jigokulogs | [OPEN] only god can see what i've become.

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[OPEN] only god can see what i've become.

⬤ Andy @ the CR Meme ⬤
⬤ Permissions Post ⬤

Who ⬤ Andromache of Scythia (now of Enma) & YOU!
What ⬤ The bastard woman drinks and brawls her way through May substories
When ⬤ Throughout the month of May
Where ⬤ A bar, a backlot, and a bloody arena
Content Warnings ⬤ Profanity, violence, substance use, sex, etc. To be updated as needed!

A | MOON MEDICINE / SUBSTORY #1

[ This might be the most alive she's felt since arriving in hell. Whatever the fuck was in that medicinal mochi — it's like being high on cocaine and bloodlust at the same time. It feeds into that part of her that has always loved a fight. That up-close and personal shit where you can practically smell your opponent's breath. That's what she was raised on, seven thousand years ago on the Eurasian steppe — heir of the warrior-queen, bare and bloody on the battlefield, her mother's axe in her right hand.

No axe now. No battlefield either. Just the dirty alley out behind some dive bar. But that look in her eye is the same now as it was back then, wild and bright as she slams her fist into the unrecognizable pulp that was formerly the face of the yokai who had gotten fresh with her inside. Her knuckles are split open, but she doesn't seem to notice. Tunnel vision, everything else utterly irrelevant while her opponent is still standing — and he is, just barely. Just enough to take another clumsy swing at her, a move so obvious and slow that, in her violent fervor, she barks out a mean laugh, teeth bared. Bracing herself, she lets gravity do most of the work as she catches her victim by the clothes and flings him out of the alley towards street —

Right into anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by. ]

B | VEND ME A DREAM / SUBSTORY #2

[ Normally, on a day like this, Andy would have found some way to drink herself into oblivion by now. But she's spent most of her time in hell hungover, and somewhere between the constant headaches and violent nausea, she figured her newly mortal body was probably begging her for a break from the bottle. But being both idle and sober lends itself too readily towards her tendency to wallow uselessly in her own misery, so when the shirime approaches her with its winking butthole and a request for item A5, well...

Fuck it. It's not as if she has anything better to do.

That's how she winds up in that backlot, leaning up against a porno vending machine with a dwindling cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth as she flips through Juicy Peaches. The look on her face is one of stoic apathy, but either she's bored or the asses within are just that compelling, because she's still turning pages. This page in particular has her head turning slightly one way, then the other as she considers it. Out loud, to nobody in particular: ]

...That's a fucking fish.

[ Given the context, she might mean that literally. Only one way to find out. ]

C | BRUISED & BLOODY / SHUTEN TERRITORY ARENA

[ She'd been beating up people for free in bars this whole time, so it seemed only practical to at least get paid for that shit. The booze and cigarettes don't pay for themselves — and gods forbid that Andy hold a regular nine-to-five. She'd rather have her bones broken. Besides, she makes for a good underdog bet. Compared to some of the monstrous yokai that have stood opposite her in the ring, Andy looks decidedly ordinary. A woman who is neither particularly tall or strong. Nothing to betray the centuries she's spent mastering different ways of using her body to cause others pain. Except maybe that certain look in her eye. Something sharp. Something a little mean.

On one of the nights that she fights, she might find herself facing off against another Lost Soul in her next match. Or maybe afterward, with her left arm hanging loosely from its socket, she might be looking for someone to lend her hand — hopefully someone who isn't too squeamish to shove a shoulder back in. Otherwise, after the fighting is done, she makes a habit of smoking a cigarette right outside the arena, usually more interested in indulging that bad habit than patching herself up. ]

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[ She looks at him a long moment, then glances away with a quiet, humorless little laugh. There’s probably some irony in that, right? Some cosmic joke? That deserves another drink - so she takes one. A long pull from the bottle in her hand before she finally answers: ]

Guess the universe decided to fuck us both. [ Wryly, though not completely insincerely: ] My condolences, Izo.

[ He takes a long drink, too, because he doesn't want to think too much about his current existence. His stay in that awful place was generally horrible, but it brought him two people he cares deeply for. It's hard to say he regrets it entirely...

Not that he says as much. He shrugs and forces a grin. Anything to cover up what he's actually feeling. ]

Yeah, well...At least I'm in good company bein' fucked like this.

[ Whatever wager they had feels like it's been forgotten in favor of a genuine conversation. What an odd way to bond... ]

[ Another low, little laugh. This time, a bit more sincere than the last. ]

You've got shit standards for good company.

[ Maybe it's the alcohol that makes her more honest than she would be otherwise. Or maybe it's their rapport — this sense that they might be a little similar. Either way, it's an admission she hasn't made to anyone else when she goes on, habitually wry and subtly bitter underneath that: ]

Besides, I'm mortal now. They took my curse when they brought me here.

So, what? That make ya un-fucked now? Ain't no fun if I'm th' only one gettin' fucked here.

[ He's normally pretty morose about his lot in life, especially when he's drunk. Misery loves company, it seems. ]

[ Dryly: ]

Guess you can't ever really unfuck what's already been fucked, but if you cut my throat now, it'd be a lot more inconvenient for me than it was back then.

[ That's more true than she'd like it to be. She'd spent a long time resenting her own immortality. Hating it sometimes. Hating how time would gradually and relentless take everything from her. But the curse had defined so much of who she was. And now it's gone. Now who the fuck is she? Dwelling on that prompts another deep drink from her bottle. ]

Does it ever piss you off? All this shit you never asked for.

It ain't my job now, so I ain't gonna cut ya.

[ A quiet chuckle before considering her question. The bottle of booze in his hand doesn't hold the answer, but it sure holds a bandaid for the gaping wounds inside him. ]

Yeah, 'course it does. Ain't like there's fuck all I can do 'bout it now...No matter how long it's been, I don't wanna jus' accept it.

[ She understands better than she wants to. Maybe because she's the same kind of stupid. Thousands of years like this, all the fucking misery, and she's never been able to accept things either. Always angry — except when she was sad. Sometimes both. As if it ever made any difference how she felt or how hard she fought against it. Futile efforts, all. Still, half to herself: ]

We don't have to accept shit.

[ Abruptly, Andy stands, teetering precarious on the edge of the roof for a second before she seems to find tenuous footing. Winding up, she hurls her bottle into the distance as far as it'll go, shattering into glittering distance on the adjacent build as she shouts into the night: ]

Fuck that!

[ Izō pops up, half-expecting he'll need to catch her before she falls off the roof. A sigh of a relief follows because he's just too drunk for that kind of quick motion. He walks up alongside her, chugs the last of his bottle, and chucks it off the roof. ]

...I gotta accept th' crow, but anythin' else can fuckin' suck my dick!

[ The bottle clobbers some poor youkai walking down the street and Izō instinctively ducks down. ]

Uh, we should prolly get th' fuck outta here.

[ She shouldn't laugh. Maybe she wouldn't normally — but she's drunk, and not the usual kind of melancholy, self-pitying drunk either. The kind that makes you a little reckless and a little dangerous. So she laughs, baring her teeth with it. ]

Hey, Izo. [ She glances over at him, nodding her head in the vague direction of the open space beyond the roof's edge. ] If I jump, you think you're fast enough to fucking catch me?

Edited 2022-06-21 05:14 (UTC)

[ Izō looks at her, then over the edge, then back at her, and shrugs. ]

Wanna find out?

[ What could possibly go wrong? ]

[ There's probably more ways for this go to wrong than for it to go right. But Andy's never been accused of good decision making. And it wouldn't be her first time jumping off a tall building either.

She shrugs back at him, then, as her way of answering — casually drops off the side of the building. ]

[ Izō was prepared for that answer, at least. One, two leaping bounds and he dives off the building after her, wings tucked against his body. It thankfully wasn't enough time to make it an insurmountable task. She will not meet her fate as a red smear on the pavement below.

He grabs onto her and pulls her close before spreading his wings to suddenly slow their descent. It's a hard brake, enough to make him grimace from the effort. A few hard flaps later and they're at a much safer distance from the pavement. ]

If ya want a ride home, it's gonna cost ya extra.

Fuck you, Izo. [ She answers amicably, offering him that mean little smile again. This woman looks entirely too entertained for a person who had a fifty-fifty chance of breaking every single bone in her body. But maybe that's half the fun — being two bottles of sake deep and trusting your life to a possessed assassin who made his first impression with his blade at your throat.

It almost sounds like a challenge when she goes on wryly: ] If you're not having fun showing off, then you can fucking drop me.

[ Bitch seems determined to try her luck tonight. ]

[ He fixes her with a look that says "try me". His grip on her loosens just a little bit. ]

Ya sure ya wanna test that?

[ Anybody with a single brain cell in their head would probably say no. But Andy hasn't had a good sense of self-preservation since the late Bronze Age, and she loathes to turn down a challenge. The woman might prefer to break her fucking leg than back off when he looks her in the eye that way — even if her grip does instinctively tighten on him, just a little.

It's practically a dare when she retorts in turn: ]

Only if you're not worried I'll fucking pay you back.

[ The illusion of danger is the important part here. He gains a little bit of altitude, higher above the rooftops. ]

If ya hit th' ground from here there ain't gonna be no payback.

[ And then he lets go of her entirely. His confidence that he can stop her from becoming a red paste on the pavement must be pretty high. ]

[ Andy doesn't even have time to swear. Her stomach drops like a fucking stone, all that dark hair whipping around her as she plummets towards the pavement. Her body responds the way that it should — heart throbbing, lungs squeezing tight — but there's that pulse of adrenaline too, a few brilliant seconds of pure fucking thrill. The utter lack of control. The freedom of a freefall. And she's halfway crazy enough to think it that feeling could just be worth being splattered on the ground.

Either way, all she can do is let it happen. ]

[ He waits as long as he's able to before diving after her. Maybe this time he won't reach her and he'll have to cover for why a member of the Department fell out of the sky and painted the street below.

He snags her just in time inches from the ground, flapping his wings hard to get back in the air properly. ]

Still alive?

[ The ground rushes up so fast she's half-convinced she really is going to fucking die. For real. For the first time. And she's not nearly as afraid of that as she probably should be.

But the impact never comes. It's close — so damn close that she swears she can feel the tail of her long hair kiss the pavement before Izo sweeps her back up, mere seconds from becoming a smear of blood and gore.

It's ballsy, asking her a question like that. Still alive? Fuck. Must be, with her blood pounding so loudly in her ears. She can't help a breathless laugh. ]

Bastard. [ She accuses admiringly. ] Fuck me — you don't think you could have cut it any fucking closer?

Coulda. Think ya might'a scraped th' pavement if I did.

[ Even as drunk as he is, he's annoyingly confident. ]

Now I'm gettin' fuckin' tired carrying yer ass 'round. Guess after almost killin' ya, th' least I can do is take ya home.

That's twice, by the fucking way.

[ Twice he's almost killed her, even if it was a couple centuries apart. But she doesn't resent that. Not judging by the look on her face. Who the fuck even knows if she's still drunk or if the high is from something else entirely. ]

Does it still count as chivalry if you almost kill a girl before offering to take her home?

Wanna make it three?

[ He laughs. They're both having a good time and that's probably not good for either of them. ]

Probably not. Don't care much for shit like that. At least I ain't makin' ya walk yer ass home.

[ Three. Isn't there a saying about third times? Dryly, with a pointed little look: ]

You wouldn't tease about something like that, would you? [ Probably says something about them, that violence and murder are the themes of their running jokes. Maybe she shouldn't be so amused by the idea of narrowly escaping death. ] You'll give a bitch a complex. Going to start thinking you like blue-balling me.

[ As if it hadn't been the best thrill she's had in a long while. ]

'Til someone pays me, I ain't gonna kill ya. Maybe jus' think yer gonna die.

[ He grins. ]

What, th' thrill'a almost dyin' turn ya on or somethin'?

So what if it does? [ Wryly: ] Maybe having you drop me is my idea of foreplay.

[ There's not much space between them like this, with him carrying her and her arms around his neck — and the proximity somehow seems to put a certain emphasis on her words that they might not have otherwise. ]

You still want to take me home?

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