takashi shirogane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earthshine) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2023-09-13 06:03 pm
earthshine) wrote in singillatim2023-09-13 06:03 pm
Entry tags:
improvise. adapt. overcome →
Who: Takashi Shirogane +
What: Surviving
When: Permanent Log for all (mis)adventures
Where: Town + Nearby Areas
Content Warnings:
What: Surviving
When: Permanent Log for all (mis)adventures
Where: Town + Nearby Areas
Content Warnings:
‘ghost’ horror; hauntings; death of npcs; (wild) animal attacks; character injury; themes of suicide; themes of depression; feelings of isolation; potential attempted suicide; PTSD triggers; mention of imprisonment; physical violence; body dysmorphia
for keith: october tdm; guilty party
this time, he awakens to a nightmare.
it’s the smell that gets to him first. he breathes in and recoils with a peel back of his upper lip, as well as a hard exhale, physically trying to rid himself of that metallic tang. it’s mixed with a dampness that is heavy with mildew, suffocating him just as well as… the blood? yes. blood. that’s the scent of blood. shiro’s accustomed to that, too. sometimes he’d be hauled back to his cell without an allowed shower, his matches scheduled so closely together that washing would be a waste of time. so he’d sit there in that small space, saturated in the blood of his opponent – and sometimes his own, too – feeling sick and claustrophobic with every fill of his lungs.
the thing is… for it to smell this intensely of blood, there needs to be copious amounts of it. dread fills him at the thought, adrenaline upticking to chase away the last of his grogginess as he moves to get up –
metal clinks in the dark and it’s then that he registers the heaviness around his wrists, pulled together behind the chair, and his ankles, each other clasped to a wooden leg. he tests the give with more coordinated pulls, but ultimately, doesn’t give into the frantic urge to outright struggle against them. not yet. not when he realizes who is bound in a seat across from him. ]
Keith.
[ perhaps that should make him more frantic, that his best friend, the one person he is committed to protecting in this place, is being held captive, too, but stillness finds shiro as he urgently looks keith over, trying to assess his well-being from sight alone. this, of course, only lasts a beat before the entirely useless question comes: ]
Are you okay?
[ obviously not. neither of them are. slightly more useful this time: ]
What happened?
no subject
Shiro!
[ he'd recognize that silhouette anywhere, and even without the benefit of a clearly lit room, that is unmistakably shiro's voice. stupidly enough, it actually calms keith for a moment because every problem becomes much more manageable when his best friend is there, but the relief doesn't last long. how could it?
they've both been trapped here somehow and that warm, metallic stench paints a fairly vivid picture of exactly what could go wrong. he swallows quickly giving himself a mental shake as he tries to twist his right hand free. ]
I don't know! I just remember checking the snares with you and -- [ a beat. ] Are you hurt anywhere?
[ grimacing, he gives up on wriggling his hand free and instead tries to kick out his legs. the weighted chair barely budges, but the minute movement sloshes the pool of part-coagulated liquid at his feet.
calm as shiro would always say, patience yields focus.
taking his eyes off shiro, he glances around the darkened room, hoping to identify something that might be of use. ]
If I can get to my kni
[ but that's as far as keith gets in his plan. from the darkest corner of the room, a masked figure takes several steps toward them, the face obscured by a stone jackal mask illuminated in green. it gives no indication of having heard any treachery but simply speaks in a voice like a cacophony of demonic whispers. ]
“̸̙̟̟̿Ẉ̵̙̣̬̱͇͓͚͙͔͛̿̒͜Í̸̘͇͚͚̫̜̫͓͔̮̲̘̪̣̏̂̈́́͝͠C̸̨̜̜̳̖͊͛̈́̉̀̊̎̀̇̋̆̕̚K̶͕͖̭̑͂͜ͅȨ̷̨̛̛̠̰͔̯̻̻̱̝̥̈́͌̑͊D̷̨̺̮̩̩̼̙̲̱͓̬̾͐̅̋N̸̢̨̤̓̾̑͑̾̌́͝E̶̢̟̜̖̟̜͔͎̟͊̏̆̊̄̒̊̚͝S̷̟͕̞̋̎̒̀͐͊̍̓͐̋̈́͐̆S̵̢̞͔̦̥̮̣̖̼͈̉̈̔̈́͐̍͛͐ͅ ̸̳̟̠̠̬͔̜͆͌̓͊͆̿̔̈̑̏͑͘L̵̩̆͊͆̇͒̎̋͠I̴̡̛̛̹̺̞̲̟͕̱͌̓̚͜͜ͅĘ̶̧̲̘͈͕͉̺̼̃̍̽͐̊̔̔͗̀̃̌́̈͝͠S̵̨̨͈̻̱̹̄̋͒̉̅̐ ̵̝̩̦͍͇͍̃̍̀̓̓̈́̈̓́̓̅̈́͌Ẁ̵̢̧̬͈͙̣͎̝̫̿̈́̓̈́́̌̂̆́́͆̕͠͠Í̸̲̰̱̫̫ͅT̶͚̞̀̋̽̍̓͌̐̀̾̑̀̀̑̓Ḩ̸͚͎͖͐̀̉́̄̆͋͑̍̚͠Í̵̲̩̻͉̜N̵̢͓̖͔̟̟̑͑̐͊̑̒̅̽͑ ̵̡̮͕̹̣̯̐͑Ỳ̸̨̨̦̮̲͎͙̐Ờ̸͈̗͕̀͒̓̿̓̐̅͊̑͝Ṵ̶̳́̌̊̔̀̂͛̀͝.̴̢̢̧̯̼̺͖̟͖͍̬̗̮̲̍͌̍̍ ̷̥͓͙̪͔̱̣̗͎̗͈̯̎͊̂̈́̈́̽̓͛̕Ḭ̴̡̛̝͕̺̤̣̜̯̟̣̹̪̆͌̑̐ ̸̩̲̮̼̑͌͒̃̓̀͗͗̊̃͂H̵̖̲̦͑͐̇͊́̊̿̃̉̿̈̿͘͝A̷̢̨̢͉̬͈̪̺͇͇̲̬͈̬͗̆̆͊̿͜͝͝V̴͈̖̮̐̋Ę̶͕͍̱͖̩̫̙̉̉͆͛͂͝ͅ ̷̢̨̨̻͚̲̺̻̣̬̦̬͎͋̑͛͌ͅṠ̷̨͔̖͖̩͇̱̟̪̼͖́͜ͅȨ̴̨̞̖̠̮̬̝̭͙̙̟̥̿͜Ě̶̦͍̖́̔̅̎͐͘N̶̮͍̙̙̣̎̿́ ̵̬͔͙̃̚I̶̛̭͉̜̐̍̇̒̆͋̿͝T̷̡̻̜̗̱̩̳̝͍̲̺̤̤͂̿̽̕ͅ.̷̛̪̤͖̮͈̖̜̰̳̓̀̑͗̍̈̋̚ ̸̢̲̥̤̲̬͍͕̻̣̤̫͈͐̂͛̓̌̎͆́̂͋̀͑̓͘͝C̵̢̲̫̪̙̞̮͇͕̩̳̩̗̑̓̂̓́͊̈́̿̾͐̓̿͂̕͝Ŏ̸͉̬̥̻͕̯͈̫̦͕̰̞̱̄͜N̵̡̛̛̲̱̻̳̤͉͆̿̐͊̿̚͠͝F̴̡̡̗̣̣̳̖̦̗̠̣̣͇͐͒͛̈́̓̏̾̑ͅȆ̷̡̧͉̭͚̱̙͓͇̺̪̟͐͂̒̾̃́̔̔̊͜S̵̡̛͍̟̦͕͇̯͇̼͕̯̩͉̬̮̊̾̏̓̉̇̌̋̓̕̕Ś̴̛̤̦̱̻̦̻̫̹̪͉͍̮͎̠̈̍̈͊̋̄̓͌͐͑͘ͅ.̵̛̜̪̘̝̭̗͒̄̃̅̅ ̷̢̥͉̺͔̲͇̒̾̎̍̊̍͐̚U̴̢͇͎̻̞̻̲̞̖̬̱̭̺̹͂͛̍̋́͐͜͠Ñ̵̨̥͍̮̻̟̊̂͐̀̄͊̾̎̒̍͠B̷͙̥͓͖̼͕̈́̐̑͂̍U̸͓̎̈͆̋͌́̈̇̾̑̀̀͘̚͝R̶̡͔͖̦̲̱͖̬̦͓̺͍͔̈̚̕͝D̷͚̞͚͎̖̫̆͆̌̽̾̉È̶̻͍͕̯͇̗̰̀̏̂͌́̉͌̓̃̀N̶̨̨͈̮͒͗̂̎́̇͘͝ ̴̢͍͈̫͍̫̖̰̬͍̇̐̊̆̌̽̂͒́̈̄͌́Ý̴̉͋͑͒̓̊̂͊̊̍͜ͅȌ̵̱͋̾Ù̵̺͓̦̗̮͇̜͍̞̰̤̟̑̽͛ͅŔ̴̙͙̼̫̞̳̪̜͔͉̟̜̩͍̱̈̈͗͛̽̓̎̿ ̵̛̯̳̮̘̳͐̊̿̊̽͒͋̌̌̈̈͝͝͝Ḩ̸̗͙̋̉̓̐̀̂̓̓̾̇̓̋͝͝Ę̴̩̳̫̝̻̜͚̩̯̬̤̾̎͗̉͌͊̿͐̈́̚͜A̵̢̛̳͎̭͇̦̠̻̅̍̀̄͌̋̊̀̽̾̔̂͘̚R̴͓̰̖̹̥̫̹͔̪͓̖͇̎̉̔̋̍͐̏͑̍͗̃͒͠T̵̰͓̭̝̠̼̬͆̚ͅ ̴̮͇͖͍͓̿̏̈́̎͗͑͑͝Ä̵̫́̔͛͋͌̈́͗̌̒͑͑̀̀̈́N̵̛̲̹̯̾̅̆̿̓̏͗̈̈́̀̈́̎̆́D̶̨̧̠̗̪͖̥͖̰̦̒̍̿ ̷͓̭̟̜̥̼͙͇͓̾̉̈́̂̍B̵̞̭̹̱̞̪̟̦̤͒̐̈́́̓̀͊͆̑̀̅̚͝Ȩ̴̢͔̜̩̫͍̪̳͚͓͍̻͔́͗͆ ̴̨͎̪̻͎̖̗̙̝̱̖̾̓̂͛̅̓̅̾͆̅̄̕͝ͅͅF̷̧̬̝͇̼͙̮͈̪͈̫̺̯̑͒̌͛̓̽̋͊̋̎͘͘R̷̖͓̘̭͔͎̗͎̘̭̪̱̪͑̅̋̎̋̐͑ͅĘ̵̧̹̤̗͈̫̠͈̂̑̑Ė̵̡͙̟̟̣̖͙̲̪̏͌͒̔̄̅̄̒̈́̓͋͠.̶̢͉̦̹͕̤̻͉͍̩͋̋͜ ̵̨̧̢͈͚͎͉͖̜̬̘̜͉͚̰͠B̷̛̜͔̪̌̽̊͒̾̀̊̎͝ͅE̸̼͉͍̥̮̺͈͖̬͂̅̍́̈͋͌̐̑̃̃͘͘̚̕ͅ ̴̧̳̼͎̔̅̋̏̿̅̽̍͠Ş̶̪͈̦̠̗̪͖̋͆Î̴͔̺͉͖̠͙̣͇̦̬̩̎̏͊́Ḽ̴̨̙̀̈́̓̆̂̎̀͘͘Ȇ̷̛͖̥͓̰̾̔̔͒̀̾̄̀̅͗̾̐͠N̷̡̙̯͖͇͂̓̈́͊͘͝Ț̴̥̪̗̦͙͖͇̞̏̈́̈̌͌̐̉̏̇͆̌̀͘͝ͅ ̶͙̙͉́̈́̽̄̆̅̅́̃Ą̸̛̞̙̭̺̪̹͚̻̺̣͇̙̇̾̊͊͋̾̔͋̔̋͜͝N̴̢̡͍̲̗̯̲̙̟͕̳̬̮͛͒̐̆͊͊̋͜͝͝D̷̨̧̮̪̝͍͔̺̑́̓̓͂̃̊̽̂͝ ̴̱͙̩͇̬̓͗̃̊͑̅͐̍̍̔̈͑̍͘͝C̵̫͈̿̀̀̇̂̋͂̒͒͘͝A̸̜͕͉̜̫͍̺̱̺̹̠̪̣̣̖͋̌̎̊R̴̡̻̜͙̪̒̏̆̇̔̀͗͊̋̄̒͑͒̽Ř̷̥̩̖̿̆͠Y̴̖̟̰͎͕̊̔͛̓̅͌̒̍̂̚͝ ̵͇̲̲̂I̶̧̖̻̭̺̠̮̤̝̳͕͗̔̿̊͆̄̍̈͝T̸͎͉̜̂̈́̌̾̏̚͠͠͠ ̸̧̙̬̠͇̣̟̠͖͂͊̆̕T̷̡̛̟̍́͑́͌̄̌͑̅̈́͒̆͘Ǫ̶̡̩̘̱͎̜͓̼̼͚͕͇́͋̃́̑̔̃̋͑̎͘͝ ̵͉̌T̴͎̮͚̗͇̩̜͍͓̤̖̭̣͎̅̆H̸̡̻̫͎̗̀̈̇̃Ẽ̸̯̖͚̣̖̣̹͇̥̬̱̱͉̗̎͑̊͐ ̵̰͍͑̎͋̆̎̐̐̎̀̀̚͘G̶̣͍̬̗̟̳͇̤̯̙̏̌̌̆̚R̶̖̟̹͕͈̺͈͕̹̖͌̋A̴̩͕̗̩̋̉͊̀̈́͗̏̉̂̌̓̍͠V̷̨̰̺̪͍̞̭͉͊̉͜͜E̷̛̤̖̻̲̪̖͖̻̖̔̌̿̈̈́̉́̈́̎͌͝͠.̴̡̨̛͚̜̘̊̀͆̔”̸̝̥̥͉̑̈́̆͆̕
no subject
are you hurt anywhere?
shiro catches himself shaking his head and then offers a simple no, murmured and not quite as comforting as he’d like it to be. luckily, keith doesn’t call him out on it. not so luckily is the reason as to why.
in a dark, secluded, unfamiliar room, any voice would have shiro’s defenses rising, but this one is on its own tier of horrific. it’s a harmony, but its jarring in pitch, the many whispers converging into one that sends a shiver down shiro’s spine. hair stands on edge and a prickling of sensation keeps at the back of his head, everything in him recoiling with foreboding dread. ]
Who are you?
[ somehow, he not only finds his voice, but manages to annunciate with a firm tone, as though he isn’t scared out of his wits. he can’t see the man’s…? the creature’s…? the stranger’s eyes but he feels it the moment the figure sets its gaze upon him, and no, not only due to that jackal mask turning his way. he suddenly feels… small. caught. vulnerable. seen – ]
I̸̧̨̧̙͉̝̤̱͈͎͍͆͊̓͂ ̸̘̰̩̮̖̲̲̣̗̱̈́͜a̴̗̦̣͍͂̉͑̂̂̈́̋̉̐̕͠ͅm̷̨̛͖̗̠̘̼̍͑̈͑̾̉̆̊̈́́̅͝ ̶͍̩̰͍̫̥͎͖͎͆͌t̸̻̟̗͉̠͈͔̪̠̅͋h̴̜̟̞̫͉̫̼̻̬̅̌̉͒̂͝è̵̺̗͙ ̸̢̨͓̱̙̺̜͖̗͇̲̯͑͋͗́́͌o̷͖̻̮͐̍͛̅ņ̸̡̖͉̳̬͍̙͓̹̖̍͋̽̎͊̍͘̚e̷̢̡͉̯͇̤̜̞̳̮̘͗̀̐ ̴̧̼̹̯̭͕̥͎̯͒̈́̍̄͂̀̍̀̒͑͜͝ẃ̵̢̗̙̹̹̩̮̝̠̦̟͉͚̭̳̓̽͂͑̎͝h̷̛̰͓͙̯̠̯̏̒̓̍́̔̽̔̕̕ö̵̱͖̭͖̺̂̒ ̷̖̲̺̯̫̹͈̣̜̮͔̊͆̌̓̌͑͗̉͘͘͜ş̵̺͚͇͔̰͙̦̖̞͎̦̇̑͗̀́̄̓̐̈͂̚͠ͅȩ̸̩̼͙̬͚̞̲̰̝̩̱̗͊̿͛́̒̐͌̍̏͜͠͠͠ë̸̛̩͇̹͊̅̿͑̋̈́͘͝͝s̷̥̼͖̗͎̈́̓̃͝.̷̰͚̰̤̼̼̯͉̻̣͎̮̙̠̝̏͛̍́ ̴̨̨͎̩̩̓̿̽͌͆T̴̛̘̤̣̰͎̗͇̺͔̗̩̺̍̈́͑͊̋̈́̋̃̈́̕͘͜͝͝h̶̢͈̤̯̼̥̣̼̿e̴͖̟̜͖̙͉͖̯̟̰̩͑̃̅̿̇̇̋̓̋̾͆͋͛̋͠ř̵͇̹͕̯̍ė̵̢̠̫̤̖̝͇͇̟̥͙̝̥̙̉̀́̇̃̚̚ ̷̨̨̭͉̠̊̀̒ï̷͔̬̞̫̹͉̺͎͌͗͗̋ş̵̬͂̅̽͋͐̈̑̉͆̆̇̚ ̸̧̡̰͔͓̀͌̔̾̊͒̈́̌͑͂̚ņ̸̲̖͖͓̹̠̜͇̯̠̻̅̓̈́̀̈́́̿̓͛̽̈́͒̚ȏ̷̝̦̯͕̠̳̟̯͎̥̈́́̈́́͘͝ ̶̛͎̔̐̿̈̉̈́̍̓̎̐͆͝h̸̨͙̖̘̞̳͊̀ͅi̴̧̛̛̛͈̰̤͕̬̞̇̀̏͐̐͊̔̈́̉͝͝͝ͅḏ̷̢̧̟̩̹̆̈́́̈́͛̇́͑̈́̎̀́̏̅͠i̴̢̗̬͍̠͖͇͎͈͋̇͒̈́͗̒̂͗͒̀̐͒̕̕͝ͅn̸̨̧̡̛̗̹̟̖̼̖̖͇̈́̐̉̔̄̃͒͑̿̃́͘̕͜g̵̡͖̠̫̻̱̤̋͌̈́́̈̋̃͛̒͊̀̕͜͝ ̶̨̱̥͙͓͒̆̇̾̂̑̓̅͐̊͂͐̀͠͝w̵̤̩̗̼͒̈̀͋͂̓̃̔̓̽̉͘͘͠ͅḩ̵̨̡̘̘͙͚̮̖̣̬̱̞̠͖̈́̇͋̈̂̔̂̆̈́̓͋͘̕̕͠ǫ̷̧̼̎͋͋̾̐̽́͂̀̕̚͝ ̴̨̡̛̪͙̹̀̀̂̐̐͗̄̒͐̌y̶̬̥̦̻̔̎̋̋͆̇̾̏̽̃͛͒͒́͘ơ̴̡̢̡̜̙̺̥͓̹͚͉̳̮̫͙̌̚ứ̴͈̃́̐͑͆̈́̑̉̇̈́̅̚ ̵̮͕̂̀̄̽̄͌̓̊̊͌̉̕͝a̴͍̖̬͖͕̜͔͙̺̖̒͆͑͋̓̑́̈́̆͘͝͠r̴͔͔͈͈̺͙̲̻͕̟͉̿̏̿͛͛̈́͐͝ę̵͓̘͔͎͔̹͖̜̥̉̒̍̓̕.̵̠̫̻͙̙̫̟̈́͂͌̎̒̍͝
( I am the one who sees. There is no hiding who you are. )
[ strange happenings are not in short supply here. lake monsters to ghosts to ravenous wildlife… a psychotic demon of sorts isn’t so farfetched as to be unbelievable. still, shiro is stubborn and unwilling to cooperate without some sort of fight. so his words hold bite, which he punctuates with an obstinate tug at his hand bindings, the chains clinking. ]
What’re you talking about?
[ the figure turns more fully toward him, something long and curved in its hand. ]
S̴̻͈̞̃̽͌̀͊̉̇͘i̷͇̫̜̙͎̮̒̔͋n̷̰͙̈̓̃͊̕ ̶̨͙͓̻̮̝̒̾̓̂͛̌͊̂̎̓̏̕ͅͅş̵̺͇͉̺͚̎̅̄̍͜ą̶̞͍͖̺̓̀̈́̃̅̔̔̀̄͋̈́̃͋́͘ṱ̸̗̗̪̭͖̘́͌̈́͠ự̵̝̰̮̪̃̇̋̅̄̏̎̃͆͛͒͐͝ŕ̷̩͍̜̺̞̦̤͛̏̔͒̉̾̓̀̕̚͝ā̵̩͙̺̣̽ṭ̷̪̻̘̭̼͚̌̚e̴̢̛̛̠̣͔̒͆͗͂͋̔͆̇̈́̐̏̃s̵͚̩̭͈̘͈̠̞͈͉̭̣͙̮͔̎͐͛̀͠ ̸̧͕̭͕͕̙̜̞̈̌̄̀́͆͊̌̈́͌̓̏̚͝͝ý̴̧̘̘̻̮̟͖̗͗̉̈́͆̇͒͑̎̀̾ò̶̡̨̧̡͚̥̼͉̭̞̞͌̎́̐͒́̅̄͛̊͗̄̃u̷̢͈̞̬̼̦̻̗̲̯̱̖̐̐̓͂͠ͅr̶̡̮̣̝͙̼͇̱͚̃̍͂͌͛͊̇́̿̽̋̍͘͘͠ͅͅ ̵̠̯̝͙̰̭̿̓b̸͖̳͒̎̕̕͜͝ļ̶̢̼̯͙̥̦͈͕̖̥͖̮̝̂͒̉̾͜ở̶̧̛̪̼̱̣̹̤̖̣̾͑̐̉̏̎͑̑͘͝ö̴̬̣̮͙̙͕̟́͌̊͌̏̅̇͝ͅd̸̨̢̝̥̟͍͖͍̲͔͈̠̖̽͂̅́͜.̸̛͇̺̂̑̾̔̄̊͑̓̋́̚̚͝ ̵̨̗̲̝͕͇̜͉̻̹̹̩̞͋́̄̏̋̔͑Y̴̡̛͕̗̎̔́͋̋͂̂̅̚̕͝ǫ̸̰͈̺̞̟̲̣̱̅̎͌̈́͘͝u̷͎̟̮͉̹͛̉̓̔̓̿̽̔̍͐̑̕ ̷̖̱̣̼̥͚̖͓̭̮̮̲͕̀m̷̤͚͚̊͒̆̿̈̏̓̈͊̕͝͠ú̸̝͕͔̲̟̼̗̝̜͒̍̇́̏̉͂͋͆̍̑̍̚͠ͅͅş̶̮͇̻̫̺̿͒̓̏͛͐͆̑̎͜͝͝ţ̸̛̛̣͉͍͚͇̳̮͇̹̩̫̃͗̀͛́̔͂̽̾͜ ̸̧̧̼̰̹̯̰͕̦͇̫̱̦̼͊̾͑b̷̢̢̛̠̜͙̥̹͎̬̲̰̱͎̋̉̿͗͜͝e̵̢̨̺̠̙̪͖͙̱͚̞̭͈͎͛̿͊̓̀ ̵̨̗̼͗̅̉̿̿̿̂̓̀̚ĉ̶̲͍͇͕̠͖̻͝l̷̪̰̜̰͒̿̇̓́̈́̐̌̅̑̓̏̾̔͝ę̵̯̞̭̔̆͐ą̷̗̠̥͓͎̮̗̀͒̿͛̌̋n̶̡̛̻͋̃̕͝s̸̭̟̻͗͋̾̈́e̵̮̤̝̠͇̮̙͇̬̔̇̋́͜͜ḑ̸̮̆̌̌̐̈́͘ ̶̢̧͉͖̟̮̫̪̘͔͎̣͖̘͈͌̄̽̃͗̾̋̈́̀̈̓̕̚͝͠ö̷̢͍̭̬̮̰̦̠̳̰̘̤̻̪́̐̌̈́͝ͅf̸̧̮͕̺̪̮̹̗̘͐̅̒̄͐͐̑͘̚͘͝͠ ̴̫̹̳̟̬̟͓̲̱̙͒ͅï̸̡̪̜̥̫̞̪̫̟̲̳̱̳͔t̵̡̛̠̳̹̱̭̬̩̼̮̽̒͋͘͜,̷̗͖͈̣͈̩͎͉͍͙͍͂̏̾̾͐̆͂͘ͅ ̶̟͉̺̲̤͝ͅë̵̻̓̓͗͠ǐ̸̳͉͖͕̰̦̒́ţ̷̧̭̰̥͙̫̯͚́̌̄͑̽̀̀̀̽̇̓̃̕h̶̨̛̼͕̼̬͈̰͙̹̲̪̝̆͒͜e̸̡̞̠̝̰̥͉͚̦͓̼͌̈́͋ͅr̴̢̼̺̟͎̬̂́͜ ̷̟̲̦͒͂͗͐̅̌̐̍̓̈̑͝b̵̧̬̫̬̙̦̝̐̀́̄̀̈y̷̧̢̧̹̣͇̪̦̬̝̣͓͍̑̏̊̔́̀̈̊̌̄̈͗͘͘ ̷͈̞̺̻͚̙͔͌̿̇̈́̀̋́͛́ẁ̵̱͎͍̯͑̈̀͌̀́͒̚͝͝o̸̲͙̩̘̮̭̎̅̍̈̕r̷̢͚̪̙͙͚͆̄͗̀̕d̸̡̳̳͖̘͓̭̾̈́͒̏͊́̎͒́͝ ̷̨̡̮̘̘̪̼̲̎̚ơ̴̧̨̮͎͍̝͔̣̘̙̩͙̞̆͗͝ŗ̵̹͈͎̭͚̫͚̼̤̂̏̈́̄͛̃͊̓ ̵̨̡͕̖̼̲̭̠̤̗͔̟͌̇͜b̶̢̭̬̉̑̈́̈̿̕͝l̷̛̜͍̦͔͈̈́̇̀͋a̵̖̙̘̲̭̟̯͖̻̙͔͛̒͆̆́̆̾͐̈́͝d̴̞͍̻͈̥̥̺̜͔̝͆̈́̅̅́̄̐̔̒̕̚͘͝ͅé̵̡̪̹̼͕̟̙͈̑́͋̽͆̀́̈͒̈́͝.̶̡̳̞͒͗̇̑̄͠ ̴̡̘͚̺̠̲̼̬̠͉̜͇̺̓̆̿̅̽̉͝ͅT̶͍͔͇̉͌ͅh̴̡͚̪͖͉̹̜̱͓̯̠̞͔̉̊̈̋͐̓͛̊͋̌͂̕ͅe̵͇̭͈͙̻͂͊͗ ̷̨̨̜̬̭̦̬̰̝͓̒̍̓̑͂̃̋͑͂͑͝c̸̫̱̮̝̗͔̳̤̱̉̿̾̎̐ͅḩ̸̧̧̨̹͕̟͙̭̙̫̠͓̟̹́̓͌͑͋̌o̸̦̜͔̥͙͊̔̔̑̈́͂̀̓̀̚̕į̴̰͕̗̜̈́c̷͎̰̠͐̊̔͠ͅé̶̢̨̘̱̫̻̗͓͔̳͚͛̎́̓̈́̀̈́͊̚͘̚̚ͅͅ ̶̧̻̯̗̘̪̬̥̩͚͙͈̤̈́͒͌͐͛̇̕͝i̸̭̹͙̫͖͐̽̑̿͗̓̃̾̒̚ṡ̴̭̱̪̻̥̻̲̹ ̷̲̑̇͛̀͗̌͑͗̕͠͝͝͠ỳ̵̛͎̣̮̫̗̱̖̼̠̰̭͍͓͒̀͋͊͛̆͑͐̋͘ͅő̸̺̮̣̯͇̪͙̜̲̆̾͋̏̊͂̆̄͂̈́̅̚͜͝͝u̵̙̼̲̫̓̈́̅͆̿̍͠͠r̶̨̧͖̗̀̊̈́̔͋̀̉͘̕̕s̴̳͔̼̳̲̮̬͔̈͐͗͛͘.̶̳̳̙͔͍͍̫̫͚̫̪̙̓̾
( Sin saturates your blood. You must be cleansed of it, either by word or blade. The choice is yours. )
[ fuck. shit. reflexively, shiro sends a furtive glance keith’s way to gauge his reaction, but ultimately, gives up on that to look to the masked figure. he struggles again at his chains, pulling harder with his right in hopes of figuring out whether or not he’ll be able to break it. this is probably the point in which he should cooperate, but instead, he keeps that bite, words hard and definitive. ]
How’s this for choice? Let us go. There’s nothing to gain from killing us.
no subject
just... what context is there for some psychopath priest knocking people out and bringing them to a house for slaughter? none. the whole scenario feels far more like a shitty horror movie than reality, which doesn't bring keith much comfort though it does allow him to dissociate enough to think retaliation might be a viable option.
keith grits his teeth, missing the furtive glance shiro shoots his way, as he redoubles his effort to grab his knife. but even as he misses the concerned glance, the masked figure certainly does not.
at first, the being says nothing in response to shiro's rebellious statement, staring instead intently at the bound man through the slits in the jackal head mask. the tension in the room builds slowly, the feeling of being watched by thousands of eyes hidden in the shadows reaching an almost unbearable point. cold sweat trickles down the back of keith's neck as he tries not to breathe or exist too loudly for fear that something might break as it inevitably does.
the whispers start like leaves rustling in the wind, and those heavy boots begin taking quick steps towards keith. the being moves like no living creature should, seemingly disappearing into the shadows only to reappear behind keith's chair, the gleaming sickle now pressed to his throat. keith doesn't scream, but the look on his face is pure panic as he tries to get his neck as far away from the point of the blade as possible. ]
The hell do you want?! I don't know what sins you're talking about! I got kicked out of Galaxy Garrison? I stole Shiro's car? I punched Sendak?! Blew up a bunch of alien warships?! What the hell are you trying to get me to say?! Let Shiro go, he didn't do anything wrong!
no subject
of course, everything stops the moment that sickle kisses flesh.
breath is suddenly an afterthought. everything gets stuffed up in his lungs as blood runs cold and ears go deaf to everything other than the warning bells going off in his head. it’s akin to the moment on the lake, when that thing dragged keith under the ice. fuck, how does this keep happening? how does he continually fail in being vigilant enough to prevent keith from falling into these traps? guilt misplaced and regret abundant, shiro feels defeat for one beat, two, before promptly renewing his fight as all those downtrodden emotions are replaced with rage. ]
What are you doing? Get that away from him! If you so much as nick him, I’ll kill you!
[ bold words from a man chained to a chair. shiro has been in situations of similar, bleak odds, though. encouraged to the point of confidence, shiro keeps pulling at his chains, all the while staring down the figure that… actually moves the blade from keith’s neck. surprised that his threat hit its mark, shiro, briefly, pauses again. ]
̶̖͚͕̝̰̠̰̘̯͙̥̜̤̗̏̏̾͆͂͝͝Y̶̧̰̯̯͈͍̟̮̝̮̋́̃͊̿̌̃̆͆͐̕͝͠ô̵̦̪̜͉ự̷̗̤͉̣̗͛̓͌͐̊͠r̷̥͕̞̯̼̳͋̈̀͋͛̃̄̔̇́̃̅͘͝ ̵̢̛͕͉͍̭̪̙̥̯̺̟͓̪̉ͅf̷̧̥̭͙͉̏̀̔̂̇̌̾̀͘͝r̷̡̛̖͍͈͇̞̣̐̆̾̓̀͗͊ͅḯ̷̧͑̉͛̓̈́͊e̴̙̞͚͌͛̈́̈͆̏͆̃̕͝n̵̰̤͓̙̤̥̣̬̄̉̈́͗̚d̶̛̥͚̻̗͙̱͎̥͇̄̆͑́̒̚̕ ̸̨̫͖͕̹̗̽̈́͊̍̋͑͋͆͐̔̍î̷̝̹̖̬͖́̊̽̆̕̚̕s̸̛̳̙̭̬̊͂̇͒̈́́́̽̊͋́̋̓͝ ̶̡̞̺̬̦̤̦͍̦̟̱̥̪̣̓̓̀̒̌̈̂̏̌̎̈̓͝ḋ̷̛͍̑̇̈́̏͒̿̌͝r̵̢͖̰̤̟̘̼̙̜̞̮̣̀͒̽è̷̢̛͖̫͎̼̩̞͎̓͛̊̄̐̉̌̈́̚n̸̞̼͇̟̯̜̞̰̮̲̺̞̤̑̊c̷̬͛̊ḧ̶̛͇͆̆̑e̸͓̩̝͚̲̣͍͕͖̰̳͎̱͎̳͒̈́̇̑͗̐̊̕͠d̶̖̤̰̠̫̯̲̈́̑͐̿̽̓͊̀͂͛͗̈̀̋͗ ̷̧̹̹̥̭̝͍̹̬͋̑̑͊͐̉̍̀͛̍̽̽̆̓͝ī̵̞̻̂̈́͑̃̓͗n̷͇̍̀͛̀͛͌̀̐̓͌̔̍̚͠ ̶̰͕̅̐͒̔̇̑b̷͔͖̘̼͐͑́̎̋̉͗̐͋l̶̹̳̟̖̳̦̮̤͓͋͜͝ͅͅò̴̡̯͎̪͔̤͎͓̥̪̜̖̱̲͂̋͋͠͝ͅȏ̴͉͓̬̖̣̓ḏ̷̗̼̓͗͆ͅ.̵̳̤̄̅͐̆͗͛̅
( Your friend is drenched in blood. )
[ the figure comes around keith’s chair, long, bony fingers grazing those unruly locks as it passes. ]
Ċ̷̟̙̩́͊̃́͘͘͝u̸̡͖͙̹̿̇̂̌̀̓r̷͓̓̂̋̄̈́̀͂̿͌̾̆͝ḯ̸͓͔̟̤̑̚̕ǫ̸̮̰̟̩͙͔̰̎̄͊̑̈́̒͑͆̂̈́̓̆͘͘̚ů̸̢̧͓̝̠̞͈͕̲͇͓͕̳̏͗̊̇̊̋̓͗̓́͘s̷͖͈̹͓͔̃̑̄͂͂̽̚ ̵̧̧̗͍͎͇͚͕͇̙͚̀̉̀̊̀͐̾͜ͅt̷̟͋͗̓́́̆̍̓́̃͘͝ḩ̸̺̱͚̠̮̋a̴̢̛̰͉̮͕̘̔ͅţ̷̢̛̼̳̲͎͉͉́͌̈́̈́̑ ̶̨̗͈̗̤̝̩̠̰͈̖̠͔̳̅́͂́̿̔̏̉̂̈͐͐̕͜͝y̷̢̢͎̞̤̣͖̹͕͙̤͈̝̯̗͂̓̀̄o̶̢̧̼̬͔̰̻̫̱͈͌́̇͜ǘ̵͓̯͋̒ ̸̨̡̗͓̣͉̪̝̔͐̓̃͛́͛̒̑͌̋̃ŗ̶͙̹̟̩̖̺̻̼͖̰͔̰͍̌̂͑̓̀͋̍͊̐̈̈̈́͘͝͝ḛ̶̳̥̤̦͍͉̮̗̞̲̀͂̓̈̋f̷̪̪̗̣͎̖̰̯̹̲̘͙͔̩͆̃̐̋̓̆̽̂̄̉̃̆͆̚̕ų̸̢̡̼̦̳̺̳̹̻͍̬̳͔̈́̑̂͊̈́̈̑̕̕͝s̴̡̨̺̖̰̲̖͒̀̿̆̅͂̓͠͠͝͝e̷̢̢̨̠̟͍̭̳̳̜̒͊̀͂̒̂̚͜ ̶̡͖͔̳̭͉̙̠̺͚͔̘͔̂̆͑̇͜ͅt̶̡̬͉̟̪͆̒̎̇͝o̶̫̖̖̩̐ ̴̼̹́̇̏͑̈́͗s̷̡̥̠̲̘̺̱͚͍̠̻̀̆͂̊̀͑̽̽̓̈̏̇͠͠͠ė̵̢̡͉̼̘̫̯̫̱͔̗̭̇́̈́͌̐̐͂̋̿͘͝ę̶̨̛͖͇̩͚͔͕̹̟̲͎̻͉͂͑͐̇͘ ̸͇̟̝̣̂̉̌͑̓͗͌̈́̌̃̚̕͘͜ì̷̢̩̙̓͐̽̉̌͑̍̏̓͛͘͘t̶̛͍̥͉̰͔̖̖̲̦̩͇̰̙̃̀̐̐͑̿.̶̡̣̥̯̞͖̤̠̬̼͚͍̠̩̓͑͗̃̍̄̈́̂͘͝͠ͅ ̶̢̛̫̗̰̩͓̠̹͉̬̹̮̐́̎͌̈́̀̄I̴̢̼̾̊͒ţ̸̖̣̣̩̬̞͙̬̉̂̇͛̇̽͛̈̅̓̅̈́̕͘ ̶̘̬̥̉͋̀̈́̉́̏̅͜͝ĩ̵̡͔̆̀̑͛̍̓͆̀̅̃̕s̶̢͖͈̫̫͇͖̝̗̹̀̍́̐̋̐ͅͅ ̷̧̢͉͉̳͖̠̰͇̩̟̯̓̂̆̉ͅa̴̢̝͉͉͙̫̣͙̰̤̠͗̀̓͌̈̈́͂͠͝n̵̺̰̭̳̠͍̭͒̀̉̊̋̄̆̾͜o̴͖̞̗̣͕̜͖͆́̓̈́͌̓͗̚͠ț̴̡͖̞̟͖̙̣̻̳̆́͜͜͠͝h̵̹̮̜̯̳̤̠̼̠͊͋̽͠e̴̛̲̮̳͕̣̱̖͖̥̼̭̊͑͆̀̏̓̾̔́́͜r̴̨̞͕̱̝͚̮͂͆̑̿̍͘͠͠͝͠ ̶͕̿̉̽̀̍̕ş̵̫̱̝̃̊͑̍̃̽̓̃̈́̓́̚͝ȋ̷̲̲̼̜̉̏͘̚n̵̡̙͒̓̊̃̋̍̀̾̇͘͘͝ ̸̡̨̞̟͎̮̌̋̄́͛̃̄̽͆͝ẗ̵̥̥́̚h̸̨̡̛͇͓͍͕̗̼̩̗̝̅̋͑͒̀̓̒̒͌͆̈́̕̚͜à̵̘͉̞̤͇̤͈̩̩̲̀͒t̸̡̧̥͔̩̖͇̗̠͉̎̀̏ͅ ̸̪͍̦͇̟̭̺̗̠̬͙̍̌̈́͊̆͌̋͗̆̓̇͘̕̚͝h̸̡̜͔̖͚̭͓͔̜̬̃̏̎̒̓̋͌̌̔̂͋̉͠ę̴̨̙̪̳̠͈̩̹͉̭̖̮̦̯͑̌̏͌a̵̻̳͓̳̰͓͈̯͕͂̃͗̑͌͗̄͆̌͘v̸̰̞̞͈̈́̈́̋̊͒̾͛̈́͋̾͐͘͠i̷͎͗́̿̿̎̂̃́̈̉̈̈́͘͝ͅę̸̲̹̃̃̉̍͠ͅs̴̨͇̫͙̤̤̣̝̗͔͖̈̿͋̌͆̓̐̽̚͜͠ͅ ̷̠̪̘́́̃̂̇͆̓̐͌̉͂͋ý̶̖͕̮̬͍̻͔̺̱̦̣̹o̷̡̗̖͖̝̬̻̱̰̟̰̿̓̅̒̅̀̈͛͒͘̕͜u̵̢̢̨͖͚̬̫͚̫̞̓́́̔r̷̨͍̩̰͙͉̤̦̈́̈́̂͑̓̋͠͝ ̶̨̛̺̻͕͍̞̼̙̣̔̓́̃̌̉̏̈̓̎͐̑̑ş̴̟̖̹̠̭͖͎̃̀̾o̶̡̨̥̪̭̯̻̳̓͛̌̍̒͒͑̔̊̇ͅu̸̲̰̹̤̜̭̲͖̭͒̋͋̄̉͑̓͜͜ͅl̸̢͓̺̖̭̹̎.̵̜̓̆͗͊͐̿̃̂͠
( Curious that you refuse to see it. It is another sin that heavies your soul. )
[ coming to stand in front of keith, their captor blocks keith from shiro’s view. in an instant, shiro’s panic spikes again, fright making his voice strain. ]
Leave him alone. It’s me you want, isn’t it?
[ but the figure does not turn to regard him, it merely stares down at keith, sickle once more being raised to touch his throat. ]
Ų̵̘̳͍̐̍̀̆͒͌͝n̷̡̡͙͎̮͓̰̪̝͙̈̌̇̈́̍͂̐̒̆̋͘̚ͅb̶̫̲̟͓̦̅͜ư̷̻̺̮̤͖̘͙̘̰̣̥̳̏̈́̏͋̾́̕̚͝r̶̢͙̫̜̟͖̭̯̂̌͐̿̑̃̈̈͛̏͜d̴͔̫̣͍̻̗͍̫͖̥̰͙͕̓̾̒̎̕ẽ̴̠͙̉͆̇̈́͂͝ṅ̸̺̙̃̔̾̌͌̀͊́͝ ̷̢̛͈͖̲͔͈̳̦̝̠̠͑͑̆̎̈́̅̄̅̕̕̕͝͝ỷ̷̨̹̱̹̬̥͗̌́͌̂͆͊̓̓͑̅͘͝o̶̍̂̊̈͗ͅu̴̥͔̲͍̘̬̔̾̐͊̚͝r̵͔̙̩͓͕̺̹͒̏̆̒͊͘͜ṣ̴̫̹̬̱̩͇̬̺̩̤̓̇́̀ë̵̝̹͓́̽̇͗̒͆̎̓́͌̎̕͜l̴̬̦̆̃͌̄̂̃̽f̶̢̥͇̦̘̬̱̙̬͓͎̾̀̄̇̏̎ͅ.̶͔͂͛̽͆͘ ̵̥̈́̌̔̐́͂͌̾̈́̉̃͘͘A̴̡̡̼̟̟̜̗̼͉̪̅̿̚d̵̛̬̫̹̻̪̜̯̽̆͊̉͒̈̓͛͑̈́̓͘̕͜m̵͖̩͍̝͊̍̏͂̀͆́̃̎̍͛͜i̸̳̳͔̻̼̽̈t̷̤̫̞͈͈̫͉̗̲̝̃̀͛̈͆ͅͅ ̷̦̯̫͎͍̺̲̀͊͆̀̀̚͝ͅt̸͉̭̩̼̪̝̘̊h̶̳͗͑̏̈́̇̃͛̂͝ę̷̳̤̜̤͚̊͆̋͊͌͗̂͐̀ ̴̛̛̲͉͇͙͕͎̩̭̇͆̽̾͘͘͘ẗ̷̳́̀͂͝r̶̙̀͒̿̔̑̾̒̽͘͝ư̷̢̡̝̦̦̳̏̆̐̈́̃̊̋̄̎̇͑͆̉̀t̶̡͇̼̹̣̮̀͊̏̔̅̒͌̓̓̓̕̚͝h̵̡̨͔̯̬͙͈͔̺̹̩̮͖͛̍͐̔̍͌͋̈́̽̆͛̀̕̚͜.̵̧̨̻̠̙͍̻̙͎̥͊̃́̒͛́͛̋̌̇̂͜͠͝
̸̢̧͔̦͓̖̞͙̩̺͕͑̋̈́̽̃̌̉
( Unburden yourself. Admit the truth. )
no subject
is shiro helping by threatening this sick fuck? probably not, but it's hard to argue that a bloodthirsty psychopath spewing delusional nonsense can actually be reasoned with.
but if that's the case, then they're both going to die here, aren't they?
forget fighting the war, voltron or going back home. this is it. this blood-soaked room is where they'll die, bled out like cattle at the abattoir to join the mass of corpses littering this shitty frostbitten town.
the bleakness of that future ought to make him despair. but when bony fingers ghost over his hair, and the being stands between him and shiro, all keith can think is what the fuck did shiro save me for if we were just gonna die like this? the question sounds off in his head, filling the spaces hollowed out by fear with rage as he glares up at the masked entity. ]
I don't know what you're talking about. Whatever the Galra put Shiro through -- none of that was his damn choice. He was forced to fight, and it's only because he survived and came back to Earth that we were able to form Voltron and start liberating people from the Galra empire. If Shiro's soaked in blood, then so am I, but neither of us is as messed up as you. That unburdened enough for you?
[ defiance has always gotten keith in trouble. at school, at the group home, at the garrison -- even with voltron. he doesn't expect it to be much different here, but if he's gonna die, he'd rather go out with his head held high rather than quivering in fear. eyes locked onto the being, he doesn't flinch away from the sickle at his throat. a brief silence hangs in the air as the being studies the reaction. then all at once, he withdraws the sickle. ]
V̴̬͓̭͕̰̮̠͚́̊̌̽̿̎͋̔͗͑̕͜͝͝ë̴̛̳̲̭͈̣͔́͊͋̃̓̓͛́͘̚͜ŗ̸͚̭̗͚͖̙͙̲̋̐̇̽̓͂̚͘͝͠͝y̷̡̛̥͙̮̺̳̗̰͓̌̀̀̅́̔̿̆̐̇̀̒̽ ̸̢͙͔̹̣̺͙̩̠̬̥̪̠̜͉̉͌́̉̄̈́w̴̛͕͚̘̖̭̎̅͒͗̏͒̓̐́̕͠͝e̷̡̞̫̼͚̭̤̣̹̗̱͖͍̓̉̇͗͆̈́͛͌̊͜͝l̸̻̥̗̖̇̒̄́̿̔́ļ̸͎̼͚̯̲̥̳̳̬̼̝͚͈̈́̅́̽̏͗̅͗̄͘͝͝.̴̛̺̼̆̋̓͂̓̕̚̕
(Very well.)
[ in the blink of an eye, the figure disappears and reappears behind shiro's chair, the wicked blade now pressed to his throat. ]
Ṥ̷̢̧̳̩̟̲̭̪̩͕̫̗̼͔̲̃̓͗̒̈́͑́͐̕͝p̵̧̟͍̞͉̲̦̳̰̹̣͈̭̺̮̈̀͊̉͌͝ȩ̶̨̢͓̗̞͙̻̯̦̐̈́̊͋͑͠͝͝a̸̡̦͉̥̹̭̳̞͚̾́̓͋̐̑̉̄̈́͌͝k̷̨̡̨̦͔̩͍̺̺̮̠͖̑̽͗̋͂͐̀̉̃́͒͠͝ ̸̠̠͖̯̦̠̙͎̥̐̆̂̊͊ͅs̵̨̞̜̱̦͚̖͆̚͝o̸̧̡̼̩̥̬̦̩͆̓̇̎̍̕ ̸̡̦͍̗̤̣̱̠͗̌́̓̌́̚t̸̛̯̀͐̅̓͌̓̿̎̊͌̌͊͠͝h̴̛̦̹͓̰͚͂̚͘̚a̷͔̦̅ṫ̶̫̜̟̭͒̑̈̍̄̈͒̽̒͌̿̕͘ ̷̛̞͓̹̻̞̺̗̟̬̎̈̎͑͂́̊͐͆̇̐̌͝ỳ̷̛̳̞̙̫͈̠̙̼͇̤̝͐̇̊̍͒͛́̈́ö̸̢̢̭̠̩͙̠̱̝̥͍͕̔̾̏̓̀̈́̈́͆̋̌͘͝͝ù̸̲̦̞̻̩̟͚͉̰̯̎̍̒̔̂́͝ř̵̫͚͈͓͉̠̖̤̰̺̖̪̳̱̈́̈́̽̈́̽̈́̏̚ ̷̧̛̳͉͔̬̰̤̾̾̃̃͆͐̔̐͌̄͋̎͠ͅf̴̼̭̥͖͓͇̮͉̍̿̽̾̚r̸̡̢̰̿͊̒̈͋̄̄̓̓́ỉ̷̹̺̟̠̗̄̂̌̀͂͒́͐͂͠e̸̡̧̝̼̖͉̳̬̠̬̩͓̞̣̐̾̊̈́̂̓̂̒̃n̷̞̗̩͂̀d̵͕͖̓͜ ̵͈̲̮̘̟̙̰͈̞̪̊̃̾͑͒͐̓̈́̐m̷̛͚̩͈͓͈̝͖̳̯̤͉̩͙͗̔̋͊́̃̍́̉̅̐̓͛ȧ̵̞͇͒ÿ̸̡̖͖̫̰̮͍͎͎̘̙̟̼͖́́́͗͌̒̓̚͝͝ͅ ̴̱̦̮̣͋͊̅͝s̸̡̧͇̳̟͚̭̜̬̉͊͗͗̅͛͋̚e̶̢̛̗̩̭̯̝̬̩̣̪̘̜̤͛̊̒͑̌ͅę̶̢̛̳̫͙͓͚̹͛́̽͑̑͂͂̀ͅ ̷̡̤̗̗͈̳̳̱͎̜͛̒͗̀͒̋̔́͋̈́͑̚ẗ̶̮̹̜̳͔̘̱̲͓̣͙́̈́̎̑̿͛̊̕͠ḩ̵̛̜̥̭̀̇̎̑̌̋̄̓́͋̊́̇̚ę̶̡̺̭̖̝̞͎͇̱̳̩͚͇̼̏̒̎̀̆͂͗̋̈́̌͂̌̀̚̕ ̶̰͙̬̤̖͚̥̃́̀̄͗̎̂̆̈̂̓̓̑͝ͅṭ̶̭̥̪̮̊̇̔͠r̸̮̣̼̫͕͚͙͔̭͖̪͈͐̓̓̽̃̐̈́͐̔̿͜ų̴͍̦̟͇̞̫̻̘̗̂͗̇̈̇͒̑̇̾̇̀̄͘t̸̩̹̆̎͘h̸͔̮̖̯͖̏ ̷̡̛͎̣̬̘̪̲̈̊͂̆̂̾̍͠o̴̢̫͉̔ḟ̸̢̥̗͈̜̮̔̄̑͒̉͂̿͆̂͜͠ ̷̻͈͍̮̋̋͋y̸̢̨̩̖̯̮̗̱͙̣̟̻͈̫͕̋ǫ̴̫̯̀̏̌̄̔̊ų̶̞̳͓͚̼̦͉͔̯͈̭̲͠ṛ̷̻́̔̊̒́̽͊͂̐͗̀͝ ̴̣͖̤͓̪̝͍͂͐̉́̒̿́̈́̊̾̄́͆͊̕͜s̶̨̛͇̤̺̮̱̣̫̰̲̓̈́̐͐̐̈̅͂̉̽́͘͝ì̷̢̙̩̻̪͔̣͚̥̙̜̈͋̌́͑́̈́̾̊͂͆̏͝ń̷̨̂͐̔́̾̍͗͗̎͐̚͝ş̶̬̳̪̝͈̳̞̯̫͖̩̉̋͂̓̓̒͌͜ͅ.̸̧̛̛͍̈͆̔͒͗̍̍̏͊̈́̄̒͝ ̷̡̻̦͈͖͚̮̟̘̘̦̦̙̔̍U̸̢̧͙̪̼̜͇͔̙̪͍̝̭͒̓̔̊̔͋͌́̐̉̊͝͝ṋ̵̨̮͕̞͍̅̀̉́͐͆̐ḃ̸̡̞͎̺͉͔̳͖͖̜̼̬̟͈̤̊́͐̚͝u̷̞̝͕̗̓̒͋̈́̉̐͝͝͝r̴̡̢̢͔͓̲͎̱̗̟͂͌͑̈͌̑̉͘͝ḑ̵̗͎͎̺̍̈́͑̏̾̈̀̂̀̋̽̾̏̄͠ͅë̶̢͙͈̼͍̼͍̰́̃͌̒͐́̋̕͜͝n̸̘̮̠̻̄͐͊̉̂ ̶̡̗̪̯̰̰̥̙̣̬͈͇͚͖̒̅̆y̴̜̲͓͑̄͋̽̑͒̃̉͌̐̈́͠ó̷̙̙̥̭̩͘ừ̷̢̢̻͓̭͔̲̏̿̊̿͆̅̎̿̃ͅr̴̖͗̒̄̽̉͂͆̌̐̈̍̚̚͜͝s̴̱̹̲̩̐̐͜͝ȩ̶̡̧͉̜̥̜̦̝̗͚͎̑̑͒̋̈́̊̍͐̇͜͝͝l̷̼̰͎̗̝̑̒̂̃́́̊̒̽̈̈́̀̈́̕̚ͅf̸͕̫̻͇̫̮̪̳͈͔̟̱̌͊͒͌̿ͅ.̶̧̡̧͖͔̤͓̞̘̲͈̉͜
(Speak so that your friend may see the truth of your sins. Unburden yourself.)
no subject
shiro hasn’t told keith much about his time with the galra. bits and pieces, yes, but nothing too detailed. so he wonders how much keith’s shiro has told him. shiro can’t imagine breathing life into the horrific memories in his head, but maybe in another reality, that shiro has found the strength to do so. is that encouraging? somewhat. it’s also unnerving, because if this keith knows more than shiro realizes he does, what does this keith see when he looks at him?
if shiro’s soaked in blood, then so am i –
keith’s loyalty winds him. it isn’t the first time shiro has been caught off guard by that type of unwavering support, but in those specific words, it shortens his already shallow breath and stills his heart. he’s so goddamn stubborn; shiro both adores and hates him for it. keith should be saving himself, not binding himself to the focal point of this monster’s ire. ]
Keith.
[ it hits no higher than a whisper, harsh and pained as it steals what little breath he has left in his lungs. he doesn’t have words beyond that for what he’s pleading for; for what direction he wants keith to take. all he knows is that he wants keith safe, he wants keith away, he wants keith to be free of that blade and well… soon enough he gets what he desires.
partially.
he swallows a short breath and holds tight, every inch of his bound limbs tensing into stillness again as metal touches his throat. reflex has him arcing his head higher, subsequently elongating his neck but also holding it further away from metal. it doesn’t matter much. the sickle follows after, its curved edge digging in with just enough bite that a swallow too strong will have it piercing skin. a cooler head would have him accessing his options and measuring his breath, but while the panic doesn’t lessen, now that keith is, for the time, safe, shiro finds his way back to bitterness again. ]
I only did what I was ordered to do.
[ so much for his admonishment toward keith and his stubbornness; shiro is just as guilty. it’s folly to argue with someone who so clearly has the upper hand, but shiro’s flaw is his inability to admit defeat. he refuses to play by this thing’s rules; he’s done that once before to terrible ends. case and point: ]
I had no choice. Victory or death. That is their way.
[ not his fault. truthfully, shiro doesn’t absolve himself of guilt. yes, he’s sinful. yes, he may even be wicked, at the very least tainted by wicked deeds. and perhaps he’s made even worse for refusing to admit as much to this psycho. ]
A̶̛̼͈͕̠̘̘̭̬̓̈́͌̄̾͝n̸̨̡̲̝͙̆̋̅̈́͋̏ͅḏ̶̟̭͖̦̣͔̺̲͚̫̃̓̀̌̒̂͆̽͛̀̏̚͝ͅͅ ̴̨̞̌̏̍̒͗͂͐̉͑̋̊̏̑n̸̠̳̞̘̎͋͒̉o̶̜͓̦̜͖͖͍̘̾͛͆̎̏̊̉̐̕͝͝ẅ̸͔̫̣̅̽̒́͆͠ ̸̬͖̹̱̺͚̔̋̕i̵̧̨̡͉͈̪̞̯̱͖̳̻̰̦̭̅̓̋̓̓͗̽̇̋̒́̐͘͝ţ̴̡̧̛̥̥͈̲̦̩̩͉͕͙̺̈́͐͑̔̇̀̍̚̕̚̕͝ ̷͉͔͕͖͓̤̖̹̱̺͇̩͑͆̏h̷̡̻̻̘̳͕̖̠̞͖̻̥̐̄̒̑͊̉̆̂͌͌̄͗͝a̴̧̺͍̖̣̎̓͌̏̅͂̑͒͋̊͜͝ͅs̶̰͚̳̗̋̄͆̅̅͗͊͗̅͒͝ ̵̡̡̙͚̟̜̪͕͔̫͍̳͉̞̐̄͗̀̆̉͒̆͂̂̈͘b̵͛̏́̉͜ȅ̴̖̻̥c̷̛̛̣͍͎̝̍̏̌̋͋̊̂̽͝o̴̢̺͇̽͠m̸̧̭͓̖͉̼̰͙̅̾̓̂̊͊͂̽́̓͒̏͋͠ȅ̶̯̘̈́̉́̓ ̸̨̛͔̙̤̗̜̮͇̬̼͕̘̝̝̼̒̿͌̂͐̽͌͊̑͐͆̉̄͝y̸̲͍͐́̐́͗͜͜ợ̶̡͉̭̗̯̫͚̟̩̭̐̆͂̇͂͆͆̿̓̅͊̆̚͜͜u̴̪̤̜̖͈̺͕͔͎͓̜͎͖̠̚ͅr̵̡̡̟̥̬͚̝̯͚̟̻̫̩̔͐̓͗̓̊̓͑̓͆̄̑́̈́̋ͅś̷̹̬͓̩̳̪̳͈̼̫̩̤̟́͋̏͛̆̏̿̃́́̈́͝.̶̳̩͂̿́̽̑̐̉̆̌̍͘
( And now it has become yours. )
[ shiro doesn’t move a muscle but he feels himself rattling apart from the inside. ]
No! I’m not like them!
[ a slight twist of the wrist and the blade angles lower, below his adam’s apple. ]
Y̶̡͕͂͂̇͛̂͗̊̊̈́͌̏̄͝͝͝ǫ̶̰͔͈̙̮̓̀̓̕u̶̪͖̣͎͚̭͙̦̬̰͑̌̅̐̈́̋̅̓͊͆ ̶̲̬̟̔͐̇͗̅͌͛́̊̈́̓̉͗͝f̴̢͎͂́̈́̀̚a̴̧̧̟͙͖̜̎͂̇́̀̓́̂̏̊́̕͝i̷̯̒ḷ̸̢̨̱̮̯̝̠͈̤̝̼͊̊́̔̉͂̇͌́̀̎̐̚͝͠ ̸̱̩̟̤͓͊́̌̃̋͋̋̆͗͊̕̚ͅt̸̛̜͔̪̺̪̦̯͋͐̌̃͂̾͛̑͒̄o̴̧̭͓͓̙̠͖͍̻͖͉͕͇̭̒͐̀̾̃̆̔͒̎̓̋͛̓͂̒ ̶͉̲̰̙̤͕̱͖̦̞̈́͂̈́̿͋͂͆̽̿͐̎͘͝s̶̛͇̐̃́̿̎͠ę̵̦̻̥̝͎̟̹̱̼̗̊̉̔̌̈́͐̀͜͜͠͠ȇ̸̛̳͖̮͔̘̖̰͇̲̝̫͋͛̒̎̌̍̾́̕ͅ ̸̳̘̙̐̃̈̑̒̈̍̾͌͌͊͠w̴̡̨̢͓͉̭̞̝̭̪̓̀̈́͐̚͝h̸̫̭͈̝̜͈̔͒̓o̴͎͎͓͋̂̆̍̏̍̀͂͑̔͑̕̚̚͝ ̴̢̨̣̺͙̞͔̪͍̫̼̆͒̆̈́͑̐͋͑̌̃̆͌͆̔͝ý̸̛̤̲̻̬̹̤̤̥̿́̊̊͗́̀̈́̿̀o̵̡̮̳͕̜̩͂̆̄̾̃͐̕u̴̧̨̗̟̇̔̓̐͗̅̑͂̈́͠ͅ ̴̤͎͚̜̦͙͖͛͗̈́̿̏͐̐̄̒̉͌̍͜ǎ̸̡̠̐͊͗̊̈́̾̄̎͝͝r̷̩̩̐e̴̛̻̓̅̉̔͊̏̓̽̅̕̚̚…̴̤̠̽̂͆̀͆̽̃̎̈́͋̊̀̽ ̸̨̩͉̣͇͖̥̩̪̬̀̈͆́̀̍̒̋̾̕ͅC̴͉͗̒̊̀͝͠ḧ̵͓̣̩̜̖̭͓͉̬͎́̀̈́͊͌̑͘͘͝ȁ̴̧͙̖̙̩́̈́̈́͘̚͜ͅm̸̹͙̠̲̌p̸̜̖͍̥̣̀̒̂̎̈́͆́́͋͋́̑̉̕i̸̡͎̘͎̭̭͍͎͑̎̌̿̽̍͗͊͋̓̑ǫ̸̨̠̠̞̦̼̜̪͕̍̿͂̑̀͑̍͘ͅn̶̛̯͉̤͂̉͑̅̈́̇̋̏͑̋̕̚͝.̵͚̟̉͒̀̉̐͂͐
̵̻̣̽̅̽͐̓̂̂͝
( You fail to see who you are… Champion. )
[ that gains an instantaneous rise. ]
Shut up!
[ all bark and no bite, though. shiro has no retaliation beyond two words that lack all punch. ]
Y̵͕̳̤̺̣̰̳̪̥̖̤͂̂͐͆̿̐̈́̿͗̚̕͠ͅö̷̧̢̗̼̣̼͓̥́ư̴̺̔͑́́̈̅̀͛͛́̕͠͠ͅr̷̢̡̡̻̻͈̜͙̗͂̉̄̇̈́̀̑̊̕͠ ̷̨̧̮͔͔̠̯̯̼̋̅̃̓̌͜ͅm̵̢͕͈͍̰͎̝̞͎͙̏̃̈́͋͋͊͊̈̄į̴̢͎̣̩̦͒̑̇ͅs̷̮̦̈́̾̆̓͂̐́͂̈̎̏̈́͗d̷̨̛͎͇̰̝͓͔̹̮̐̈́͗͐̈́̾̈̽̑͒̃̕͜e̶̜̣͍̘̞̳̹͈͑́̍͆̑̆̍͗́́̀͝ͅȩ̵̺̦̙̤̼̫̳͔͛̑̈́̾͐͂̓͑͊̍̎̎̈́̒͝d̴̨̜̠̟̫͒̔s̸̱͉͕̲̮̥̪̅̄͐̋̆̓͆̒͋̋̕͝͝ ̷̡̼̙͔͎̗͂̆̚ͅǎ̶̛̺̝̺̬̗̻̜̣̗̖͚̩͑͑̈́̋́͐̽̑͝r̶̛͓̭̟̼̞̬̝͇̘̾̐̇̊͒̃̀̊̾͒̃͗̚ḗ̵̺̬̲ ̴̘̬̖̻͕͙̤́̊͐̑̍̓̊̾͒̈́̄͜m̵̡͕̫͈̟̞̮̰̩̣̮̔͋̿́̐̊̈́͌̃͊͘͠͠ͅả̶̢̢̻̞̬͓̹̲̖̪̋̂͗̈́̐̐̿̅̀͜͠n̵͔̩̳͇͎̽͊y̷̰͓͖͉̦̻̫̩̳̜͙̩̣͔͎͐̑͋͌́̔̿͒͋̈̋̉̓̕̕.̶̛̤̫̼̳͖̹̈͐̓̒̎̈̀͒̚̚̕͝͝ ̶̛͈͈͓̖̹̲͔̺͎͌̉̈̀͊͒̀̍̀̉̈́̆̊T̸̨̲̠͖̱̥̪̬̩̗͔̻͈̈́̋̑̆̎͗͆̊̉͜ḩ̴̺̲͔̲̥̜̮͔̱̞̅̾ȩ̴̧̘͛͊̓̇̽̇͜ ̶̡͙̘͙̠͇̀̄͋̇́͐̆̆͑̒ö̷͈͎̞͈̞͗̍͐̽̏͐͐̌̈́̀̌̈̕n̵̦͌̒̀̈́̾͆̐͝͝l̵̲͙̞͐̽̍̏͌̿̾́̽̅͐͘͘͝͝ŷ̴͍̘̞̹̲̹͌́̉͆̐͐̒̎̀̈́͜ ̶̙͖͊́̉̋̅̋̎͠b̴̗̜̹͇̳̔̿̔͑̒̓͊̉̈́̈́́l̴̖̭̻̬̒̍͒̂͌̑̉͊͛̔̍̆̚͘̚ͅo̵̽̔̽̾̿́̀̍̄͝ͅȯ̵͓͙͕̻̮̳̲̯͖̭̘̯̘̞̂d̶̦̜̋̀̓̕ ̷̢̪͍̫̣̪͕͇̫͇͚̈́͐̋̑̽͌̒͐͝͝ľ̵̢̡͙̫̙̻͙̗̟͍͔̱̱̼̥̌̆͠è̶͚̟̤̮͓̀̓̏ͅf̵̨̨͕̝̝̝͕̼̯͇̉̅̄͠͝t̸͕̯̘̘͙̼̣̦̟̭̆̉͑̋̓̉͂͑̉͆̈͆̊̚͜ ̶͔̘̞̟͎͖͙̝͍̄̇̌͐̆̽́̓̈́͋́͒͊̈́͝t̷̡̹͓͇̤̰̻̠͐͌̿ỏ̷̡̨̢̡̨̧͈̦̙͉̘̩̼̗̍͐̂͒͛̋̔̆̏̈́͆̕ ̵̡̗̦̻͍̤̫̪͓̟̟̊͒s̸̢͎̫̖̯͔̖̹̩̭̘̠͖͊̀̈̈́̋̾͌́͘̚p̸̜̫̰͍̬̖͌͛͂̀̂͂̊ͅî̴̡͍̤͍͚̼͇͈̙̳͔̼̟̽̇̀̒̽̅͌̀́̔l̴̼̥͈̟͍̳͑̈́̊̀̈́̑́͑̊͑͂͂̀̚l̷̢̨̢̡͎͎͍̼̳̩̻̞̃̂͆̓͛̈ ̶̨͎͔̹̞̰̜̜͇̬̱̬͗͝ǐ̵̛̮̤͈̈́͋̃̈̉̏̇̄̂͝ş̵̧̤̰͎̰͎̘̘̦̘̉̓̓͐̆̓̎̏̕ ̷̨̛̮̯̤̤̯̙̗́̓̐̔̒͊͊̓͊̎̎̓̂͠y̶̧̨̫̟̭̬͕̫͖̗̆͝͠ͅơ̷̧̢͔̩̯̳̫̩̮͉̱̹̫̞̈̽̈́͂̏̋̋̈̾͗ư̸̢̯̠̗̰͂̊̈́̂̽̑͊̊̽̃́̌͝r̷̨̢̧̯̜͖̰͎̔̎̄͋́̂́̊̉͐͜͠ ̴̢̡͚̙̼͇͎̮̖́́́̆̓̌͌͋̌̀̅͘̚͝ǫ̷̪̹͓̱̲̰͝w̵̩̝̯͍̺̜̩̣̮̦͙̭̳̑̅͊̇͛̔̓̄̄͐̓ņ̴̯͗̊̓̎̔̅̄.̵̮̈́̈̀̈́̈́̎̊̔
̴̜̤̺̩̯̱̗̭̤̟̖͙̊͠
( Your misdeeds are many. The only blood left to spill is your own. )
[ … oh. it’s at this precise moment that shiro realizes that he’s pushed the boundary too far. he’s truly going to die right here, right now, isn’t he? there is no negotiating, there is no time; he’s wasted his window of opportunity and now… well…
he sucks in a quick breath and looks to keith, opening his mouth to… to… he doesn’t even know. say his name? to what purpose? he doesn’t get that far. the blade doesn’t dig deep as expected, but it does pierce skin, slicing a line into one side of his neck. one inch, two inches, he’s not sure; it doesn’t connect across though and perhaps that’s the saving grace here, because while blood begins to draw to the surface and spill over with the kind of pain that makes him mute, he can still breathe through it. ]
gosh i never use this icon
but the conversation starts going awry, and dread floods keith's arteries with panic that his mind can't rationalize away fast enough. i'm not like them. champion. shut up -- the rising, fracturing pitch in shiro's tone is bone-chilling, and keith starts to hyperventilate, struggling against his binds for his fucking knife.
but nothing keith has ever experienced in his life comes as close to breaking his mind and spirit the way the entity does with one simple line.
the only blood left to spill is yours.
everything ceases to be real. shiro looks at him with regretful eyes and as red blood spills from the lengthening cut, keith lets out a gut-wrenching scream. he can stomach the thought of his own death, finding the grit to at least go out with some pride left to his name, but the same absolutely cannot be said for being made to play helpless observer to shiro's execution. thrashing harder with no give in his binds to show for it, keith shrieks desperately, mindlessly throwing out anything and everything he can think of to re-implicate himself in this thing's eyes. ]
No! No! Stop it, stoppit! It's me, I'm the one who deserves to be tossed aside! I push everyone away, I'm a thief, a shitty teammate, I -I'm a freak of nature! I - fuck - I lie to myself all the time about who Shiro is and what he did to get a despicable title like CHampion! I - I...
[ but no further words come out. all at once, the room starts to spin and keith slumps in his seat unconscious. biting forst is what greets him next, and keith startles awake with shiro beside him, still bleeding from t the slash on his neck. mercifully, the cabin isn't far, and with no time wasted picking apart what the fuck just happened, keith and shiro rush to get inside where keith grabs the medi-kit and urges shiro to lie down on the couch.
fumbling, keith gives himself a mental slap to steady himself and pours disinfectant on a cotton ball to press to shiro's neck. his voice is ragged from screaming, but he tries nonetheless to be soothing. ]
Sorry, I know it stings. Just gotta make sure it's clean before we get the butterfly stitches on this.
it's a wonderful icon that deserves more play
maybe, maybe not. maybe not in the way he assumes, either. all signs point to him being butchered in this chair, his blood destined to amass on the already painted floor, but perhaps it will be by hypothermia, instead. because with no warning whatsoever, binds come off and the area opens up to white and cold, their predicament seemingly evaporating into thin air, like a fucking nightmare. unfortunately, one nightmare feeds into a second and together, they have to race on unsteady legs back to the cabin.
shiro attributes the strength in his body to adrenaline. he knows he's not out of the woods yet, even with him now inside the safety of their cabin, laid out on a couch that has already been the go-to spot of injury. is this what it's going to be like? the two of them taking turns on who gets to be dying on this couch?
his fingers are bloody when he pulls them away for keith, leaving his wound exposed. he swings his gaze away as he does so, finding it far easier to look at the ceiling than keith's fear-pulled face. remember how it isn't entirely true to say shiro didn't hear keith? it comes to him now as he hisses through the sting, compounding the pain radiating from split skin. the words themselves are clear-cut, as is the desperation that had colored every syllable. there is plenty to pick apart in keith's rushed confessions, but it's the last bit that has shiro circling over and over.
so keith tells lies to himself to see shiro in a better light?
shiro can't even bring himself to feel sorry for himself in the moment. he's sickened and disappointed, more so with his own inability to navigate the terror of what they just went through. it had been some sort of sick game, one that required certain honesties and certain willingnesses. shiro failed on all fronts. ]
I'm sorry that I put it all on you.
[ it's a struggle to talk, honestly. while the cut is not so deep as to sever vocal cords, between the separation in his throat and the pressure of keith's handiwork, this is not the best time to attempt a conversation. nonetheless, even with his voice strained, he thinks it's important enough to say: ]
You said what I couldn't.