concasse | Luceti Appointments Post

[Hnngh. Dammit. Even his hair seems to droop at that.]

That's true...

Oi, but I don't want it if it's shitty.

[best comeback, right?]

And besides, it's no good to enjoy your tea when you're all gross from being away at work, naa?

... [Fine, asshole, he'll give you that one. Sanji tends to drown himself in the shower the moment he gets home.]

Alright, but use the bathroom upstairs. [he gets to his feet] The downstairs one is for the ladies only.

Roger that! [And thank god. He was itching to escape.

So he does, hopping to his feet (almost tripping, usual business) and moving to the upstairs as quietly as a Wild Tiger really can; bone-tired, yeah. For someone who's been 'dreaming' for days, he's so tired. He turns on the shower and just sits under it, laying backward, forgetting time for a moment. Thirty minutes tick by before he jerks back awake. He easily takes another 20 minutes caught up in staring at himself.

Tch... his beard is trying to grow in. It's been a few days since he shaved his chin into its usual appearance; faint, but still there. He'll fix that with a razor. Rubs a hand over the scarred flesh on his neck with something pouting, possibly dipping into tragic.

He's proud of the other scars. The burns from H-01, the shoulder wound from Lunatic. The one on his arm and at his collar, not so much. With a sigh, he drops his hand.]

What would you say, if you saw me now, Tomoe?

Maa... Probably slap my face between your hands and tell me to shape up.

[He plants his hands on each side of the sink, leaning in, looking straight into his own eyes.

He looks away, breaks the contact after a moment.]

I'm trying my best—I promise, I am. It's just... hard. After you died, I promised myself I'd protect people when they needed me. Make it up to you... for not being there when you needed me. But ever since I showed up here... Aah... I guess I'd be what Kaede'd call a real uncool loser.

[He clutches the edges tightly.]

I'm so lost, Tomoe... It's times like these—I wish you were here to yell at me and tell me what to do. I know I'm supposed to be the hero to you, but...

[He sinks down, pressing his forehead to the corner of the sink, eyes squeezed shut.]

You were always the better hero to me.

[Not to interrupt your moment, Kotetsu, but...

There's a knock on the door, hesitant at first, but then firm and quiet towards the end. Sanji is on the other side with a fresh pair of clothes - nothing fancy, just comfortable pajamas suited for the winter months.

And it's not just an excuse to check up on his friend. It's not as if Sanji's been hovering by the door for the past ten minutes like some anxious pup who can smell the despair hanging off the Hero. No, not at all.]

... I got your clothes.

[He easily puts on a smile as he peaks around the door.]

Aah--thanks.

[... No high collar? No high collar. Well duh, they're for sleeping in, Kotetsu. Not going on a business trip.

He hasn't bothered letting anyone see the injury to the low space of his neck other than Nami--and that's only because she was there when it happened. He takes the clothes, keeps hidden around the door. Pretty naked, n' all.

Maybe if he just waits for Sanji to go to sleep, he can sneak in, konk out, then escape early before the chef even gets up.]

Maa, you can go on ahead if you wanna. [He begins to close the door back. Seems like a legit plan to him; yeah, he can just avoid Sanji as much as humanly possible now that he's intruded on his house. Perf.] I wouldn't wanna keep you up or anything.

[He was up for tea, right? It's been almost an hour, he's probably drank it; he totally got out of that one. :|b]

[To that... Sanji doesn't say anything, and lets Kotetsu close the door without a hint of protest; there's only a nod to indicate he heard the logic in the man's reasoning.

And then, just as silently, he settles by the bathroom door, supporting the wall with his back as he waits, a new cigarette in mouth and arms crossed over his chest.]

[It takes another 20 minutes. Time goes by fast, for some reason; it usually doesn't, when he's in these moods. It's why he's so adamant about being on missions, or in the kitchen working. When he finally does come out, he's rubbing the tender spot on his neck that had already healed--nothing but a mash of tarnished skin, same ol' same ol'. But then he turns and startles at Sanji there, as if he really thought he had a snowball's chance in hell at avoiding him in his own home.

He turns awkwardly. Sanji gets his profile, mostly.]

Something up? ... Did I... use up too much of the hot water?

[By now, Sanji's worked his way through the extremely modest number of five cigarettes, all collected in the ashtray he brought with him. Yet he finds himself grateful when Kotetsu finally opens the door and keeps him from lighting his sixth; they've started tasting odd on his tongue.]

No, I was waiting for you. [He collects the ashtray in his hand, and whether on purpose or just by subconscious design, rubs his neck in the same fashion as the other man.] Wouldn't do if I just left my guest alone.

Though I don't suppose you'll still want your shitty tea?

You didn't have to wait up like that...

[Grumbly, of course. If he's a teeny bit defensive, maybe it'll make it sound like Sanji's being silly, and then maybe he'll let everything be. Only it's pretty lame when Kotetsu tries to grumble defensively, because it's routine.

...

The hand stays firmly planted, shoulder turned away.

Casually.]

... I could take a cup. [He was parched enough to drink from the shower head, let's be real. Just one cup, though. Especially with the way Sanji words it.]

I'll crash on the couch after that; just a cup'll be fine.

Don't be an idiot.

[Absolutely no bite in his phrasing. He turns and heads for the stairs]

And there are plenty of rooms if you wanna use them. [He shrugs] Or you could just take the couch in my room.

[It's a joyless offer, knowing the response he'll get for his troubles. Sanji makes it anyway.]

[Abandon ship; he's in worse enough shape for Sanji to surmise things from. He doesn't want to give Sanji anymore than that. He wanders away from the chef, back toward the stairs.]

Mouuu, it's no big deal. Couches are comfortable.

[Drink some tea, go to sleep. Done and done. It's easy. In fact, he hurries a bit, pours himself some, wanders off into the living room before Sanji can get himself all the way down the stairs. Is there a throw blanket on this couch? Because he's pulling it over his head like an old baglady and drinking his tea and that's that, okay.]

[This starting to feel like a stagnant game of hide-and-seek. Patience can be a strong point when it really counts, but his natural inclination is towards frustration. The chef narrows his eyes at that turned back and follows.]

Are you really not gonna tell me what happened?

[So he cuts to the chase while standing at the bottom of the stairs.]

[He sips his tea, shoulder turned to the other dismissively.]

Eeeeh, I already told you. Just usual stuff. You've been on missions before, haven't you?

[And there it is - the last dismissal Sanji can stomach. He sets the ashtray on some table and stands in front of the couch, his eyes slit.

The claws are out, Kotetsu. You might wanna brace yourself.]

Not ones where my entire soul felt like it was fucked out of a whack.

Or didn't I tell you about that? See, not only do I get to sense a person's presence if they're close enough, I can tell how they're feeling, too.

And the more I know the shithead in question, the better it works.

[He stares at Sanji, mouth parted, holding his tea in his hands. It's almost comical.

When he realizes Sanji isn't lying at all, he reaches up and pulls the blanket further around his head, like it'll defend him from the chef's power. Or his wrath. Whichever. Despite this, he still tries to fight this off with metaphorical fists.]

... Oi, oi, I just wanted a place to stay for the night. What would you want me to say?

I'll get over it. It's not a big deal.

[Oh, there. There's the last shard of his usual steadfast presence falling off and shattering into little splinter-sized bits... Maybe this was a mistake. Too little too late, Kotetsu.]

[Kotetsu better have a decent grip on that tea - otherwise it will go flying when Sanji rips the blanket off Kotetsu's head and yanks him forward by the collar. Turns out in front of Sanji's wrath, it might as well be wet tissue paper; fancy that.]

Would you at least try not to lie to my face?! [And if he were cruel, he'd drop the hint that today is his birthday, so the least Kotetsu could do is lose the act for ten seconds.]

I made that shitty offer to come over so you wouldn't have to pretend you're alright when you're not, shithead!

O-oi--

[Yeah, yeah, he should've seen it coming; Sanji's wrath is easy to capture, really. Kotetsu just can't see a few feet in front of his face when it comes to plotting. He grabs Sanji's wrist out of reflex from the temperamental motion, too startled to be angry.

The tea spills, drops to the ground. The collar rips, exposing gnarled flesh, a space the size of a wide bite; and then, fresher than the other scar revealed, a smoother burn scar from a criminal's green-blue flames. They almost mirror each other.

There's a heavy pause.]

...

What good would that do...?

[He puts a hand on Sanji's begins the task of prying fingers away.]

Why would I bother you with stuff like that when you can't change it?

[It's a genuine ache to his words.

It's like torture. He knows Sanji's dealt with these same feelings before, of standing on the roadside, watching two cars smash into each other despite your best attempts to warn them away.]

[Sanji doesn't let go; he can't. Otherwise the gulf between them might reach a size impossible to cross, and he can't risk that right now. The harder Kotetsu attempts to free himself, the tighter the chef's fingers curls in the material.

For now, the scars go unaccounted - noted and ignored. Under the heavy, defeated stare of Kotetsu, it's hard to pay them any mind.]

Don't be a hypocrite. [His words come softer now, though still poised to bite should Kotetsu give him enough reason.] You know damn well if our positions were reversed, you'd still want to know.

[The power to change isn't what bonds friendships; it's the power to sympathize.]

... It's fine if you really don't want to mention what happened. [He eases back a few inches, though his grip on the collar refuses to lax.] Just. Give up pretending for a day or two. Can you manage that?

[Sometimes, very particular words are what Kotetsu needs to get a ray of light—a bit of clarity. When he gets hit by self-doubt and secrecy, he gets hit hard. But he's tried... to do right by the people who want him to let them into that fog. Immediately he zeroes in on the truth: if it had been Sanji, he would have bothered him about it until both of 'em were blue in the face.

And then he remembers, like following linework, what he'd told Sanji. Back when Sanji had seen his memories.

Friends don't leave friends in the dark.

There's a slow, defeated breath, and he bows his head.

"You don't need to act so tough, Kotetsu... You're not Wild Tiger here."

The hand gripping Sanji's wrist loosens, sitting instead of clutching.]

We were attacked by Dream Shifters. Was only awake for a few hours of the mission...

[Days and days of being trapped. Time was impossible to tell.]

I didn't wanna leave... [He works his jaw, voice getting smaller.] I was with the girls, and I... just didn't... He said the only way out was to—

[He swallows hard, like the admission took all the energy left outta' him. Almost did.]

Kotetsu-- [Damn it, man, had he not just made it clear they could skip the sharing n' caring feature of tonight's event if it would ease the Hero's troubled mind? Yet here he is anyway, jumping face-first into a pit of memories that might as well be vipers.

His goal has always been to just give Kotetsu a rest, not to...

But Sanji can't stop him now. Even if he could, the thick blanket of silence, tense and waiting like a held breath, keeps him from moving. Kotetsu trails off, and Sanji's expression clouds with apprehension. He doesn't want to ask.]

... To?

[He does anyway]

I...

[The words die on his lips.

Stop. Just walk away. Who needs to know something like that?

"Why didn't you trust me?!"

He slowly sinks, falls back into the couch, eyes resting down against his quivering palm.]

He gave me the knife—he said I had to if I wanted to get out, because the shifter was disguised in the dream, and I knew it was true... Dammit, I knew it wasn't real... but I was holding her and she was bleeding everywhere, and I thought—for a second I thought he tricked me and I wasn't just dreaming, and Kaede....

[She was. Gone.

But then she turned into that bastard who used the images of the people he loved most... Even with that in his head, he couldn't...]

Tomoe was crying and screaming, and I knew she wasn't real; I knew it wasn't Tomoe—and then everything just broke.

[He chokes back a sound of pain, sliding the hand through his bangs, giving himself a moment to regroup. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't fucking cry—he couldn't let those people get that much from him.

Don't you dare, Kotetsu. Don't you dare let any of that go.]

We were... going to the beach. The three of us. Then it was just... gone...

[Sanji's hand falls limps from Kotetsu's collar and the chef doesn't notice. The slow curdling dread in the pit of his stomach has moved up his throat, tasting suspiciously of bile.

If Kotetsu ever bothers to look up, all he'll catch is a frozen expression staring in vacant horror. His voice comes out pale.]

You--

[Killed her. Stabbed his own daughter. And a vicious rebuttal stamps in the words had to before the thought crawls away into the mess of noise his thoughts have become. He had to kill her. To escape. To live. The Third Party assholes don't play fair, and how many times has Sanji experienced that truth for himself?

That was--

Sanji lunges forward. It's probably the fiercest hug he's ever given. His chest feels scooped out and his throat keeps tightening and he's clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip, and this is what he gets for egging Kotetsu into this. Shared trust. Shared pain. You find cutting relief in hurting for someone else.

As a father himself, it was the only thing he could think to offer.]

[He chokes back a whimpering sort of laugh; it'd be barked, joyless. And like usual, when things are getting beyond his control, Sanji's keeping him upright. He'd thank him for it, if his mind weren't so clouded by the images of what had happened, in that dream world. He just stares over Sanji's shoulder to the ground, voice softening with venerability. Kotetsu has plenty of that, lately.]

I thought I lost my head... Was sittin' there thinking I just snapped, hurt my family, and they'd come arrest me and I'd just beg for a death penalty... I was ready for it to be real 'til the walls went crashing down. Didn't have any reason to believe the guy, but something kept telling me—that you and the others were real.

But Kaede wasn't. She and Tomoe weren't real...

[His tone trembles, reaching out for validation not from Sanji, but from his own mind; it's a struggle, to make himself believe it was all for the best, and it's still an obvious work-in-progress.]

I didn't fail her if it wasn't... really her, right...? I did what I had to, because I want to be there for her; didn't want to leave her, too. So I... just kept going, and we got people outta' there--we got out. That's what counts, naa...? Doesn't it?

[It's a hollow affirmation. A very hollow one.]

Edited 2013-03-16 00:24 (UTC)

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1/2 nope nope it's longer than expected

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1/2

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