[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.]
no subject
[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.