minuano

This  blog  could  potentially  contain graphic  depictions  and  descriptions of injuries/bodily harm/violence, mental illness, torture, violence against children,  and a number of other mature and NSFW themes.  Please follow at your own discretion.

This blog is affiliated only with my main hub blog, @menigerie​. Please read my rules there before following.

» INFO & VERSES

          “  𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗟,  𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗧 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗡.  ”  not like raiden is much of an open book either,  yet he can’t help but give the envenomated reply.  not deeply entrenched in sarcasm,  but almost.  enough.  fingers drum against the furniture,  and the longer he stares out the window,  there’s an itch to leave.  the feeling of being fettered returns once again.  not in any way triggered by the topic at hand or the company he keeps,  but with how long and nonstop it’s been raining…  this was supposed to be a vacation.  his vacation.  not spent here,  and yet he has little choice to make up for it.

     “  in what way shitty?  shitty as in you’re lonely enough to strike up a convo with me?  ” unprecedented tallies of snark (  it’s like he scratches another mark in the wall of his brain for each and every time he has something passive aggressive returned to sam  ).  “  look,  i guess you’re not wrong.  i may even say you’re right,  though i doubt my approval means anything to you.  when i thought i was going to die,  i…  ”  nope.  too far.  that was NOT territory he’s going to divulge sam in. 

     “  …  i suppose i can’t complain when those small moments are worth it,  but in the grand scheme of everything else?  makes it hard to believe you’re willing to grasp at straws just to find the will to live.  there’s gotta be more than that.  you need something you’re willing to work towards no matter what.  ”

     “If you’re going to have to stay here in order to recover, I don’t see a reason to constantly fight and make things unpleasant.” Even if Raiden is the one prone to turning conversations into arguments in the first place. “If that means having actual conversations for once when I have nothing else to do, then so what? Certainly beats bickering about anything and everything under the sun.”

     For a moment, Sam only pursed his lips, lapsing into quiet. “I have my own motivations, yes, but if I’m honest, I don’t believe they are necessary. There are plenty of people who don’t want to be in the world but can’t, or won’t, take themselves out of it. I imagine... there are many who rely on those small moments to get them through.

          𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗟,  𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗘𝗬𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗢𝗭𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗  across sam’s chest.  it’s been there for some time.  he…  doesn’t remember when it happened during their fight.  as soon the adrenaline high passes its peak,  raiden too could feel his arms growing heavier by the second.  a husky pant passes his lips.  he doesn’t let up for a second — too caught up in pride to narrowly remain the triumphant one standing between them.  though his shoulders slump,  eyelids grow heavy,  and artificial muscles run ragged,  he stands true with few heavily exchanged breaths.  his fingers were practically shaking.

     “  except if i didn’t know any better…  you might just bleed out before this is over anyhow.  ”  a coarse laugh,  bitter;  hinting on the edge of sadistic.  he may have been impressed if he weren’t so frustrated by the endless dueling.  sam’s blood…  it isn’t white,  like his.  he was no complete cyborg.  he was human.  an augmented human,  but still human nonetheless.  raiden may have spared his life,  yet that didn’t mean his fate would change  -  as of now,  it hangs on the balance.  he has no plans to assist them any further.

     he yanks his sword out by the handle,  sheathing it away before lumbering past sam’s collapsed frame.  towards the murasama.  he’s stiff to lean down,  but the cyborg eventually crouches and picks it up.  “  i think i’ll be keeping this as fair compensation for our fight.  not that you have the energy to try and stop me.  ”  though it seems the blade has no reaction upon his initial bearing.  its thrumming has fallen silent.

     “  𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗…  ”  though he’s loath to object,  wolf circles around sam.  “  𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢-𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍.  𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚝.  ”

     “  …  figures.  ”    just had to have the last laugh,  didn’t you?

     And a laugh it was. Sam was already positioned precariously, swaying both from weariness and blood loss, but the raspy bout of laughter that tore through him nearly had the samurai falling sideways into the dirt.

     “That thing? You want it?” It was horrifically petty and childish—seemingly perfectly in character for the Raiden Sam had come to know. He swiped a haphazard hand across his chin, drawing away blood and sweat from his lips but leaving the maddening grin in its place undisturbed. 

     Sam shifted, starting the long, slow, pained process of getting to his feet; it was unclear how much of the sudden steadiness of his stance was a result of his training or the aid of his suit. A hand lifted, reaching back and twining his fingers into his ponytail before giving a sharp tug, and freeing his hair from the tie that held it out of his face... before fitting instead into the collar of his suit, grasping, and pulling. A brief spurt of static dissipated across the surface of the exosuit, and a small hunk of circuitry dropped from Sam’s palm into the dust.

          𝗔𝗡 𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗬 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗘,  𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗔𝗟𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗧  shakes his head.  “  heh…  that’s funny.  you’ve changed quite a bit from your ‘ ideals and spiels are pointless ’ attitude.  ”  head tilts further back before canting to the side,  almost disbelieving.  not in any aggravated sort of way;  moreso pinched with envy.  “  are you telling me you’ve finally found happiness?  some inner peace,  i suspect?  ”

     especially given how sam didn’t seem to care for any of that before:  he didn’t seem to care at all (  and maybe it would have been left that way,  if things had been different  ).  he can’t say he agrees,  although he can respect it.  the cyborg looks out the window then,  almost blankly.  solemnly.  “  if i were living a happy life,  sam,  i wouldn’t be here with you – no offense.  i’d be home with my family,  happily retired.  maybe working some desk job.  no,  i don’t have that type of luxury.  cyborgs are seen as war assets first,  people second.  ”

     “  and i’m not sitting on some big family inheritance like you either.  i can’t just run away to the middle of nowhere if i wanted to.  i tried doing the same thing once — tried leading a normal life.  for three whole years.  nothing good came out of it.  so believe me,  i want to lay down my sword,  but…  there’s just too many factors that won’t let me.  and it doesn’t make me out to be much of a good father when i’m stuck overseas,  does it?  if you’d like to give more pointers on how fate isn’t constantly biting me in the ass,  please,  go right ahead.  i’m listening.  ”

     “The only way I have “changed” is that I never bothered speaking about it before. I still firmly believe it wouldn’t have made a difference—I was the one who was convinced there was little else in the world for me, after all.” The only thing he’d had to go back to, after all, had been a family he thought would shun him for the things he’d done... and they likely would have, had the ones that mattered survived to see him return to Japan at all. 

     He could have debated the specifics with Raiden – how the house was a half-complete dump when he’d gotten there, how everything he lived off of was a dwindling savings of his own building after years and years of never having had a home, after a long life of complete impermanence – how the only constants had been himself and his morals that crumbled in the face of a world that evolved faster than he could. Instead, Sam merely shook his head.

          𝙃𝙈𝙈𝙋𝙃.  “  𝗜 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗛 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝘿𝙄𝘿 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗗𝗜𝗘.  ”  it comes out without thinking;  a spineless,  spiteful objection.  the realization sinks in shortly afterwards.  a shameful one.  why’d you even say that?  he…  he didn’t mean it.  his own idiocy makes him reconsider,  one that has raiden falling silent for a few long beats.  he rubs his hand over his face,  pinching at the temples before letting it fall away.  the brightness stung like hell,  and the painful throbbing at his forehead didn’t help ease his qualms about the situation.  all of this only served to irritate him more,  but…  maybe it was wrong to go so far to say he’d rather be laying in a puddle of his own unmaking.

     it’s hard to ignore the sharp edge in sam’s intonation:  there’s a light scoff in return.  the cyborg lifts his head just enough,  eyes squinting near-shut as he watches the samurai with…  intent.  a more refined,  toned-down version of his frustration.  “  fine.  you’ve made your point.  ”  a heavy sigh through the nose.  one side of his mouth pulls back in a grimace.  while he didn’t watch them depart,  raiden rests back on his knees.  he sits there,  waiting for the energy to return to actually stand up and try again,  curling both palms against his thighs.  the idea of being so remote was bothersome — at this point,  he may as well have become a hostage by name alone.  there was no room for apologies or thanks when all he wanted were answers.  leaving and passing out on some dirt road wouldn’t change that.

     raiden pushes himself off the ground more successfully this time,  mindful of the cracked pottery.  he bites his bottom lip when he actually notes the antique design.  knowing sam,  the debt’s gonna be something steep.  let’s just hope it wasn’t one-of-a-kind.  he runs a hand along the wall for support as he passes over the mess,  practically clutching onto the threshold when he finally makes an appearance in the doorway.

     “  look,  let’s just…  let’s just get this transfusion over with.  ”

     There was something... amazing, watching Raiden work through his anger in real time. Sam had no children, didn’t want any children, but in that moment he almost felt as if he were witnessing a toddler attempt to navigate the aftermath of their own tantrum so as to keep from getting in trouble for their outburst. 

     Sam reached for his phone, humming to himself. “Ahma– my mechanic, will be here soon,” he said, gesturing to the low couch on the far wall, across from the TV. “Over there. My own transfusions utilize Oxycyte, not your white blood, and in significantly smaller amounts, so if she wasn’t able to find a, ah, more appropriate dialysis machine... it may take some time, though perhaps still not as long as you are used to, with the work we did yesterday.”

     He stood and crossed the room, vanishing into what was presumably a kitchen, though he spoke just loud enough to be heard over the low television. “Though I must ask if you’ve been attacked in such a way before—I get the impression it was not a confrontation you willingly walked into. I’ve seen what you’re capable of, and can’t help but doubt that a civilian body would limit you enough to let you knowingly sustain such a wound, so I assume... you were surprised?

     “And no,” Sam interrupted himself, “since you asked so nicely, it was purely coincidence. I was attempting to enjoy a night out on the town, no thanks to all of this.” Whatever he was doing in the kitchen, another voice chimed in before Sam could return, though the arrival was announced by a marked thud of a metal case.

     “So he’s awake.”

     “And very enthusiastic to be done with all of this.”

     “Well, naturally.”

     “And?” 

          𝙊𝙃,  𝙂𝙊𝘿.  𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎…  𝙃𝘼𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙆𝙄𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙁 𝙎𝙄𝘾𝙆 𝙅𝙊𝙆𝙀.  the emotional shock was just as potent as physical.  eyes widen considerably,  staring at the door with a mix of disbelief and disdain.  “  are you kidding me right now?  it’s you?  ”  he’s all but forgotten their initial reunion.  “  what kind of question is that?  how am i supposed to be CALM when–  ”  his chest.  it burns.  raiden reaches for it with one hand and a cough is forced (  thankfully,  this time no viscera comes out  ).

     “  where the hell am i,  sam.  am i at your fucking house?  where is this?  did you…  follow me?  where's–  ”  another coughing fit,  and the cyborg shakes his head.  he’s already tired of this.  eyes flicker to the ajar door  -  instinctively he feels an urge to shrink away when more light spills in.  at the casual threat raiden manages to stay himself,   unappeased at the idea of fighting back with sam in this state.

     it doesn’t stop the incessant glare he gives the samurai as soon as he steps foot inside.  despite the self control,  raiden was only a hair trigger away from doing something stupid and reckless if sam decides to intrude upon his seven-foot sphere of personal space.  the open palm propping him up curls against the flooring into a fist.  he immediately winces and uses the free hand to shield his eyes as sunlight poured in at an alarming rate,  turning away from the windows.    “  jesus christ.  ”  a heavy groan.  “  why did you have to open the windows,  you son of a bitch.  it’s like someone took an icepick to my skull.  ”  a migraine.  that’s what it was – the laundry list of pain felt endless.  another grumble.  no sign of gratitude for the apparent life-saving miracle sam pulled out of his ass.

     “  i don’t care about food OR your help.  i was trying to get the hell out of dodge.  i…  ”

     Sam didn’t answer him at first – for a moment he was stood watching Raiden, displeasure plain on his face, even daring to cross his arms – and instead occupied himself by reining in his own frustration. Maybe it was true that Raiden was always cranky and crabby, but his physical state wouldn’t be helping that, nor would the disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place, much less... a place like this.

     “Yes, it’s my home. Unless you would rather I have left your oblivious ass in some alley to die, you’ll have to forgive me for being unable to arrange more ideal accommodations.

     “The windows are open because you need to get ready for your next transfusion. Like I said, we didn’t have enough to complete the process, only enough to, eh... tide your body over for the time being, so to speak. But if you believe you can go without it, then by all means–” A hand reached out, gesturing to the open door, and the living room ( and the countryside ) beyond. “Please, enjoy your trip down the mountain, though you ought to be aware that the nearest pit stop is nearly ten kilometers away, and the nearest town even further still.”

          𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗢𝗘𝗦𝗡'𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗕𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗦 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧.  if anything,  he can barely recall saying sam’s name — it was out of desperate delirium that raiden even managed to stay conscious that long.  his body was going into hypovolemic shock,  and soon after their encounter did he eventually pass out.

     for the first time in ages raiden gets a good amount of sleep in (  ironically enough,  through getting a beat down until his life was hanging on by a thread  ).  16 hours at most,  if not more – it was a necessary recovery following the numerous injuries.  when he wakes,  it’s a sudden jolt followed by a perspiring breath.  almost like he’s just been dragged out of water after nearly drowning.  a restless spasm that travels his entire being,  as though his body was trying to convince his brain he’s finally safe.  the room’s dark;  almost dark enough to where he couldn’t tell if he was alive,  that is,  until the filter of bright ambiance from the living room trickles through.

     i’m not…  dead?

     through the seconds following that,  he could feel the pain shooting up his spine and practically exploding from his chest.  every limb felt sore and the nerves overworked.  immediately he reaches to hold himself there,  taking note that his shirt and overcoat were gone.  so many questions.  he should be dead,  yet he wasn’t (  if this was the afterlife,  it was a god-awful one  ).  as the pain simmers down,  raiden cranes his head around in an attempt to take in the surroundings.  it’s entirely unfamiliar.  some leftover panic from survival mode was still kicking,  and he can’t help but feel nervous.  if he was captured by the enemy,  surely he’d be restrained rather than resting on some sort of cot.

     “  what the…?  ”  it’s aired out under a muttering breath.  this feels all kinds of wrong.  shortly after raiden’s rolling out of the futon,  pushing himself up from the ground as quietly as he can.  his legs feel…  wobbly.  weak.  he can barely navigate by sight alone in the darkened bedroom,  and already the first two steps in he’s nearly collapsing on his own weight.  his legs were practically shaking like a newborn’s.  in an attempt not to fall over his arms are held out,  yet by the third step raiden’s already clumsily bumped into a stand.  an unpleasant CRASH sounds as a vase is tipped over,  not doubt alerting the entire house.  following that his balance is broken with the cyborg falling to his knees.  a startling shout ensues.  “  — FUCK!  ”

     Not even an hour... in the end, Sam couldn’t get even an hour of sleep.

     He jolted awake, hand reaching for a sword stored away in the cabinet as opposed to resting at his side out of habit; he only forgets the circumstances for a moment before pushing himself to stand, though he made sure to keep his distance from the doorway as he moved to look into his bedroom. No doubt Raiden has managed to break something despite being as crippled as he is—Sam took every ounce of sudden anger and upset and pushed it down and away. It was just as certain that the cyborg was, to put it simply, freaking out; his fury would only make things worse.

     “Whatever you just broke, you owe me for it,” he called aloud, intent on making his voice, his identity, as clear and obvious as possible. He moves closer to the door, pushes it open and further fills the room with light from the living room, but makes no move to enter, not yet. *Calm yourself, Raiden. Don't think I won't restrain you simply because you’re injured.”

     There would be no easy way to explain it, and despite having quite literally saved the man’s life, Sam was certain he’d be dealing with Raiden’s special brand of paranoia and standoffishness regardless of their circumstances. Had it not been the only feasible option at the time... oh, if only Sam could have dumped him in some hotel room in Omitama and left it all at that, maybe a call on the codec on occasion to check in... but that would be too unreasonable, and even he wasn’t so heartless, not even to the likes of Raiden.

          𝗠𝗔𝗬𝗕𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘,  𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗡𝗢 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 — 𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗟𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗧  as the knife met where his heart would’ve been.  but that was when he had been stripped of everything;  identity,  labels,  will…  things were different then.  now?  now…

     i still have something to live for.  there’s someone out there who still needs me.

     raiden always knew playing this game would eventually get him killed.  that didn’t change the fact he’d still feel regret when it would come down to his life on the line.  the thing about when you climb higher on the radar is the list of enemies don’t get any shorter.    and now,  what?  he was laying here in some damp alleyway,  waiting to bleed out at the last?  waiting for the final warning of imminent termination?  he’s not unfamiliar to the sensation — it’s cold and full of dread.  the numbness.  the fading.  that’s what it’s come down to,  hasn’t it?  waiting for death as it’s knocking at your door?

     there’s a darkness that blots out his vision of the clouded sky,  and he thinks it’s his optic feed finally blacking out before he does.  it's…  moving.  was it actually a person?  someone who’s come back to finish the job?  the visual’s glitching too much to process the shadow.  his head lolls to the side.  no,  he had to be imagining it.  too much blood loss.  something.  anything.   they move a little closer,  the shorter distance giving his eyes a chance to adjust and light up their features,  and…

     he gags on his own blood.  it’s not a pretty sound,  coughing and retching because you’re startled by the sight (  to be honest,  seeing sam’s face was the LAST thing he wanted to see  -  even on his deathbed  ).  it nearly leaves him mortified,  yet he’s too delirious to fully comprehend the situation.  the cyborg’s hand twitches against the concrete,  the other resting on his chest tries to reach up before falling away.  the mumbling comes out sloppy and slurred:  no way to tell what raiden’s even saying.  it isn’t until one thing comes out clear enough,  loopy as it may be. 

     “  …  sam…?  ”

     Though Sam wasn’t a man to believe in the likes of fate or destiny, even he had to admit it: it was a hell of a coincidence that he was the one to find Raiden like this.

     He was on the beginnings of a more regular schedule at the time, traveling around the country’s bigger cities to gather information on prospective targets, to observe their patterns and routines and form a standard of operation. He couldn’t laze around wallowing in regret and physical pain forever, and even if his body was still on the mend, it could never hurt to keep his mind and instincts sharp, yes? Though he was in the city at the time, likely only a few blocks away when it happened, Sam hadn’t seen it go down and only managed to stumble upon the aftermath, but... it was clear from the start there was no time for shock or surprise. He felt the first trickles of rain against the back of his neck, the dimming light in his peripheral vision as night grew nearer, and knew he had to make a choice.

     Public healthcare was a no-go, for obvious reasons, though there would be no trouble finding a capable mechanic. His had been when Sam had first reached out to her and explained the needs of his predicament, but Ahma had learned not to ask unnecessary questions after that—so it sufficed to tell her he had a friend in need of some emergency service. The drive was the part that would be a killer, but he supposed there was little choice, While Raiden’s body gave him a much higher fighting chance of surviving even a wound like this under stress, it was still clearly a civilian frame, and Sam didn’t have much in the way of first aid on him... he did what he could to wrap the wound and keep pressure nonetheless, and though it would be awkward (and tiresome) his coat came off to cover Raiden. Sam lifted him carefully, settled him chest-to-chest, and so began the long trek to meet his mechanic on the way. 

     Ever since they (or he) started calling consistently, Sam told himself he would never allow anyone from his past life into the family home, that even Ahma’s presence there was just an unavoidable consequence of his permanent condition, but it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together; Raiden hadn’t come to Japan for work, and... hopefully knew better than to pick fights when in a body suited for civilian life. It wouldn’t be safe staying too close to the bigger cities and he needed specialized care besides—and if push came to shove, Sam knew he could properly defend the minka, if Raiden’s assailants caught wind of his survival and came back to finish the job. 

@synthons​: “People like us aren’t made for happy lives with happy endings.” slinks away

     “Is that so?”

     Sam didn’t answer for a time, eyes focused instead on something outside. It’d been raining for days on end, not that he could leave the minka very often with Raiden taking shelter inside. But they still had power, shelter, food and warmth, even internet, and... well. Sam supposed that when he had little other choice, Raiden was a decent conversational partner as well. Yes, it could have been much worse. He sat up, craning his head to look at the thermostat before inching it up another degree. 

     “Mm... no. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can agree,” he said. “It’s one thing to think you don’t deserve it, but if it is something I want for myself? If I’m willing to work for it? I dare anyone to tell me I’m not made for it.”

     “And I would bet that goes for you, as well. How many people would look at yo,what you are, the things you have done, and tell you that you cannot be a father? That you were not ‘made’ to be one?” The recollection of that conversation, at least the glimpses of it Sam was able to get before Raiden decided to take it outside, curled his lips in an amused grin that quickly gave way to an expression more solemn. “But you are, yes? Even if it went against every fiber of your being, you would still be, or I bet that you would try, at least. No person is so black and white as to be destined for one life or another, Raiden. In the end, our ‘destiny’ is no more than what we make of the cards we are dealt.”

@synthons​​:  “i don’t want to be that old guy that gives you advice, but i look at you and i think there are two versions of how your life can go.”

      «𝙷𝚎𝚑. 𝙾𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘?»

     This time, he was the one up in the dead of night for the call, but Sam knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. He was making a slow but purposeful transition back into the field, and while his body was having a better time than he thought it would at adjusting to the strain, mentally...

     Sam leaned forward, glancing at the TV on the far wall before turning his attention back to his food.  «𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚘𝚖, 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝙸'𝚖 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍'𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎...»

@fractempyreal​:  “Are you always like this?”

     “What? Surely I’m allowed to relax within my own domain?”

     The demon was still well sated from an earlier meal, and seemingly unthreatened by an intruder in the space he so erroneously claimed as his own; in the dark of night, it was difficult to spot him in the grass until he rolled his body around, and a spread of stars shone along the underside of a pair of great wings. He stretched, immense claws slicing the air before languidly lifting his head, and a pair of bright eyes trained on Vergil in the dark.

     “Big meals take time to settle. Not to mention the energy I wasted to get it... demons these days are pitiful and cowardly, but quick little things, difficult to catch.” Briefly, a tail flickers into sight under the moonlight, only to vanish back into shadow just as quickly; the wind stirred into a pleasant but short-lived breeze before collapsing into silence, silencing even the ambient hum of mortal wildlife. “Is there a reason you’ve come, half-blood? Something you seek of me? If you take any longer, I may simply fall asleep.”