begin the zerozaki ！

Bad things come in threes.

He remembers that adage–an old classic that never fails. Here was living proof of Questionable #3 barging into his house. At least he didn’t have to replace the entire door this time. No wait, locks were more of a pain to fix, damn it.

Yagen slips off his jacket before making his way across the hall in slippers. At this point, he’s more exasperated than angry; he’s only glad Fudou hasn’t been around to raise brows at the company he inevitably attracts.

‘Izumu,’ he repeats. ‘Let me guess.’

‘Thin, long hair, strange affixation with kissing? Says he knows a rebel with white hair and piercings around my height.’

He studies the intruder. They really are about the same, though he’s taller.

‘You must be the “cute boy.”’ He shuffles to the cabinets next, opening one to check its emptied contents before crinkling his brows. ‘Which flavor of chip? I thought I stocked up for the month.’

Well, that was embarrassing. It’d been such a long time that he’d all but forgotten the depth of mortification that Izumu always brought forth. Even then it had always been tamed, the nature of their relationship requiring the sort of secrecy that had forced the hitman to hold his tongue in the company of others. The slightest hint of even their existences would’ve spelled disaster, but the knowledge that the hidden monsters of the Killing Names were involved would’ve instigated another war within the Violence World. But, as far as he’d seen, that wasn’t an issue here.

If only Izumu hadn’t realized that, too.

         PREJUDICE WAS NEVER FOREIGN, SOMETHING all who bore the altered formulas of a vampire would encounter when it came to humans alike at some point in their lives. though she cannot help feel it is strange to hear amidst here of all places were this the case of it, albeit dismissing it with ease that she could hardly be the very thing he has (accurately) mistaken her for due to mere myths and stereotypes alone. and yet, an outcome as this was likely better in the end depending on his own views on her kind. until she came to learn of that, perhaps it best to silently play the part of human without dispute.

         ❝ To start, why would it be a problem if I was one in the first place? A lot of things exist in this place that shouldn’t and nobody bats an eye at them. ❞ a decent start, at the very least. ❝ This place is weird… really weird. So chances are you would find weird things happening, anyway. ❞

"How did any of that make you think I’d have a problem with it?” His tone was a petulant one, the implication of botheration only serving to bother him with how incomprehensible that assumption was. “That was like, the exact opposite of what I was saying. I was excited that you might be one, for crying out loud. Don’t know how much clearer I could’ve been.” Although to say he was surprised would be a lie, so used to being misinterpreted by this point that it was senseless to even raise an argument. But to him, it only made sense to do the senseless.

✝ : he doesn’t quite recall showing any interest in what this man was about to say, or even really looking his way. maybe while observing the area, he made eye contact for just a moment too long. now he is roped into listening to a rant he really did not have interest in. but… he might have some answers to provide. might as well indulge. who knows, he could learn a thing or two himself.

to openly speak of his own… encounters would be foolish. he isn’t even sure why this man is doing the same, especially in an unknown environment. it doesn’t seem wise at all, but he won’t stop him. if he wants to ruin his chances of succeeding in anything here, that is all on him. it’s important for the anthropologist to remain as neutral as possible.

“i believe they confiscate weapons to even the playing field. it isn’t exactly a way to prevent deaths or murder, but to have everyone start out fairly. i am led to believe people with powers had them revoked as well. as far as i know, and what research has told me, is that you can earn those things back. i am uncertain how, or the logistics of it all, but yourbeloved knives will not be gone forever, as long as you work for it. there is not more i could offer on the topic, however.”

the wooden sword that lied within his closet would prove otherwise. there’s something he could gain if he wanted to, but why not just find an easier weapon to use? it wasn’t worth the energy.

“people can murder with their bare hands. weapons are not even needed. i suppose it makes things more interesting.”

The proffered explanation served only to make things seem even more ridiculous, alighting the indignation anew. “You’re telling me that they’re trying to even the playing field, but that’s not really possible. Because, obviously, that difference still remains. I don’t mean a difference in strength or skill, though that kinda comes into play just a little bit. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Full determined was he to refute the very notion of fairness. “I’m getting at a difference in character. Like, not just anyone has that ability, the inborn trait needed to kill.”  

The true depth of importance was to be provided in full, insightful knowledge obtained through firsthand accounts. “Now, you could bring up fight or flight. How in a rush of adrenaline the sweetest person imaginable — I’m talking Mother Teresa levels here, Mother Mary in the flesh!” There was gesticulation that couldn’t be helped, sure to pervade the entirety of the sound reasoning. “Even that kind of person might kill someone without meaning to while trying to defend themselves. But there’s no intent behind it. Without intent it’s just a fortunate accident, or unfortunate, depending on the person. They got lucky and managed to live to see another day. Any other time it could’ve gone differently. They might have been unlucky and ended on the other side of the knife. It’s no better than flipping a coin and praying and hoping you get heads.” The makeshift weapon in hand is flipped demonstratively, an unnecessary action done simply to hammer the point home.

The questionable aversion to modern day comforts had had the tendency to appear to be the most incomprehensible part of the failure, the continuous rejection of living in proper housing persisting even here. It’d never been the generously provided luxuries that’d inspired what was some truly unbearable discomfort, but rather the implied complacency that’d come from the acceptance. And so, practiced avoidance had been necessary to prevent ever seeming amendable, from ever presenting the chance of being further entangled in commitments and responsibilities he’d never desired.

But despite carrying out those extensive preventive measures as always, somehow entrapment had come about in a completely unforeseen way. He was essentially immobilized, small stature never once an issue beforehand but now lacking the physical strength required to upheave the body bearing down upon it. He wasn’t entirely sure how this circumstance had come about, how someone had not only unabashedly seated themselves atop him while he slept sprawled across the bench, but that they too had settled into a comfortable doze. One last fruitless attempt was made to liberate his entrapped limbs, even going so far as to try to wiggle out from underneath the oppressive weight, but failure was met at every turn.

    She is often self-conscious about her life led before; very rarely does Chrome like to think upon those lonely years of her life. They seem so far away now, not forgotten, but entirely irrelevant to who she is now. However, it is during moments like these, moments of rare social interactions with strangers, does Chrome realize how pitiable her childhood may seem to others. To know simple games and how to braid hair implies that someone took the time to teach her such things, and there had been no one until recently.

    ❛ Braiding hair never came up when I was younger, so I never bothered to learn. ❜ She admits and chooses not to elaborate. Perhaps it is odd for her not to know how to braid especially since she had always worn her hair long. ❛ Probably because I never learned how to play Cat’s Cradle either. ❜ By his logic anyway, which doesn’t seem very sound, but who is she to judge.

The disbelief remained, but this time it was accompanied by annoyance. “No, no. Did you even listen to what I said? Really listen? I’m going to need you to start.” Seemingly the beginning of a defamatory response, the abrasive reproach made it clear that the misunderstanding that’d occurred could’ve been avoided. He wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself, but in this instance there wasn’t much of a choice. “I’m saying that there’s no teaching involved. It’s an innate skill, just something you’ve always been capable of since the day you were born. You just gotta do it. Get the ball rolling and it’ll keep on rolling without even trying.”

Tone having gradually softened during the explanation, a pervasive issue had become glaringly obvious with every assurance offered. "But, that ... actually might be a little hard for you right now. And I guess forever if your hair has always been that short.” That would justify why the habit had never formed, how she’d never found herself unconsciously weaving the strands together in the same manner that’d he’d unknowingly begun twisting the yarn again.

“you know… i’m doing nothin’, right?”

zack stares at the boy who’d decided to walk up to him and ask if he’s okay, thinking what he did is bad. but, how can he be doing something bad if he is doing nothing at all. zack was just sitting on a bench sipping on soda, enjoying the nice day outside. it’s been a while since he sat outside without the cops on his tail, finding a place of solitude where the killing intent doesn’t spike.

a look of annoyance crosses his face. like c’mon, even when he has absolutely no plans to do anything bad, someone comes around and provokes him. is this his curse? a mosnter who, even when he’s trying to relax, always gets himself into trouble? he takes another sip of his soda, then crushes the empty can in his hand, tossing it to the side (to be fair, zack was never taught the importance of the environment).

“are you pickin’ a fight, asshole?” he asks. he is armed, having stolen a gravity knife earlier (he’s not exactly proficient in opening and using it, but he can learn rather quickly to stab this asshole if he is picking some fight).

“piss off.”

Undaunted by the displayed aggression, it was an expected deterioration of civility. "That right there is what I’m talking about, man. You’re not even trying to hide it. Weren’t a minute ago, and sure as hell aren’t now.” It was cutting grin that followed, certain to chaff just as much as his words. “Waving that killing intent around like it’s a stick you picked up off the ground. Kinda stupid, if you ask me. That’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to keep under wraps. Sure, you kinda had a hold on it, I can admit that. Not a good enough one if I could still feel ya. It’s like you’ve been threatening to kill me from the get go.”

The unapologetic condescension continuing, the countless admonishments had unintentionally slotted him into the role of a parent ever ashamed of their juvenile delinquent. It was downright laughable being on this side of the equation rather than the one receiving criticisms for any supposed misgivings, the hilarity of the turnabout enthusing him into considering an underlying factor. “Come to think of it, it’s not like it’s just something anyone can do. I actually had to have it beaten into me by my brother. If he hadn’t done that then I’d probably be as bad off as you.” Living with an unmistakable target upon his back, thoughtlessly painted there for everyone to see and believing that to be without flaws.

“And you do realize that there’s all kinds of people here, right?” It was shot back, though with less venom and smugness in her tone than would have previously expected from a younger self. The only thing that cut through the modesty was the readiness at which she’d argue otherwise with this guy. “Making sense is relative, and so is risk. Maybe I just like taking a stroll out in an alleyway at night. Maybe I can handle myself. Maybe I really am just hanging around here.”

      ﴾ ♚ ﴿ PERHAPS IT WAS THE WAY HE CARRIED HIMSELF, or the strange glint within his eyes, but clearly this young man—whoever he was—had seen more than was appropriate for one his age. Now, the ancient king didn’t pity people, but he did enjoy observing their struggle, especially when it TEMPERED them into something stronger altogether.

      ❝ Out for a stroll in the dead of night. Are you lost, mongrel? ❞ he questioned, scarlet gaze alight with mild curiosity, ❝ —or just wandering? ❞ Harmless questions at a glance, and in truth they were exactly that, but there was an underlying WEIGHT to such queries. After all, the differences between the two predicaments were sometimes few, but often SIGNIFICANT. Gilgamesh knew firsthand.

It wasn’t often that there was recognition, that he could be singled out for being lesser than those milling about, and even less did that recognition bring confrontation. That’s how it’d always been, the despicable Zerozaki name preventing retribution from finding the members of the family as a predictable end was designated for any that purposely set out to oppose them. At least, it’d been that way until recently, but failures of another sort existed everywhere, people that ignorantly waged pointless wars that they’d never stood a chance of winning in the first place.

This wasn’t anywhere near the level of the Sawarabi, but the open derision, the hostile undertone, was certainly familiar. After all, it was the behavior he was always met with when someone looked just a little bit deeper, saw just a little bit clearer.

"Is this the kind of thing people ask strangers these days? Forget asking about how my day was was or hell, even how the weather is. Let’s just jump straight to an intervention. Because that’s what this is, right? You’re here to try and change my mind, change who I am?” Guffawed laughter sounds, mirth going undisguised. “Gyahaha! I don’t know what’s funnier, you thinking I can change or you thinking that there’s a single person out there that isn’t alone.”

Alignment // What would be their D&D alignment? How might it come into play?

He’d definitely be categorized as a Chaotic Neutral. He’s unpredictable and unreliable, hard to really interact with and extremely difficult to deal with. He’s a freedom seeking individualist that acts primarily out of self-interest and he won’t hesitate to use violence if it’s necessary to maintain the lifestyle he’s set on living. All this manifests in the way he operates, how he sees and acts in the world. He’s a murderer that takes no pleasure in killing, someone who hates family but loved his brother, a person firmly opposed to the possibility of change and yet continues to do things that could cause it  — a real hot mess.

Reminder // How are they at remembering daily needs? What falls through the cracks?