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

[ 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.

[ He hates being seen. The vulnerability of his neuroses being known doesn't feel good. It's a weakness laid bare. At least Andy won't poke at it, but that doesn't make it any better. ]

Yeah...Hardest fuckin' thing I ever done. Dunno how th' fuck I tricked 'em into lovin' a guy like me. [ He scrubs at his face again with a sigh. ] Ever wonder how th' fuck ya got t' this point? ...'S how I feel ev'ry day.

Like all'a this is some kinda fucked up dream an' it'll all come crashin' down when I wake up. Be back at square one...

[ Propping her elbow up on the bar counter, she rests her face in her hand as she watches him. Her next breath is a wry little exhale. There's something in her expression that softens the natural severity of her features — something rueful, like she's a bit sorry that they can relate to each other this way. It's bittersweet, understanding another person when it comes to things like this. But she does understand. Maybe not completely — but maybe enough. ]

Been wondering that every day for the last six thousand years and change.

[ Honestly, she's still not sure how she got here. Not sure what she ever did to deserve all the times in her long life that she's had love of any kind. ]

But it's not a dream. It's real. [ A small pause — then she reaches out and gives him a light pinch on the arm. Wryly: ] See?

[ Well, that snaps him out of his thoughts. He glares and swats at her hand. ]

Oi, that fuckin' hurt! [ He huffs. ] I oughta cut ya for doin' that.

[ That's better, that's much more like his usual attitude. Meaningless bluster in an attempt to make himself appear tougher than he really is. ]

[ She lets him swat at her, taking her little punishment in stride and offering a wry little smirk in response. Maybe it's her way of easing them off a path that would lead to a dark, depressing place before either of them is properly drunk enough to deal with it. Then again, maybe the woman is just a bastard, and she can only hold back her natural urge to torment another person for so long before it practically becomes compulsion. Either way, she doesn't look especially apologetic.

Dryly, with her face still casually resting in her hand: ]

Yeah? [ He gets a pointed look. ] You know how I am with that shit. Probably consider it foreplay.

[ It's a good deflection and even if it's just her being a bastard, he appreciates it. He doesn't want to be that sad crying drunk in public -- that's just embarrassing. ]

Yeah? Shouldn't be surprised yer into that, too... [ He flashes a sharp-toothed grin. ] Almost killin' ya got ya ready t' pounce on me before. But ya were a lot fuckin' drunker'n ya are now.

[ Andy gives a one-shouldered shrug in response. She's not going to deny it. There's no reason to — what he said is more or less the truth, and it isn't as if she's ashamed. She's too old for that kind of shame. Bitch likes what she likes. ]

Just because I was drunk doesn't mean I needed to be. [ Wryly: ] Why, don't you think I like you when I'm sober?

'Course I don't. 'S a whole lot fuckin' easier t' deal with someone like me when yer drunk.

[ He doesn't sound upset about this. It sounds more like he's stating facts; he's well-aware of the abrasive jerk he is. ]

[ She's not exactly known for her charming personality either. Andy's a difficult woman in more ways than one, some ways more intentional than others.

Her answer is a little hum of acknowledgement first, her posture straightening as she turns to toss back whatever remains of the sake in her glass. It's plain and nonchalant when she finally speaks: ]

I like you fine.

[ Izō does the same before laughing, sharp and short. ]

Now I really know ya got shit taste. Whatever, ain't gonna try to convince ya otherwise.

[ Because he knows ("knows") she'll get sick of dealing with him eventually just like everyone else. He'll eventually stop believing this lie because it clashes with reality so much that it's harder to believe it the longer he's here, but not today. It's hard to erase that much trauma. ]

[ She gives him another one of her pointed little sidelong looks, her voice wry when she replies this time: ]

That's some rude shit to say to a woman who just told you she likes you.

Dunno if ya noticed, I'm kinda fuckin' rude.

[ A grin, then his expression softens. He can't look at her when he's about to say something nice. It's so much easier to look away and act like she's not right next to him. ]

...Is it nicer if I say I like ya, too?

[ She had noticed. But then again, maybe she prefers him that way. He wasn't exactly wrong about her taste. Still, she does Izo the courtesy of sparing him from her gaze, occupying herself instead with refilling their drinks. It leaves both their glasses a little too full, threatening to spill as she empties out the last dregs from the bottle. ]

Probably. [ The wryness lingers in her voice. ] But I don't mind it when you're rude either, hitokiri.

[ Too full is fine. He leans down to sip at the sake to keep it from overflowing, dignity be damned. ]

An' I don't mind it when yer a bitch, either.

[ Fondness in his tone. They have a strange relationship to be sure, but it suits them. ]

[ Her mouth curves slightly upward in a smile that’s a bit smug and not quite friendly, half-hidden behind her drink when she lifts it to her lips, somehow managing not to spill. ]

I think you prefer me that way. [ Her dark eyes are knowing as she watches him. ] You like it when I’m a little mean to you.

[ He ducks his head, gritting his teeth. She isn't wrong -- it's easier when people are mean to him. That he can understand, at least.

That and he just likes it when people are mean to him in more ... intimate settings. ]

So what? Somethin' wrong with that? Huh?

[ Yes, he's getting aggressive and fussy about it. Does anyone expect anything less of him? ]

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