[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]

[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.]