concasse | Luceti Appointments Post

[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)

Idiot. [The word is almost lost in the fabric of Kotetsu's borrowed shirt]

You saved people's lives, right? Of course that what counts. That's something to be proud of. [And it wasn't real. Sanji shouts the words over and over in his own mind until they stick, and he can trust his voice to keep steady]

Don't let them win like this. [He knows how fragile you are right now; he also knows you're stronger than this. You'll overcome it. It might take time, but time always comes. The arms around Kotetsu tighten briefly]

The real Kaede's out there. [He adds a smile, tired smile to his voice] Oi, I bet she'd be happy knowing her dad didn't let an illusion beat him. [...] Her, and Tomoe...

... T--Tomoe....

[She was alive. For a moment. She was alive. Between Kaede being dead for a moment, her being alive for a moment--his heart was twisted twice over, and the realization that he had both of them at one time again makes his knees give out. Kotetsu can't keep those painful emotions in check, when he sees that sad truth. Anywhere else, it's probably the mumbled ravings of some crazy guy, but here, he's just a heartbroken old fool.]

I had her; I had Tomoe. I had her. I pulled it all down--I broke everything apart again... They made me rip everything down...

[Why--why. Why couldn't he protect his family?

His face drops, downcast.]

Tomoe--

[He realizes he's about to talk to a dead person, but then Sanji's here; yeah, just freak Sanji out more, start talking to the dead. Unscrew all those bolts loose, Kaburagi. That scratch is still there. That itch, to speak to her, an attempt to cling to her life, hope that she's listening in the place she's in--he knows she's in a good place, because she's her, and she deserved nothing less.]

I was supposed to be her hero... I couldn't save her... Couldn't protect her, either...

[It's sad, the struggle between mournful husband and desperate father.

Luceti brings out the best in people, doesn't it?]

[If ever there was a time Sanji wishes he'd just kept his mouth shut. Every utterance of his wife's name is like a knife wound that's too sharp and quick to hurt, but plenty to numb. Aim for comfort and instead end up with more broken pieces of a man than he started with.

There's no sympathy in the world that can hope to save Kotetsu from his sorrows, is there? No amount of wishing is gonna change that. And here he didn't think he could spare the Third Party any more of his hatred.

Sanji says nothing this time, keeps himself from asking or speaking further. He's resigned himself to holding on through the tears and sorrow, to the bitter end, if that's what it takes.]

[He shakes like he's cold—and then, suddenly, he stops. Loosens his grasp on Sanji's shoulders (that desperate grasp, like he's keeping him from leaving). It's the usual tactic: swallowing down all that pain at once, after he feels enough is enough. He saved people--so what if he missed his wife? So what if he hurt the image of his daughter? Heroes have to do tough stuff sometimes. Tomoe would see him--and he'd need to show her he was fine. He's fine.]

... I'm fine...

[He realizes he's spoken it aloud, but doesn't bother with his usual goofy way of shrugging things off. He looks at Sanji's shoulder, because he can't look the other in the eye. Not after that sad display.]

...

...

I'm not fine.

[Definitely not. His hands drop, and he just sits there ['like a moron'].]

Sorry.

Man... I'm... kinda' a mess...

[Ha ha... ha...]

Edited 2013-03-21 23:44 (UTC)

[Sanji hangs back for a moment to assess the damage with tired eyes, finally allowing contact to stay broken. He doesn't try to meet Kotetsu's gaze; just allows his stare to rest on the man's weary face.]

... No shit. [There's an acute sense of relief that comes with knowing he won't have to beat honesty out of Kotetsu again. The admission is that sorely welcome.] And stop apologizing. [He stands up straight; his knees crack and creak, eliciting a wince which settles into a sorrowed frown when he catches sight of the spilled tea.

No one to blame but himself, but he'll pay the price in guilt later.] You wanna eat or sleep first? [He offers the comforts of food once more, now that he's got him going on a streak of honesty. It's a truce, as it were - no more questions, no more prying.

Just let him take care of you for a while, idiot.]

Sor—I mean, uh... alright. I can do that.

[Apologies aren't usually his strong suit: either he doesn't say 'em when he should, or he says it way too much at the most unhelpful moments, it seems like. He blinks at the other—sorta unspoken in that Sanji way, while still being completely obvious. No different than Let me feed you stamped on the air.]

...

[He smiles. Can't blame him for trying one on, okay?]

Aaaa, actually, I'm starvin'. [When it rains, it pours. The amount of honesty coming out of Kotetsu Kaburagi is nearly stifling, at this point. And it's not particularly an exaggeration, when his stomach makes an ugly growling noise soon after. It's been days, yep. Days since that creature saw a proper meal.]

I could just make a few sandwiches, or whatever, y'know? If I'm allowed in your kitchen.

[Haaaaaaaaaaa?]

You touch anything and I'll break your shitty kneecaps. [He nonchalantly tosses the threat over his shoulder, having already started for the kitchen the moment he heard that ungodly scream for food. It's a sound from his memories, his childhood - always unpleasant to listen to, but easily rectified. When he faces forward again, a rueful smile touches on his lips before disappearing.]

Just sit tight and I'll get your sandwiches ready for ya. [He doesn't want or need Kotetsu straining anymore of that pea-brain of his for the rest of the evening]

[What the hell, he thinks. Sounds like a plan. Only instead of sitting down, he collapses face-first into the couch and decides this is the most rewarding place to be at the moment. Oh, right, witty half-assed retort needed (even if muffled by couch pillows)]

If you break my knees, you'd be missing out on a dishwasher for a while.

[Even if he's at least branched out to whatever the hell Sanji requires, at this point. Being a waiter is okay, half the time. As long as he doesn't trip on his own feet.]

[Calling out from inside the kitchen:] Why else do you think I got Nala-chan to teach me healing? [What better way to reward his staff for their hard work and patience than by shattering their bones and then rehealing them so they can't skip out on work the next day?

Bantering aside, Sanji makes fast work of Kotetsu's dinner. He strips the meal of the usual bells and whistles, trading elegance for a simplistic hardiness. Plenty of meat and veggies piled on wheat bread with a tangy sauce. With the simple spread finished, he tops off the meal with another cup of tea before returning to the living room and toeing at Kotetsu's prone body]

Oi.

What's that? Th'sound of my own voice buggin' me? [When he sits up, though, he's got a more genuine (groggy) smile in place, and accepts the food easily. At this point, this sandwich is not getting out of here alive; you can see it in Kotetsu's eyes. Before that, though--] Not hungry?

[MORE FOR ME ANYWAY.

... Might need a new shirt, though... haha... ha.....

u_u]

[He's getting to it, he's getting to it! First order of business is just watching Kotetsu take the first bite; a deep-seated paranoia will follow him otherwise. Food has been spilled this day, and the chef's hypersensitive as a result.

Luckily, his worries are unjustified. Once Kotetsu digs in, Sanji gives a nod of satisfaction and answers] No, I already had some-- [Abrupt pause] Uh, some food.

[Birthday cake, in fact. The Hero doesn't need to know.]

[God, if he were any other person, he'd notice some hesitancy. Something. But no, it just rolls over his shoulders, goes right on over his head unnoticed as he eats maybe a little too fast; he's hungry as hell. He pauses, one cheek extended and full, and then swallows hard. Darts his vision elsewhere with a light scoff.]

Oi, you're kinda a mother hen tonight. Is that Haki thing that strong, or what...?

Edited 2013-03-31 08:43 (UTC)

Tch! I'm just making sure you're eating is all! [He tries not to sound defensive... and fails horribly. Hell, he's not a mother hen - that's typically Usopp's job, no matter that his nakama hasn't been in Luceti for well over two years.]

Just eat your damn sandwich. I'll go get you another shirt.

[There's a small laugh that dies in his throat at the mention of the shirt; oh... right. He reaches up, one cheek full of sandwich, and tugs on the torn collar. Holds it awkward together to hide away the scarred skin underneath. The good scars and the bad--if only they were all welcomed. Not reminiscent of a price payed. Maybe he's just too mushy and sad about the thought.]

Thanks; I'd appreciate it...

[Gosh, Sanji. Spilling tea, ripping clothes. You're a tad hot-blooded tonight, aint' ya? Of course, he'll go ahead and start taking his food to the kitchen when the plate is cleared off (very very quickly; it's good). He huffs and enters the kitchen, and you'd better not have left any clues to birthday shenanigans around. :|]

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concasse - 2013-04-05 21:35 (UTC) - Expand

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wildkotetsu - 2013-04-08 08:30 (UTC) - Expand

Luceti Appointments Post

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