[ She's pissed about it — that much it obvious. Her moods have never been as secret as she's wanted them to be. But blame is complicated and almost beside the point. She knows that sometimes this is how things are said. She knows they're not gentle people — that they're broken, full of jagged pieces, and that violence is the only way they can say a lot of things. Things they wouldn't be able to say any other way. Ugly shit like this.
Doesn't make her less angry. But her anger coexists with understanding. She can't decide if that's better or worse. ]
Beating the shit out of him probably didn't change his mind. [ Nishitani does and thinks and says what he wants. She wouldn't change that — she loves that — but she doesn't love this. Hurts her every damn time. ] So now what. It's my turn? Because I'm not going to fucking fight you, Majima.
[ He didn't want to change his mind, he wanted him to shut up. Their relationship is violence. It's always been what Nishitani has asked from him, goaded him in to over and over again. He's not particularly sorry, especially not considering the wound Nishitani keeps digging in to.
He swears to fuck he has tried to answer, but hasn't quite been able to convince himself to say it outright. That someone kept him as a stupid little pet, that he was almost ready to give away his soul. That it fills him with cold, sweating dread every time he even approaches the thought and that's why the nightmares. He never pulls away in his nightmares. He was almost there, they almost had him, irreparably. It wasn't a game. It wasn't a choice. He was almost there. Nothing terrifies him more. He terrifies himself.
His heart rate ticks up, just thinking about it now. His face is drawn, grey. ]
Ya didn't answer me. What was it, Andy.
[ A young, idealistic yakuza flayed open in the torture hole. Taken back out into the sun to be retrained, brainwashed and then beaten when he started to buck. A cage with no bars: controlled with anxiety and fear and violence and conditioning. A shell of a thing that stares into the river.
The little blind girl that he couldn't bring himself to kill had saved his soul. ]
[ It's not something she's particularly keen to recount out loud. Not because she's the type to flinch away from this kind of thing — the rotting gods know she's seen enough horror for a hundred lifetimes by now — but because what she saw that day didn't seem like it was meant for her to know. And she might have preferred to pretend it never happened at all. To go on as if nothing between them had changed, and she hadn't witnessed some terrible piece of his past.
That's always been her way. Pretending. Never asking questions. But here they are now, and confrontation has become unavoidable. ]
What do you want me to say? [ It's quiet but tense. ] That I saw you get treated like a fucking dog? Tortured and beaten? You want me to tell you how it felt to see your fucking fear?
[ His stare is frigid; cold and black. Yes. That is what he wanted her to say, to acknowledge. He stares at her darkly for a moment longer, narrow and angry. He pretends too, every day that he acts as though he is a person, as though he can function. It does not stop it hurting him, always. All the time.
Then he leaves her with the unconscious loud mouth, the door shuts firmly behind him. ]
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no subject
[ He crosses his arms, cigarette drooping from his lip. ]
Em told me about hers. I can see Izo's on his face. [ He points down at Nishitani. ] This motherfucker won't shut up about it.
[ Eyes back to her. ]
So, which set of shit did ya get out of my head?
no subject
[ She counters, quiet but sharp, her words chasing fast on the tail end of his. ]
Which one was worth making me come find him like this?
no subject
[ He slouches deeper back against the door, staring at her narrowly. ]
no subject
Doesn't make her less angry. But her anger coexists with understanding. She can't decide if that's better or worse. ]
Beating the shit out of him probably didn't change his mind. [ Nishitani does and thinks and says what he wants. She wouldn't change that — she loves that — but she doesn't love this. Hurts her every damn time. ] So now what. It's my turn? Because I'm not going to fucking fight you, Majima.
cw: all of majima's trauma shit
He swears to fuck he has tried to answer, but hasn't quite been able to convince himself to say it outright. That someone kept him as a stupid little pet, that he was almost ready to give away his soul. That it fills him with cold, sweating dread every time he even approaches the thought and that's why the nightmares. He never pulls away in his nightmares. He was almost there, they almost had him, irreparably. It wasn't a game. It wasn't a choice. He was almost there. Nothing terrifies him more. He terrifies himself.
His heart rate ticks up, just thinking about it now. His face is drawn, grey. ]
Ya didn't answer me. What was it, Andy.
[ A young, idealistic yakuza flayed open in the torture hole. Taken back out into the sun to be retrained, brainwashed and then beaten when he started to buck. A cage with no bars: controlled with anxiety and fear and violence and conditioning. A shell of a thing that stares into the river.
The little blind girl that he couldn't bring himself to kill had saved his soul. ]
no subject
That's always been her way. Pretending. Never asking questions. But here they are now, and confrontation has become unavoidable. ]
What do you want me to say? [ It's quiet but tense. ] That I saw you get treated like a fucking dog? Tortured and beaten? You want me to tell you how it felt to see your fucking fear?
no subject
Then he leaves her with the unconscious loud mouth, the door shuts firmly behind him. ]