[Open] My demons are begging me to open up my mouth

[lotusmesenpai]

Who: Kanda & Yu (OTA) | Yoruichi & OTA!
Where: Meshwork
When: Throughout Ch. 4
Summary: Several OTA dreams for both my brats here, may also include closed dreams if they come up.
Restrictions/Warnings: Language, at least for Kanda's. Possibly (probable) nudity for Yoruichi.

Comments

CW: Child medical experimentation

[lotusmesenpai]

"...Father? What do they do?"

"Eh?! Um.. that is... humans are born when a man and a woman love each other... but..."

Love each other...?

"That is... Just like us."

Turning with a gasp, you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide with surprised and something almost like recognition as you catch sight of a shadowy figure, formed of mist - a woman's form, slender and curved, shoulder-length hair pulled partially back.

A blink, and the mist dissipate to reveal a young boy around your own age, peeking around a pillar, staring at you with wide doleful eyes, that cerulean gaze fearfully hopeful. It irritates you, sets you off balance - which only serves to spark a familiar, annoyed rage in you once again, and so you do what you always do - you stomp away, ignoring that pleading look to brush past the other boy, to seek solace in the echoing silence of being alone.

Even so, you can hear his wailing voice as your feet carry you further out of the chamber, filled with countless pools, each with an inert body waiting to be awakened like you'd been.

"I wanna... talk... with you guys...WAAAAAA!!!!"

"Yu! Don't be so mean!"

A blink, and then that same voice again, limned with weary exasperation.

"Don't be so mean, Yu! He was talking to you!"

Your body tenses at the reprimand - enough to have you stop mid-step before turning to glare at scar-faced annoyance currently getting you yelled at. Rather than apologize, however, you sneer at them both and stick your tongue out at the other kid, "Fucking stalker - leave me alone!"

With that, you run from the room.

Down the corridor, fast as you can, small feet casting a metallic ring as you rush along, twisting around corners until you reach the end of a darkened path. There you pause to catch your breath, the short caesura of silence between breaths as a door whisks open noiselessly. Without hesitation, you step inside the frigid room, small arms curling around your chest as if to capture your own heat as you step deeper still, your icy gaze shifting from one stasis pod to the next.

Young faces, older ones - all attached to a mess of wires, all frozen stiff, just waiting to be thawed.

Like you.

"Edgar says you're like us... so maybe... don't wake up. It's better if you don't..."

Your perception shifts, as if the world is suddenly planted on it's side, rattles your head and your feet, utterly disorients you, until you realize...

It's cold.

You can feel hands, so much bigger than yours, curled in an unyielding grip around each of your arms, holding you in place - just before the prickling sting of something sharp digging into your back, anchoring a long tube deep into your torso.

Once. Twice... six times, in total, before you can breathe.

Just a moment though, barely time to catch even half a breath, before those hands drag you forward, force your much smaller hands to reach out, towards a column with what looks like broken angel wings and a headless torso - and even as they force you closer, every part of your soul recoils in fear, in anger.

You don't want this. You don't want that thing. You don't care about exorcists or humanity's need to be protected. You don't care about the Pope or the Church or how you must do this for the war, how you have to become a becon of hope for them all.

You just want the pain to stop.

"Yu, synchronization will commence."

Those beautiful, terrifying wings curl forward, each long 'feather' stabbing deep into your sides, impaling your lungs as if trying to reach your heart. It feels as if lightning is coursing through your body, tearing through muscle, shredding open wounds along your arms, bursting out through your chest, feels like it's shattering your legs and you scream and scream but nothing stops it.

Not the blood dripping from each new wound, not the way your teeth bite through your lips, not the tears streaming unheeded by all within the chamber, leaving clear tracks through the crimson on your rounded cheeks.

Dimly, you can hear a familiar voice, that boy's screams echoing your own until their's cuts off abruptly.

"Professor. Alma's heart has stopped beating. Approximately 420 seconds until regeneration..."

"...Damn Innocence..."

Breathless, the condemnation falls from your lips, but no matter how much you curse it, nothing stops the excruciating pain for you, not until the agony spikes, blood bursting from countless wounds over your body, spatter the immaculate robes of your tormentors as your heart stutters to a stop - much as his had - and your body splashes down, lifeless, in the shallow puddle of water surrounding the column.

"...approximately 580 seconds until the rebirth of Yu."

Fire sparks along every nerve in your body, burns you from the inside out...

You wake, screaming in agony, rage fueling your awareness, sends you skittering back even as the wires piercing your chest recoil back into the ceiling, beyond your reach.

"You nearly died, Kanda. We had to fibrillate your heart. I'm starting to think you're going to be another failure."

Your teeth clench, cut through the soft tissue of your cheek, leaves the coppery tang of blood on your tongue as you push unsteadily to your feet. A scowl darkens your features as you ignore the way your body trembles, automatically dismissing the plethora of cuts seeping crimson - these are closing even as your hands curl even tighter around the blades in your grip.

"Fuck you."

Vitriol in the youthful tenor, lips peeling back into a snarl as the door opens. This time five adult males enter the room, each wearing a convicts rags. That voice again, muffled with an electronic edge, "A pardon to the one that kills this failure."

I won't die, bastard. Not for you.

As if to prove this, you move. It's almost a dance, the way you weave in between forms twice your size, each flick of their own blades parting your flesh, sending red rivulets down pale flesh - but your blades are truer. Find vital organs with an economical easy, until you're once again, the only one standing.

The floor is slick with blood, your bare feet warmed by the viscous fluid, head hanging low as you struggle to catch a breath.

"Hn...Again, Kanda."

He hears the wisk of the door opening and raises his eyes. He's larger now, nearly a full-grown man. Bodies still litter the room, blood still covers his bare feet, oozes from wounds already healing as he lifts aching arms. A blade in one hand and a firearm with a half-spent clip in the other, hedoesn't snarl anymore.

No, now his face is a stoic mask, blue eyes unnaturally calm - emotionless - as he spits out slowly, "You're going to die here." The I refuse to left unsaid.



(OOC: Left aligned = canon memories & right aligned = false OJ memories! The people interacting are the same for both locations so... Edgar speaking., Kanda's original beloved speaking., Alma speaking, Church clergy man in charge of Second Exorcist experimentation.. Will match prose or action tags!)

[ofobedience]

[Your pain, his pain-- it's just separate halves of the same whole and for moments that drag he can't discern the difference, agony that rattles along his Spine and shakes through his ribs, the copperhot stink of blood something he knows, utterly. All of this, it doesn't feel so strange. Doesn't feel so different. Horror and torment-- they all bleed into the same old song in the end.

Such that he barely notices when things start to split away, when he stops being the boy with the cobalt eyes and instead there's the nearly-grown man standing before him with that expressionless mask pinned tight as a sheet, all it's unruly corners tucked away (and that, too, is something he knows).

Slowly, as though he's uncertain of the parameters of his own body, unsure if he's really here and if it's really his (is it ever his though? No, it isn't), Giovanni cants his head in a canine gesture of consideration. Curiosity, almost.

His voice comes smooth and flat as a pebble worn down by the crashing of the waves.]

No. I'm not.

Heck of a first meeting, idek

[somnusrex]

"Nah, sorry."

It was all he said, eyes flicking around to take in whatever he could. The bodies weren't any sort of new thing to him, but this guy...well. That expressionless face was new, and interesting - but why would it be? There was a strange niggling worry in the back of his mind - but not nearly so much as the weaponry.

Not that Ryner was too worried. He had more than enough room to evade, and did so fairly easily. But this guy was good, and more than that, he was determined, so Ryner had to step his effort up a little.

"Hey. Let's go get a drink instead, this is dumb. I don't wanna kill you."

[shikomizue]

[ Stomping in frazzled, frustrated annoyance is so ingrained in him that Takasugi doesn't notice he's not a singularity as his shoulders tense and his neck prickles with the assumed stares of those he's spurned. Stop crying, snorted in a huff as he leaves the room, blinking as his eyes adjust in the dim hallway.

When he opens them, he sees a cascade of blue pods. Chill runs down his spine and each step feels further from the ground, his hand reaching out and his mouth moving but the words coming from another source.

Sucking in a breath of icy air seems to stab through his chest, a discomfort Takasugi tries to roll his shoulders away from. But he can't move. His neck strains upwards facing a faceless statue obscured in the ring of black that hatred spreads around his vision. He doesn't want this. This isn't fair. To hell with protecting anyone!

The sentiment rings so strongly within him that it hurts, his sides torn apart into shreds that only continue to unfurl. Searing nerves transcend pain into overwhelming sensation that makes him ill, his head thick with white noise and screaming so loud - but not loud enough - he wills his own jaw to tear from his face.

He owns the suffering, but not the tears streaming down his face. A warm drop of water gathering at his chin pricks him alert, his body coursing in numb tremors while his mind teems with anger.

I won't die. Not here. Not for you.

Takasugi wills the words from his mouth but he never hears them - instead he watches as they scrawl into too-slow and too-stupid men, cuts of red writing the sentiment clear for all.

Carve the message into everything-

His impulse sparks and dampens and cools into something weathered. Strong.]

[Takasugi's sigh is empty, as meaningless as a room splashed red with blood and viscera of the nameless.] Oh?

I have no intention of spilling my insides into such a sloppy scene. [His sword is drawn, ready, but its swing will only come if the surge of self-preservation building in his gut erupts.]