[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

[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.]