overjoyed_logs | rebellion sits well on you

[Hair clings heavy to your head as you stand among a thin rank of men. Soldiers, they call themselves, when they're climbing the hills of battle and drawing their blades, but now they're nothing but fragile skin stretched over bones. No one cries as they look over the mounds of buried corpses - a sword plunged into each - hollow eyes somber or empty. The rain stings your skin, open wounds left to fester and scabs peeling to be invaded by sweat mingling with water.

One man stands at the forefront of the group, his shoulders set firm while the rest sag. He is your leader. The first to herald an attack, and the last many of the dying see as they look to not to save their lives but to remember them.

A keepsake itches in his palm, the red of a good luck charm revealed through a tightly clenched fist.

In his chest churns something more than the sorrow of loss and the fear of death, and somehow you feel it too. Each sword is not a grave marker, but a throat to be slit, dull glistening in the afternoon rain a reminder of how beautiful a blade can be when it cuts.

He'll stand until all have dispersed, there will be no verbal dismissal. They do this often enough to understand how each takes their own time to mourn before retiring for the evening. Only the commander - only Takasugi - remains, his back to you as he looks over the dirt his friends, your friends, have come to rest in with tempered hatred.]

[The classroom bustles with life. A girl throws her notebook at a snot-nosed boy while two brothers kick each other's desks in the corner. A circle of friends laughs and the asshole behind you snores. It's all annoying. Only the child next to you sits silently, his gaze drifting out the window to watch waves of grass blow in the wind.

He's trying to be bored, but the volume of absurd childish outbursts in the room has left him as frustrated as you are.

Only once the teacher walks in does everyone grow silent, all eyes on the man as he gives his lessons in a deep, dulcet tone. Your attention is held as well, the boy next to you even turning to watch even as he rests his cheek in his palm.

Class fades into lunch, which soon dissolves into a swell of pride in the face of a challenge. A new student asks who is the strongest, and your hand raises. Along with the boy's. There's another candidate, you know, his white hair flashing in your mind with familiar annoyance, but that competitor is busy fighting with the snot in his throat as he snores.

Excited chanting brings you face to face with the boy from class. Takasugi looks you in the eye, just as confident and eager to prove himself as you are, and steadies his wooden sword. No padding, footwork dragging in the dirt, the fight begins-

He lunges forward.]

Edited 2017-03-19 08:09 (UTC)

Help! Help me-! [The man's voice is cracked, desperate, nothing like the gristly tone he'd told stories in the night before. Exploits of razzing prostitutes had enraptured many around the fire. But those flames of memory pale as pyres rage after a round of artillery shelling. His head is bleeding badly as he reaches for your arm, catching the fabric only to cling and limp at your side.

The signal to retreat will come soon - you've been in enough battles to know that - but your heart races all the same. Each step could be your last, and he's dragging you down. You may consider throwing him off, but the shake in his hands and the pathetic fear on an old man's face keeps you at his side.

Such a disgusting display of humanity makes you want to chew a hole in your lip.

A high pitched siren rings over the battlefield, the herald of another round of bombings. The man pulls you towards a shallow ditch for cover, but you think better of it. He stands firm, planted in fear, and you try to yank him away. He yells, eyes wide, and you scream back, turn to take a definitive step forward.

He follows easily.

Or the arm clinging to your coat does, at least.

Realization that he's been hit with a shell comes along with an explosion of dirt that throws you to the ground, his body now nothing more than chunks in the mud.

You writhe and roll; if you don't get up you'll meet the same fate. But your back is searing in pain, your arms locking, refusing to move, as the sky grows thick with smoke.

Before you recognize the man passing by as your commander you're reaching for help, desolate panic now distorting your face. He stops for you, takes your hand in his, palm slick with blood, and pulls you to your feet.] Run!

[ Rhys doesn't need to be told twice. How he got here and why is irrelevant compared to the gravity and terrifying reality of the dream he suddenly finds himself a part of.

The man is dead, meat and viscera and his arm....

There's a moment when his command grabs his that he thinks he's met the same fate and it's become detached from his body--but then he's being pulled to his feet and Rhys sucks in a breath like he's been pulled from water, eyes wide and terrified and he scrambles to clamber after the man.

His legs feel as though they're going to give out on him the moment this man releases him. ]

[The way Takasugi runs over uneven ground could almost be called graceful, were he not splattering his heel in mud and kicking up smoldering ammunition along with slosh too red to be anything but blood. With a rattled and possibly wounded soldier in his care, he won't fall.

If Rhys stumbles, if his feet lose their grip in the muck beneath, he'll be yanked along - a sharp pain to the shoulder is worth being able to take just one more step towards retreat.

Their path is clear, but not yet carved out. Two enemies, inhuman with beast like faces and unnatural stature, charge only to be sliced through and kicked aside.] Can you still fight!? [Takasugi shouts without looking back, their route leading them directly towards another throng of opposition.]

F...fight??? [ Rhys can barely walk in the first place, let alone....do something about all of this. He's dressed like a soldier, looks like a soldier, but he isn't. Rhys doesn't know what to do, can't feel anything but terror and panic as he's pulled so hard it feels like his arm will come out of its socket. ]

N-no, I--why are they attacking??

[What Takasugi hears is a man in shock. A man terrorized by the loss of his friends and the potential loss of his own life. A future blurring in and out of focus in the smog of war.

So though his voice is severe, cracking in his throat as he yells, it isn't cruel-] They routed our advance! All we can do is- [Down goes another, impaled and flung from his blade.] -make it out with what we can!

[He doesn't change course, charging for the fray with Rhys in tow.] If you can't fight, just keep your head down! [With that he pulls his hand away, wrapping both around the hilt of his blade to cut them a path.]

[ There's definitely no way Rhys could fight. Not as he is, shell-shocked and shaken and unable to process half of what he's seeing. The panic of the dream washes over him like a wave, suffocating and drowning out his ability to do.

Normally, Rhys could weather this. Normally, Rhys would freak out and duck and cover and demand what the hell is going on and be angry about it.

Right now all he can do is watch in morbid fascination as Takasugi cuts a path for them, legs numb and jellied. ]

[Plunging his sword into the belly of a green, ogre-like foe, Takasugi's fear gives way to desperate fervor. One more down. And another. As soon as he cuts three more they're free, and he dares to let himself taste hope.

He intends for his comrade to feel it too.

But as Takasugi turns to face Rhys - to reach out and drag him through the enemy's final choke-hold - a tall creature, heavily armored, thrusts its spear forward. The blade cuts through his shoulder and his arm falls.]

Back-! [Sword swipe forcing the enemy away, Takasugi stumbles forward, ripping the weapon from his body to let blood gush from the wound.]

But you--your arm! [ Duh. Obviously it's off now, gone and there won't be any reattaching it on the battlefield let alone if they both wind up dead here. But Rhys still says it, still stares stupidly for a second too long before he's able to react and rush to the man's side, to try and hold him up ro steady him or--or something before he bleeds out.

God this is a lot of blood. Like really, a lot of blood. This isn't good. ]

Tani--

[Takasugi's ears ring and throb in time with the blackened ring that's quickly forming around his vision. He doesn't hear Rhys but he feels him, an unsteady warmth at his side. With no hesitation he sways, rooting himself against his companion with what remains of his limb - he still needs to fight.]

Go. Go! We're going to make it- [An authoritative shout dwindles into a pained groan, but Takasugi's resolve doesn't falter.

And neither does his blade.

The remainder of the opposing forces around them charge and fall, Rhys used for support as Takasugi's swings grow more wild yet no less deadly. Weak legs carry them from the battle field, the retreat a Pyrrhic victory.

Just as the shouting behind them fades so does the scene, dulling into murky and musty brown before dissipating into boards creaking under their feet as they stand - bandaged and clean but damp in summer's humidity - overlooking a hall of ramshackle beds and injured men.] Do you have any friends in there? [Takasugi knows most by name, and the rest by face - by the stories they'd tell after nights of drinking. Each a comrade he is bitter to lose.]

I....I don't know. [ Rhys answers that honestly both because he doesn't know, and because there's just so much to the shift, to the chaos and the numerous bodies lying at his feet before them that he can't even begin to know who he'd look for. The sheer hopelessness of it is staggering, lends Rhys to stick closer to Tani's side than he's ever allowed before.

The change of scene doesn't jar him so much as the bodies hidden beneath sheet and cloth, tugging at something unpleasant in his stomach and chest. The want to close his eyes and forget it is an uncomfortable urge. ]

[A medic motions for Takasugi's attention, his gaze shifting as stoically as it'd regarded Rhys's response. His shoulders squared, but step made uneven by a sprained ankle and battered ribs, the commander approaches a bedridden soldier. He nods for Rhys to follow, making use of his companion as an attendant, given his state of relative health.

The bedrolls they pass are either crumpled along with their writing occupants or eerily still. White sheets obscure the carnage - the corpses - though even those are torn and ragged, always in use.

Arriving at the indicated bedside, all the doctor needs to do is shake his head once to deliver his message. Takasugi crouches, meeting the dying man's eyes with his own, unwavering.] You won't be forgotten. I'll be sure each man kills one for you, huh? [A glance to Rhys, for confirmation-

Both of promised revenge, and that the man would take care to remember each sacrifice.]

[ He nods, automatically and without thinking about it. Whether either of them has the power to see that promise through is irrelevant to him right now. There's the sense that it doesn't matter; that one way or another, regardless of the consequences or obstacles it will be done. Those who stole their comrades will pay and suffer for it in turn.

An eye for an eye.

The feeling leaves him with an uncomfortable hollow sensation in his chest. ]

Edited 2017-04-10 12:08 (UTC)

[It's easy to feel powerless in these moments, to watch what was once fierce and strong struggling speak even a word. Such a sight threatens to suffocate even the most relentless of resolves.

Until there's nothing left but tempered hate.

Grief does nothing but draw Takasugi's brows together, shadow etched onto sunken eyes. The man beneath them smiles, weary and angry, before turning his head to rest as much as shallow breaths will let him.

After heaving a sigh of his own Takasugi stands. His body aches, muscles protesting the strain of shifting positions, but exhaustion is a distant feeling. Each bedroll he passes only strengthens his devotion.

To the men he's let die, he will offer a thousand more.

And when he's run out of foot soldiers, he'll sink his blade into their masters.

As Takasugi progresses through the lines of casualties, Rhys's awareness will fade; one death blurs into the next, and fantasies of the enemy warp from grotesque aliens to a circle of finely dressed Company men.

The dream ends abruptly.]

[The man you stand next to is wearing a high collar, obscuring even more of his face than usual. With his eye bandaged in an old fashioned style, the wrap circling his head and rendering his hair unkempt, and his mouth and nose covered, you can only focus on his gaze.

It's intent, determined, and thrilled.

The two of you stand covered by shadows, poised in an empty, narrow hallway. A metal door, locked from the inside, positioned opposite you is the last barrier between Takasugi and the man he's going to kill.

Even imagining blood spilling to the ground is exciting, a hunger twisting in your chest to drive your heart into your throat.

A Company man, since retired, your target has taken to waltzing into whichever branch of affairs he likes and throwing his weight around. Formerly a commander of foreign expansion, he touts nothing but victories in every sphere he's touched. He's corrected finances, rewritten policy, and promoted and fired as he's liked.

No wonder so many were willing to sell him out.]

Are you ready? [Takasugi's eye gleams with predatory delight, focus unwavering on the dimly lit entrance.]

[ Immediately, Jack latches onto the thrill of this moment.

He's always been a thrill-seeker, albeit not always intentionally, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins. He could remember the first time he got shot at so clearly and so vividly, because even if it was terrifying, Jack knew that it was something he wanted to keep. He never felt quite so alive as those moments where his life (or someone else's) hung in the balance. So the thrill here—even if he's not completely aware of just where it's coming from—is more than enough for his smile to split into a grin that pulls at his mask. ]

Ready?

[ Jack repeats the word with a laugh, then shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes a step towards the door. That's answer enough, but he shrugs casually. ]

Ohh, buddy, you don't even need to ask! I am always down for busting the people that super deserve it.

[Adrenaline never truly leaves Takasugi, but restless calm nights and barely contained impulses to rip and tear through everyone he sets his eyes on do nothing to diminish how rousing the thrill of an assassination so personal is.

Among the man's Company exploits that propelled him to notoriety was the coordination and conquest of Edo's local forces. Everyone felled on the battlefield had died by this man's hand, even if Takasugi had cut them down himself.

It's concealed, but Takasugi's smile grows. Visible only in the gleeful crease of his eye, the man's appreciation for such giddy deference ticks away as the time they're both aware of - even without a display - reaches zero.]

The door- [He's sure the door super deserves whatever Jack needs to do to open it. An amusing thought, feverish anticipation sprouting levity where it shouldn't be found.

Takasugi falls in step behind his partner, still and poised to rush in and dispose of what paltry guard the self-important Company man paid to appear at his side.]

[ Yeah, the door was why he was here, right? At least in part. There's no basis behind that thought, but Jack simply knows it, just as one does in a dream. For all his exuberance, he'd probably seem like the kind of guy to brazenly try and burst through it, and sure, if it was something flimsy, why not. But there's just enough of a digital lock on this door that it probably wouldn't do much good.

Instead, he steps forward to run his fingers along the side of the keypad until he fines the panel there. His fingers find purchase, and he pops it off only to reveal a few slots. From there, it's just a matter of putting in the drive he had brought with him, and the keys quickly light up in succession to figure out the door's code. It's a piece of code that Jack himself had made, and that's why when the pad turns green and the door clicks open only a few seconds later, Jack smiles, self-satisfied.

He takes the drive back and shoves it back in his pocket, but it seamlessly transitions into him gesturing to the door with a joking flourish. ]

After you, cupcake. You're the one with the real beef, right?

[Not everything needs to be explosions. (Though there will probably be one by the end of the dream because, come on. 🔥) Watching his companion's hand disappear into shadow, only to be illuminated by a dim green glow, suits Takasugi just fine.

It's the final lull before the action.

His anticipation swells, distorting into something approaching wild. The door clicks and and his eye widens.

Jack is right - this is intimate bloodlust - but Takasugi didn't bring him to simply open a door and bare witness.] Aa. But I won't take all of the fun-

[He trails off as he approaches the door, opening it just wide enough for them to slip through. The theatrics are best saved for running his sword through what meatsacks of guards are stationed within - which he does immediately, with a flourish of gratuitous blood splatter.]

[ Jack steps in after, but he's more casual and at ease, because even if he'll probably join in on the fun, it really isn't his beef so much. He sees that wild look and recognizes it for what it is (how many times has he worn a similar expression himself?), but that's the thing—It's not personal. When it's personal, he can truly revel in violence, but for now, he's just enjoying it.

At least, that would be the case normally.

As it is, that excitement and bloodlust is truly infectious in a way that Jack can't or doesn't bother to examine. The thrill that Takasugi feels swells through him too, and his mask splits with a sharp, toothy smile. There's blood and death, and Jack immediately pulls the pistol from its holster once he steps after into the room. ]

I mean, plenty of it's for you, buddy! I— [ He pauses, punctuating his speaking with a shot towards a guard. It hits him in the neck rather than somewhere more merciful, and Jack just continues with a laugh and cheer in his voice. ] —am just here for a good time, you feel me?

Edited 2017-03-29 15:29 (UTC)

[Takasugi's chuckle is lost in the echo of bodies hitting the floor and a quickly silenced shout of alarm. After felling the final guard of the periphery, he turns to Jack with frenzy in his eyes and blood on his coat.] Nice shot.

[In an assassination, there's no time for gloating - the death throes of an enemy left to the imagination. Fortunately, Takasugi has watched many a man die in his own viscera, so the image is stark in his mind as he presses deeper into the open containment area.

Stop right there! Their target's guards shout in deep, booming voices that make the metal beams above them screech. The men are bigger. Better armed. Better trained. And dead just as quickly as the ones guarding the door.

Takasugi stands with the object of his revenge staring dumbfounded, a stuttered W-who are you? all he can muster.] No one you know. [His sword raises slowly, each of the man's last breaths savored. The man reaches for his pocket - money or a communicator inside - and Takasugi swings his blade, severing the limb.

As blood pours from the wound Takasugi tilts his head towards Jack, a nod given towards their mark.] Go ahead. [Have a good time.]

rebellion sits well on you | closed prompts inside

❁ kanda

❁ yoruichi

❁ rhys

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//end on my side!

❁ handsome jack

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