken - It's enough to finally crack the cool detached facade, enough to have him practically snarling at the man ensnared before him.]

But you? You let them point you to chaos and lost yourself in the kills. You might be a conditioned fucking dog, but you should still be some fucking degree of human. [His voice lowers into a snarl, each word meant to cut, to wound, despite himself.]

But that was fucking pathetic. Less than a base instinct, less than a predator catching prey. Not even worthy of being called dog, much less human. Welcome to being a fucking demon, Giovanni.

[Reigning himself in, Kanda cuts his gaze to the side, draws a slow breath to tamp down his temper.]

...I won't make this mistake again. I'll kill you before I let that madness out, and call it a damned mercy. For you.

[ofobedience]

[There's truth in that. There is. Things like him don't always bow down and obey, sometimes they snap and snarl and tear off the hand that holds the leash, but what happens then? Useless rabid dogs, unable to hold on to the splintering parts of themselves, desperate to slip the collars bolted immovably into bone-- they get put down.

(Put down like her like Lily Lily Lily unhinged and full of burning desperation her face as the blade went in the sight of her there in the thick of it with blood dripping from her limbs from her face that smile splitting open wide and mad and full of such exquisite joy, and the moment she knew she was done for something sad and bittersweet and glad like relief it doesn't hurt anymore it doesn't hurt--)

But that's not what he means, is it? There's a roiling anger in the man's words, in that glacial blue as he pins him with his eyes, and distantly Giovanni is aware that this isn't all meant for him, that there's something beneath all that, something personal maybe (vaguely, the memory of Kanda keeping stride with him that time, down in the tunnels), but it's a hard thing to hold on to. An impossible thing.

There's still too much heat in him, too much bone-jarring violence, and underneath it all a yawning pit of fear that opens wide and threatens to swallow him whole.

The words, in a way, they shake him.

Kanda looks away, finally, takes that steadying breath, and Giovanni slips through the gaps in his words to find the core of truth in them, the truth as he sees it, anyway. That perhaps he had, for one ugly glittering moment, become something else back there. Something beyond all control or reason. Less than the sum of his parts. Something that needed to die.

(And there's something small and sharp in him like a splinter slim but deep cutting right down into the core of himself, the tiniest faintest whisper-- and it says perhaps it would be better that way, perhaps it would. Let it all come down. Let it end.)

He is pathetic. Worthless useless weak. One must have control to be controlled and if he loses that, where is he?

Slowly, he bares his teeth in a smile that isn't a smile at all.]

Then get on and kill me, will you? Kill me, or let me go. I'm not in the mood to play this game with you. Show me that merciful side of yours and have done with it. Whatever it is you're looking for, you won't find it in me. I'll go on killing. Endlessly. It's all there is.

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda's reaction is instantaneous, faster than the average eye can track - one hand pulls the pistol from his thigh holster (flicking the setting up to maximum lethality, safety off) and aims it unerringly towards Giovanni's head even as the other reaches out to lower the shield around the cell.

Canting his head to the side, he sights down the barrel, his gaze every bit the soldier - the killer - he'd once been, utterly devoid of emotion or indecision as icy blue clashes with crimson.

But even as his finger begins to shift, to curl against the trigger...

There's something lingering in Giovanni's gaze, the shadow of something human clinging to the edges. And he's not sure if he wants to see it or if Giovanni even knows it's there, but.

But.

It's enough.

Snarling out an enraged curse, Kanda snaps his hand up, flicked the safety back into place and leans forward, his own expression almost feral as he glare at his prisoner.]

Fuck that. You don't get an easy fucking out, Giovanni.

[Drawing a breath, his expression settles into a sneer as he steps back, away from the cage he's put this man in.]

I'll be the judge of that - of whether or not 'what I'm looking for' is fucking there or not.

[ofobedience]

[It's quick, the movement of Kanda's hand, the leveling of the gun and fear opens wide as a wound in him, thick and black and all-encompassing, rattling through his bones, his blood. This is how it ends then, this is how it ends and perhaps it's not such a bad thing really, it'll be quick and not like the other ways he could go, not like Dog Bite roiling through him and filling him with shuddering agony, a drawn-out ugly death.

Put down like a dog in a holding cell while he's strapped by his wrists and unable to move-- well. Perhaps it's fitting. Perhaps it's what he deserves.

That roiling fear though, it doesn't make it all the way into his face (just a shadow of it, a shiver, going off like a flash in his eyes and then gone again), and instead he just raises his head, meets Kanda's gaze, doesn't blink or look away. Waits for the world to go dark.

But it doesn't come.

Instead there's just the killjoy snarling at him and he's flooded with relief and despair in equal oversized measures. Of course he doesn't get it that easy. Of course not.

As always, the decision is out of his hands.

Kanda steps back, and Giovanni gives him an empty scimitar smile.]

You'll regret that. Hahah. The moment you release me from here, I'm going to tear you apart.

[And his words are heavy with threat, yes, but there's something else lurking behind that hot violence, something resigned and infinitely tired.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Perhaps, but I've never seen a point to regret.

[Shrugging, Kanda reaches back out to re-activate the field even as he slides the firearm firmly back into the holster, his expression utterly stoic as he steps further back.]

Seems like you'd still rather bite, though, so you're staying as you are. Once you're less homicidal... we'll see.

[That said, he spins on a heel and strides swiftly out of the cargo bay, doesn't bother to look back. And he doesn't stop until he reaches the kitchen, until he can stand there, head bowed, breaths slow and deliberately even because Giovanni is dangerous.

Not because of his feral behaviors, but because he stirs too many memories, bring to bear too many 'what if's'.

What if he'd let them break him, when he'd still been a child?

What if he'd stayed - how long before he'd stepped past the threshold of what he'd been and what Giovanni had become?

What if Sion hadn't released him?

What if he's crediting Giovanni with an ability to adapt that had, in fact, been beaten out of him long ago?

Shuddering at the thought, Kanda pushes off the counter to disappear into his room, to fold down into a meditative seat. Control.

He just needs to find his center, armor himself with a rigid control.]

W5D6, early morning

[lotusmesenpai]

[Rest was, while still improved from the months before, still restless for Kanda. (In part, due to sleeping next to a partner that had forgotten something rather significant between them, but largely because he's still not entirely sure he'd done the right thing.)

So perhaps that's why, long before daylight had a chance to creep into the bridge of the ship, Kanda had slipped silently from his bed, changed into workout clothes, and sequestered himself in the training room. First, he'd had Noah give him a report of Giovanni's vitals, then an activity assessment, before throwing himself into the familiar.

Unfortunately, hours of strain, of precise practice and repetitive motions did very little to settle the pervading sense of restlessness, nor had a shower, and so he'd finally decided on a different tact.

So when he finally makes his way back to Giovanni's cell, he's carrying quite a bit: A bag, with a change of clothes and toiletries, a deep basin of warm water, and a trey with a basic breakfast for two.

Wordlessly, he sets the plate of soba and tea on a small worktable across from Giovanni's cell, then steps over to drop the field. Once inside, he sets out the clothes, the water, and the food - all without looking at the man still hanging from the center.

In fact, he doesn't look at Giovanni at all until the barrier is back in place. Hands laced loosely behind his back, Kanda sighs and shakes his head at his captive.]

...Thing is, I'm not trying to torture you, idiot. You're still hanging, because I wanted you calm before you were released. But unlike whatever fucked up masters you've had, I'm not here to punish you. Just contain your crazy for a while. So clean the fuck up and eat something, moron.

[That said, he reaches out and, with a tap of the screen, releases the restraints on the man's wrists.]

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni doesn't need much in the way of sleep. Built for endurance, it's one more thing they'd bred out of the Dogs, pared back to the bare bones of what one could withstand without a complete sacrifice of sanity (there had been failures along the way, of course, the Rammsteiner series signifying the end product, the ones that had finally worked, and the others-- well, the Dogs had made short work of them, in the end). A few hours here and there, every few days-- it's more than enough to get them through and so it's unsurprising then, that he's spent a wakeful night in the cargo bay of the ship, even less so considering the way he's being held. By now, pain is a constant pressure in shoulders and wrists and the blades of his back, an ache so acute that it has spilled over into something else, become almost meaningless in its intensity.

Like all pain, he can endure it, make space for it inside himself and move beyond it.

Worse, perhaps, is the black chasm that opens up behind his ribs and threatens to engulf him, the darkness in his head so thick that he can't see through it. His thoughts chase themselves, over and over and over, the flickerflash of memories from back then and from the riots and through all the harsh spaces in between and beyond all that to what will happen to him now, even if the killjoy lets him live, they'll put him down, won't they? What he did, the lapse in control, it's unforgivable.

And unlike the death that Kanda briefly offered him, whatever awaits back with the Company won't be painless, won't be quick.

He'd struggled some, throughout the hours he'd been held down here, tried to find ways to break or slip the restraints that keep him so tightly pinned, but in the end Kanda had been correct-- they're not half-assed, he knew what he'd been doing, and finally he'd given himself over to it, utterly. Stays preternaturally motionless and still.

Which is how Kanda finds him, now. He knows when the other man approaches, hears him before he enters the cargo bay, catches his distinctive scent all mixed up with the smell of food and warm, clean water. He doesn't open his eyes or look up as the killjoy makes his preparations, gives no sign as to being alive at all until the moment the restraints loosen and he drops from his hanging position, wrists free and feet finally finding the ground.

He lands smoothly, almost gracefully despite everything, but he's on his feet for no more than a moment before he's sinking to his knees. The sudden reintroduction of movement reawakens the tight-packed pain that shudders through his upper body, forcing him to bite down on a kicked-dog yelp as the blood begins it's normal flow once again. It hurts, it does, and he wraps his arms around himself - slowly, with care - in an effort to weather the worst of it, eyes closed and teeth pressed sharp against his lower lip.

It doesn't take long to pass, however. The nenotech in his body zipping and buzzing through nerves muscles blood until whatever damage has been done to him dissipates like smoke in empty air. He looks up then, finally, eyes going to Kanda where he stands beyond the reactivated barrier, flashing boldly to his face. Only, the heat in them from the day before, their manic violent light-- there's no trace of it there, now. Only resignation, flat and dull.]

You could have fooled me. Hahah.

[lotusmesenpai]

And I wasn't going to let you fool me.

[The words are tinged with bite, but the tone... not so much. Instead, he shakes his head and steps back to sit on the low stool there, brings himself closer to Giovanni's line of sight before leaning forward, elbows resting on knees and hands laced loosely between them.]

I don't know how you're triggered to get to that state. I don't know how long it last. And I don't know if there's a key to snapping you fully out of it. The only means of ensuring my ship's safety was time and observation.

[There were plenty of approaches he could have tried - a harsh interrogation would, in his assessment, only serve to work against him, and ignoring the problem until he could dump it on the Company's doorstep would only prove more damaging for them both so far as he can tell.

No - the only way is to approach Giovanni with calm logic, provided Kanda can reign in his own temper and frustration with the man turned attack dog.]

Given how I found you, can you really blame me?

[ofobedience]

[I don't know how you're triggered to get to that state. Neither does he, not really, not when he's managed to go so long without fully submerging himself in wanton carnage, always keeping that small cold kernel of rationality locked in place. The things he'd done, that level of decimation-- he's engaged in it many a time, but always with purpose, with focus. At the riots, it had slipped out of that and into something else, something worse, where anyone who crossed his path had become fair game.

(A shadow standing behind him, panting, a sensation almost like words-- hit the switch.)

But he makes no mention of that. Instead, slowly, he shifts until he's sitting cross-legged on the ground, reaches for the basin, the wash-cloth, dips it into the warm water. Despite himself, there's something good in feel of it. Something grounding.

His clothes are stiff and hard with blood, chaffing against skin. Unbidden, a wave of something like disgust comes over him, there and then gone again, licketysplit]

You could have returned me to Company personnel whilst I was still unconscious. There's no reason for you to keep me here at all.

[But his voice is soft and smooth and flat as he takes the dampened cloth, begins to scrub at the dried blood that coats his face.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Half-turning away at the sight of Giovanni settling to clean himself up, Kanda just snorts derisively at the man's suggestion. Because returning him to the Company, while an option, doesn't seem a good one in Kanda's book on any given day.

More like punishment, with a sliding scale of severity for the reprimands to be received.

So to take someone like Giovanni, left unconscious in such a vulnerable state, and leave him in those hands? Not something Kanda's every going to willingly do. ]

You clearly don't understand just how your 'Company' works. I don't hate you enough to do that to you.

[Frowning at that, because there's a surprising thread of honesty in the moment, he sighs and watches his fingers thread together once more. ]

...What do you think they'd do to you, if I'd just dropped you off in your current state, hm?

[ofobedience]

[He scrubs at his face, dried blood coming away in flakes and clumps, attention paid to it once again bringing the scent to the fore, sending a small sharp shudder through him that he suppresses, ignores. He leans forward over the basin then, cups water in his pale palms, tips it over his hair in an effort to rinse it of the worst of the viscera that still clings.

He goes on like this, the water fast turning red, attention seemingly focused on his task even as he listens to what Kanda says, feels a strange twinge of something - surprise? Incredulity? - behind his ribs as the words sink down into his bones. It's a hard thing to believe, that the RAC agent might be keeping him here for his own good as much as for the good of the citizens of Westerley, and abruptly he brushes it away.]

Oh, I'm well aware of what they're likely to do to me. I'm under no illusions of how the Company works. But conscious or unconscious, then or now, the end results are likely to be the same.

[Again, the cool calm voice, almost soft, but there's an ominous undertone to it despite all that, the implications of what he's saying vibrating dully in the air between them. They'll punish him, all right. Perhaps - and it seems likely, in this moment - even put him down.

And it won't be the quick and merciful ending Kanda had offered the day before.]

I don't need to be incapacitated for them to do whatever they want to me.

[lotusmesenpai]

...And you're really okay with that?

[Back still half-turned to afford Giovanni a measure of privacy while he cleans up, Kanda reaches for his tea with a frown. His thoughts voiced in a matching tone - calm and thoughtful, lacking any heat of judgement because for now. Well.

For now, he's just trying to understand.

Because, for him. He'd fought the researchers tooth and nail - and many of them had the claw and teeth-marks to scar their flesh to prove it. So to see this man, who had the spark of fire smoldering deep in his gaze, suddenly hollowed out because of a reaction to extreme violence that Kanda was beginning to suspect was a part of Giovanni's conditioning.

It's disconcerting, to say the least.]

Do you really not have a single desire that drives you to preserve your own life?

[ofobedience]

What a question. Hahah.

[Unlike the night before when his voice had been all razor barbs and shards of broken glass, even his laughter now is subdued, an underwater kind of sound as resignation seeps down into him, fills him like a dull pervasive ache. Slowly, he'll start to strip off his bloodied, brittle clothes, torn near to shreds from the intensity of his violence only a matter of hours before.

Kanda's part-turned away from him, but if there's even an ounce of body-consciousness in the Dog, it doesn't make itself known. Just another small signifier of what he is, that he fails to view himself as anything more than a tool, the notion of being looked at as anything other than an animate object beyond his capacity for understanding.

He keeps rinsing himself of the blood, cleaning his pale flesh as best he can. All signs of the injuries he'd sustained during the riots wiped clean, as though they'd never existed to begin with.]

My own life. It never has belonged to me. If I'm considered beyond usability than really, there's nothing worth preserving.

[He'll turn his back (scarred from nape to tailbone all down the length of his Spine, the marker of where the hackmod implant had been made a part of him), then, slide into the clothes Kanda has provided for him-- too big, but clean, and the small pleasure that comes with that is something he's dully aware of and yet tries his best to ignore.]

It's not for me to decide.