jigokulogs | [SEMI-CLOSED] wretched and wild, all glory and trash.

[ She could argue — a fight of any kind is never really off the table where Andy's concerned — and if she's perfectly honest, she's not so sure what privacy even means between all of them anymore. Not when they've been swimming in each other's trauma and sharing the same dick. But maybe it's not really about that. Maybe it doesn't matter so much what she thinks about it anyway.

Finally, she answers: ]

Okay.

[ That's all. Just that one word of acknowledgment. No argument. No fight. ]

[ He's expecting a fight, he's expecting to get challenged further and get more pushback.

He's not expecting her to just back off like that. It catches him so far off guard that he's speechless for a minute. Few people ever afford him even a modicum of respect. Izō looks away, his body language softening. Now he's embarrassed for a different reason. ]

...Why're ya out here, anyway?

[ Dumb question, but it gets the attention of himself. ]

Edited 2022-06-30 05:11 (UTC)

[ Maybe it's just that, in the end, she could tell that it mattered to him. Frivolous antagonism is one thing — but she's not so callous as she seems. Even now, she's willing to extend him the courtesy of pretending like she hasn't noticed the change in his body language, instead occupying her hands by digging out a cigarette and pressing it between her lips. ]

I'm an alcoholic. [ Wryly: ] Why do you think?

[ Still, it's amicable when she holds her pack out to him, offering if he wants. ]

Besides, I've done almost nothing but sleep for the last fucking week. Needed to stretch my legs.

[ Of course he wants it -- he's a chainsmoker. Izō gives her a grateful nod as he takes a cigarette. ]

Yeah, I...ain't been out much since I came back. [ Since Majima dragged him back. A pause as he lights his cigarette, offering her the lighter. ] Sounds like a good excuse as any t' get drunk, right?

[ She waits for him to pluck a cigarette free before she tucks her pack away into her pocket, leaning forward half-absently to have her own cigarette lit before she straightens again. Smoke wisps from her mouth when she answers him, that cigarette bobbing precariously at the corner of her lips. ]

Want me to buy you a drink? [ Her wryness is relentless, but amicable. ] Or should we go find a roof somewhere?

Want me t' almost let ya hit th' pavement again?

[ A shot right back, but... ]

Sure, I'll let ya buy me drink. An' I'll buy ya one, too. 'S only fair.

Like hell. [ She gives him a rough clap on the back, right between the wings. ] It's my treat. I'm the only one that hasn't welcomed you home yet.

[ That's probably the most she'll say about him being gone. A small, subtle acknowledgement of this thing they're both a part of — and casual enough to be played off, if they both prefer. But there's this point too: That she noticed, even if it didn't feel like her place to do or say anything about it afterward. ]

We can decide on risking my ass for fun later. You got a bar around here you like?

'Ey!

[ Yes, he's going to fuss about getting clapped on the back like that. It's short-lived fussing that gives way to a different kind of fussing, the kind where he's flustered by people giving a shit about him. It's a small acknowledgement, but a meaningful one. He ducks his head as he shrugs, cheeks flushed. ]

...Yeah, there's one that ain't too far. Couple'a blocks down. Real shithole, but th' drinks are cheap'n strong.

Sounds like my kind of shithole.

[ Not that she's ever been especially picky about that kind of thing, and she's never going to argue where a cheap strong drink is involved. Besides, alcohol makes everything easier. Then she'll have the booze to blame for being sentimental, and he'll have the buzz to blame for the flush in his cheeks. ]

Come on. Lead the way. [ Wryly then: ] If we start early, there might still be time to find a roof to jump off later.

An' maybe this time I won't catch ya an' ya get t' see what that feels like.

[ Said with an unnecessarily bright tone.

It isn't a far walk and if you weren't looking for a bar, you'd miss it. It's a glorified hallway on the inside, empty aside from the bartender, a cheerful haradashi. They give Izō a wave and make idle chatter about how this is the first time he's brought a friend along -- or is she a date? ]

Oh shut it. Ya know what I want. Leave th' bottle.

[ Of course it's sake. He can't let go of his tastes from so long ago. It's not even good sake, but the effect will be the same. ]

Shoulda asked since yer payin' an' all, but...Yer th' type t' drink anythin', ain't ya?

[ It’s a quaint little hole-in-rhe-wall that suits her purposes just fine. She doesn’t mind the empty space, or the chatty yokai manning the bar. The haradashi’s comments earn Andy’s wry amusement, evidenced by how the corner of her mouth quirks up ever so slightly. She won’t bother to correct them.

As for her part, Andy’s never been a particularly picky drinker. Most of the time, she drinks out of habit rather than for pleasure - but then again, at her age, most of the things she does are more habit than anything else. So he’s not exactly wrong, and she answers with an acquiescing shrug. ]

I’m easy with that shit. [ A bit dryly: ] I’m easy with a lot of shit. You, on the other hand, I’ve only ever seen drink sake.

I know what I fuckin' like. I ain't picky, but if I gotta choice, I'll take sake.

[ It's familiar. He's a creature of habit. Servants tend to cling to the things they knew in life, for better or worse. ]

Ya gotta have a drink ya like better'n anythin', right? Even after ya been alive for so fuckin' long.

[ She sits with one arm propped up on the bar counter, her face resting in her hand and her head tilted towards him as she listens, that look of amusement still lingering in the shape of her mouth and her eyes. ]

Nothing wrong with knowing what you like. [ Mild agreement, then wryly: ] It’s just hard to have favorites at my age. I’m old as dirt. I’ve tried a lot of different shit. How the fuck would I ever choose?

Eh, ya gotta point...Ain't like I been alive since I was executed. Jus' remember what I like from back then.

[ Being a Servant is weird. He has the knowledge needed to survive in the modern world, but he's still just a guy from Bakumatsu-era Japan. What he wants is long gone, so he just has to adapt. ]

I don't get how th' fuck ya ain't lost yer mind after bein' alive for that long.

[ But there's a good point to what he's saying too. Andy's just as much a creature of habit — some of them worse than others, and certainly more ingrained in her than someone else's bad habits would be. Hard not to get stuck in your ways. After all, even if she isn't so picky with her booze, drinking's been a pet vice of hers since the before humans forged their first iron. ]

I think I have. A few times. [ Lost her mind, that is. With a twinge of wryness then: ] Pretty sure you have too, at least a little.

[ Absently, she pours the sake for both of them, just like she did the first time they drank together. ]

You don't acclimate to shit like "living in hell" without being at least a little fucked in the head. It's not supposed to come that easy. But here we fucking are.

[ Izō absentmindedly rubs the back of his neck, feeling the shape of a scar hidden beneath his hair. She's more right than he wants to admit about losing his mind a bit. What he (and the others that came from there) endured in Hakagemachi would be enough to drive almost anyone to madness. ]

...Yeah. Well, when ya don't got a choice, it's easier jus' t' let go, ain't it?

[ He toys with his glass for a second before taking another drink. ]

No sense in fightin' what we can't fuckin' fight.

[ She gives him a wry little sidelong look before tipping her own drink back. It's in her voice too, that wryness — and underneath that, something rueful and tired. Maybe even a bit sad. ]

No sense, sure. But that's all I've ever done. [ The corner of her mouth quirks up humorlessly. ] Always fight when I shouldn't. Can't help it. I'm an idiot and a romantic.

Besides. [ Again, she pours. ] I don't know how to do anything else.

[ They're more alike than he really wants to admit. He grimaces and immediately contradicts what he just said. ]

I mean, me, too. I'm too stupid t' know any diff'rent. All I can do is fuckin' fight... [ Fuck it, drink and forget this. ] Hell's a damn sight better'n where I came from. Maybe that's why I ain't fightin' it. I jus' wanna fight t' protect what I got...

[ Is that too much to ask? He's actually kind of...happy? in Hell. It doesn't make any sense. ]

[ Hell hasn’t been so bad, has it? She’d been willing to try her luck with a gun pressed to her own head when she’d first shown up - but things are different now. She isn’t sure how or when it all happened, but there’s a life here for her. People she cares about. It’s bittersweet - and hard for her to admit out loud. ]

We’re just like dogs, you and me [ Wryly: ] Don’t know too many tricks. Just bark and bite when we have to.

[ Another drink. The alcohol always makes it easier to talk. Or at least it gives her the excuse. ]

It’s good here, in a lot of ways. Sometimes that keeps me up at night.

[ They are a lot alike, far too alike for him to be entirely comfortable with. It's not a bad thing at its core, more that he doesn't like that anyone has had a similarly shitty life to his that they ended up the same way. Izō is reckless and violent with an inferiority complex a mile wide from a lifetime of being treated like he was lesser. No one else should be able to relate to him. He should just be the one on the outside, cast aside by everyone for being the way he is. A violent killer who had no place in polite society. ]

Yeah...Me, too. [ An extremely vulnerable admission. ] This is supposed t' be punishment, ain't it? Shouldn't be a good time for any'a us.

[ And recently it wasn't. Izō was badly traumatized by everything that happened during the blood rain. The people he hurt, the unwanted glimpses into the nightmares of his loved ones, the memories of his own torture and execution dredged back up -- it's no wonder he ran from it all instead of facing it.

But he's here now, with one of the people he'd yet to reconcile with. That meant something, didn't it? ]

[ The blood rain is something she'd rather not talk about, if she's honest. She'd managed not to deal with much of her own past — but the people she cares about hadn't been so lucky. And it's the caring that always drives her to exhaustion. She can't help herself — she's the sentimental type, despite knowing better — and sometimes she resents her own bleeding heart. But it can't be undone. Her feelings are what they are.

Those feelings are probably less than what her people deserve, but it's all she has.

At length, with a rare quietness: ]

They worried, when you were gone. And I couldn't do a damn thing.

[ Izō stays silent for awhile, the gamut of emotions he's going through written around his face. He knows they worried; he saw the messages and missed calls, he heard the pain in Majima's voice and the way Emily looked at him. He'd hurt everyone he cared about by disappearing, even if he thought it was the best thing to do at the time.

It wasn't. What's done is done and so is the damage. All he can do is be here to pick up the pieces. That's what he's doing now, isn't it?

He grits his teeth. ]

...Yeah. Sorry. [ For leaving her in that situation. ] I jus'...did what I thought'd be safest. For ev'ryone.

[ He empties his cup again, keeping his gaze on the bar. ]

Guess I'm too stupid t' know what's best for anyone. Maybe I'll fuckin' learn somethin' this time.

[ Something subtle shifts in her expression — like she's a little surprised to hear him say the word sorry. And it makes her chest twinge uncomfortably. That shouldn't be for her. ]

Don't. [ Apologize. ] Not with me. It wasn't a fucking criticism. That's not what I —

[ An exhale, as she lifts a hand to tiredly push her hair back from her face. A half-beat. Then, she empties her cup too. Maybe it's the slight burn of the alcohol that adds a bit of rough edge to her voice when she tries again: ]

We all gave a damn, that's all. Sometimes it's nice to remember people give a damn.

[ Is it nice? Or is it almost impossible to accept due to a lifetime of maybe one person ever giving a damn about him? He didn't want anyone to care that he'd been gone. He still thinks they'd be better off without him. It was so much easier when no one cared, when he was disposable.

The night's only just begun and he's already about to cry. He takes a deep breath, wiping at his eyes. She doesn't need to see him like this. A fearsome, infamous manslayer unable to cope with the fact that people care. ]

I guess...'s easier when no one gives a shit. Ain't used t' no one carin' if I live or die, y'know?

[ Sentiment can be a heavy burden. Andy knows that better than most. Sometimes it feels like the weight of her love will break her. When she pretends she doesn't give a damn, it's a survival tactic — a defense mechanism that keeps her all in one piece — for all the good that pretending even does her. How long as she been in the city? A few months and change? And here she is, doing the same sentimental shit all over again.

She should probably regret it. She might, eventually. But not yet. Not here. ]

If no one else gives a shit, then we don't have to either. Right? [ She's often indulged a passive suicidality. Always fighting the curse of her immortality. Always daring death to take her. Playing Russian roulette with her life. It didn't matter — except when there was someone waiting for her to come home. ] It's hard to be loved. To have other people's happiness depend on you. [ A twinge of wryness then: ] I probably would have run the fuck away too.

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