jigokulogs | semi-closed 🔪 sometimes it's better to lose than compromise

[There are any number of Shuten bases littered throughout the city and, while normally tied to sub-families, most of them have been opened as safehouses to anyone who wears the clan's crest. Not that, in his currently state of mind, Ajax- no, Tartaglia would have cared. The man that tumbles in through the door is clutching a broken umbrella in one hand, a knife in the other and soaked with blood- and it's apparent that not all of it was a result of the freakish weather.

He looks around the room, pupils dilated and chest heaving- and when his gaze lands on Nishitani, he nearly turns his blade on him out of instinct. But he doesn't.

Safe. No, he's not safe but he can stop and that's enough.

First, he tries to say "aniki" but the syllables roll around his tongue, refusing to settle into the order he needs them to no matter how hard he tries. It becomes akini, aniniki and, when his mouth gives up and betrays him altogether, a cursed in slurred Snezhnayan. But he's quick to hide- or at least attempt to hide- his struggle with a flat smile and a theatrical shaking of his umbrella.

His eyes are even duller than usual.]

Mr. Nishitani. [~~Ajax~~ ~~Tartaglia Childe speaks carefully this time, taking care not to let his stutter come through.]~~ Still alive, I see. Splendid.

[Is it convincing? Can't show weakness, can't let anyone know that he's spent the last hour groping his way through the dark and trying to chase a frightened boy with a missing tooth in the dark, that he'd spent the two before that fighting and fighting and somehow surviving even when-]

Are you real?

[ Doing his rounds means going to these sub-families, making sure they keep their fucking doors open, making sure they're providing-- and in the middle of a check, who else would bust in through the door but-- ]

Chi-chan.

[ Only Childe looks rough, looks dazed, looks caught in a nightmare and Nishitani is so fucking tired of people caught in nightmares. The kid stumbles, but manages to get out his name, so Nishitani approaches carefully pulls that broken umbrella from his grip, content to let Childe keep the knife because trying to remove it will just end with him being stabbed. ]

[ Again. ]

Alright, kid. I'm real enough to tell you to sit the fuck down.

[Going for the umbrella nearly has the same effect. The corner of Childe's mouth twitches as Nishitani pries it away and his grip on the knife tightens enough to make the veins on the backs of his hands stand out. But the smile stays put, stays lifeless and even- on the contrary, it widens to bear white teeth. A ghost of a memory urges him to try and put his tongue through a gap that isn't there anymore or worry a tooth loosened by training too intense for a child.

All parts of him that have regrown and settled and scarred over. Or maybe not, because right now he feels carved open, like someone's elbow deep in his guts and pulling him apart from the inside out.

He smiles.]

I'd be more convinced if you'd told me to fuck off.

[There's still a faraway quality to his voice and his eyes don't quite focus but, if nothing else, he seems less liable to try and gut him at the slightest provocation. Still, it might be a little unsettling when he leans forward, bringing their faces far too close together for comfort.

Nishitani breath is all heat and nicotine- and its presence alone is enough for him to believe that he's telling the truth for now.]

Alright, then fuck off and sit down, asshole. Need me to fucking strip you, too, or are you going to tell me where you're hurt? [ Nishitani tosses the umbrella away, taking a step back from Childe at that grin, disliking it and wishing the kid would just stop pretending. No one here needs to be convinced, the blood rain and constant, tangible nightmares have everyone on edge. ]

Don't touch me.

[He says it so lightly that it almost doesn't sound like the warning it very much is. Regardless, Childe mirrors his movements and backs up again so that he can properly consider his question. Where does it hurt? Frankly, it doesn't hurt enough for his liking.]

Are we swapping roles now, comrade? [This time, the hard "c" comes out with a stammer and he bites his tongue for its disobedience.] Your bedside manner is appalling.

Hey, fucking stop that. [ Nishitani doesn't want Childe to bite off his own tongue just because of a skip in his speech. ] I'm not taking any chances with this fucking cursed rain, so show where you're hurt.

[A hint of petulance comes over his face at the scolding and it doesn't look quite right on him; spirited as he is, Childe is a military man and discipline was beaten into him from the moment he became a Fatuus. From before that, really, and the thought of his oldest teacher and her stern eyes- he'd been searching for her too without even realising it, hadn't he?- makes his stomach twist.

So, he forces himself to focus, sucking on his sore tongue and staring hard at Nishitani until the blurred lines of his features settle into a more solid shape.]

... I'm not- it's nothing. [Nothing to a Harbinger, at least.] I'm just tired.

[Saying it aloud breaks the spell. With a soft huff, Childe drops forward and crumples against Nishitani, forehead pressed to his shoulder and eyes squeezed shut.]

Edited 2022-06-20 17:53 (UTC)

We're all tired, kid. [ But Nishitani doesn't push Childe away. Instead he just brings a hand up to pat the kid's head, to rest in a loose one armed hug at the end. What Nishitani said is true: everyone's tired. Nishitani is tired-- Nishitani doesn't get tired, but he's fucking beat from all the shit this cursed garbage is raining down. He's been on his feet since the beach, either with Andy or Toraguma, he wants to lay down, he wants a fucking bath, but all that gets to wait. Childe is tired, they're all tired. Nishitani knows this is a safe place to rest because he made it one-- so lucky for Childe, his rest should come soon. ]

[For a few moments, he stays like that, silent but for the uneven shudder of his breathing as he tries to calm down. Only the warmth of Nishitani's body keeps him from slipping back into his half-dreams and the Abyss lurking within them, ties him to present. The veins in his eyelids throb; his lungs ache. He breathes.

In, out.

Reluctantly, he draws back and opens his eyes, though he doesn't raise them just yet. Instead, he reaches up and takes hold of Nishitani's lapel. He still doesn't feel quite real and, almost out of nowhere, he's hit by a sudden need to hear his own name.]

Ajax. Just- just for now, call me Ajax.

Ajax? [ Nishitani taps out a ciggarette while Childe composes himself, letting the kid do so with moderate privacy, Nishitani's eyes aimed elsewhere. When he lights up and pulls back, with the smoke that leaves his lips: ]

Miles fucking better than Chi-chan, kid.

[Slowly, the world comes into focus. His sneakers are dark with blood, the frayed bottoms of his pants dyed red where it's soaked into the fabric. Opposite, Nishitani's loafers. He lifts his chin, letting his gaze wander up over the lines of his legs, past his belt and tie and finally to his face. There's still a slightly distant look to Childe's eyes but he's at least making an effort to stay conscious.

A moment of weakness is acceptable- but nothing more.

At once, any doors that might have been opened into his mind are slammed shut once more. It's a physical transformation as much as a mental one; he brute forces his body into its typical casual stance and his expression back into indiscernibility. The smile he gives him is strained but secure, like a tightly laced mask.]

Miles better than "kid", old man. [He turns away, heading over to the water cooler in the corner.] You look even worse than when I saw you at the clinic.

[Instead of drinking, he cups a hand beneath the spout, pours himself some cold water directly into it and splashes it over his face.]

[ Nishitani notes each change, the way Childe's shoulders go back, the confidence that straightens his spine. There's no noise, Nishitani not mentioning Childe cleaning off but instead going over and offering him a napkin once he's finished. ] There's a shower, you know.

[As inviting as a hot shower sounds right about now, he's far more put off by the thought of making himself vulnerable long enough to even take one. Instead, he takes the napkin and scrubs at his face- a little harder than is really necessary, it has to be said.]

I'll pass, thanks.

[What he does do is peel off his jacket and toss it across the back of a chair. His shirt follows and, without explanation, he heads towards the tiny excuse for a kitchenette at the back and puts his entire head under the tap. It's ice cold but he doesn't stop until the water through his hair runs clear. A collection of fresh wounds -some have already been sewn up- are on full display, along with a few patches of peeling skin along his shoulders.]

semi-closed 🔪 sometimes it's better to lose than compromise

late event lmk if this is okay!!

i love it

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject