STAINED PAST(HIATUS)

he caught the subtle shift in his expression, the way he tried to maintain his composure despite the amusement that jazzed just beneath the surface. a game they played, it seemed, with a delicate balance betwixt push and pull, give and take. somehow they had managed to perfect it: in a way that words had become weapons, and each exchange was a careful step that had to be taken. it was with a sigh ( that was more for show than anything else ) that ryker leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed whilst offering the pack of cigarettes with a familiarity born of countless exchanges. and then ⸻ as if caring not about the proximity, he tilted his head in an unspoken invitation for them to light it.

There is annoyance at their commentary, yet it is mixed with amusement; part of him knows they know his words hold the truth, that if he so wanted to be a THREAT, he would become one- hell, he is one, yet he chooses not to act upon it; they haven’t given him reason to anyways, and he is not an irrational man. ❝ Oh dorogoy. ❞ He humors, gazes not met yet. ❝ That would be the mere start~ ❞ He plays with words, multiple meanings covered by the unclarity of their direction. It would certainly be the sweet start of an endless, bitter torture if he so wishes it to be, or the spark to ignite a lustful night. ❝ And besides, it’s never too early or late for such endeavors. ❞ Again, it can mean either and he lets it be vague.

They stay in their usual character: an occasionally pleasant annoyance, trying to pull the strings of his nerves, to play them like a guitar, but he does not succumb to it. They can both play this game all night long, tirelessly, as if it is the language they know to speak in the presence of one another, a one only for them to decipher meticulously, effortlessly, no ill feelings or misunderstandings. A rarity people would envy them for. ❝ Are you suggesting I should decline your invitations? ❞ A raise of his brow as if he means the question, as if he needs the answer to water confusion when he does not in reality. Sarcastic, but not demeaning. ❝ Maybe I should. ❞ He leans onto the bars of the balcony, head tilted to the side down to observe the busy streets, arms open and resting at the elbows on the edge while his forearms dangle a little off it, relaxed.

“You can’t die.” Caine hopes his words, now delivered in a soft tone, are comforting. “Death isn’t very family friendly.” Says the guy, who makes almost every adventure dark and creepy. “And if you do `die` then you`ll simply respawn somewhere here in the circus.” 

What about the abstractions? Well they are even a mystery to him. Humans that gave up…but are not dead. They’re still very much alive…perhaps very bored…down there…in the dark…At least they have each other! Perhaps he should avoid mentioning them altogether. Talking about abstraction, seems to be a catalyst for causing abstraction. Ironic.

A few words, yet they bring both joy and dispare; of course it is a good thing they can’t die, right? There must be a way out of this, so. Yet, what if someone wants out? What if this is an ETERNAL torture and the only escape is DEATH? That would be more horrifying than death itself! 

Death isn’t very family friendly. Yeah. Sure. It forces a chuckle out of him, lightens the mood. Their choice to not bring up the abstractions doesn’t go unnoticed, but he is the one who dismissed it after all, there is no room for complains- and honestly? He would rather not dwell on that too much now or else he will become one. 

A sigh. A nod of his head in acknowledgment and agreement before he gestures at the mess he has made with one of his tools.   ❝  Well, I guess I can’t tinker much in here without blowing things up, can I?  ❞   A scoff at himself.   ❝  You should try it sometimes though. I know you could fix anything with a snap of your fingers, but it’s no fun, is it?  ❞

"Not on my watch! Not on my watch!"

He grunts in disappointment as his curses get censored. ❝ you’re no fun. ❞

Well that one blew up in their face, literally. Caine's tiny body is catapulted across the tent. However, his eyes remain in their position, floating just in front of the scorch mark left on the checkered floor. What did Tinkzo say the machine was supposed to do again? Did it really matter now ? Maybe...it was supposed to explode...Unlikely.

"Wowie zowie owie!" His voice echos from the other side of the circus. It's not often he is struck, intentionally or otherwise. It took him by surprise. Really, he should have seen it coming. Tinkzo's creations do tend to implode at any given moment.

A puff of smoke and he is back. His usually pearly white teeth, have a little ash dusted around their surface. "I'm glad we can't die here. That would have killed me and definitely you. HAHA."

He is focused on the task at hand, a one no assigned to him but himself; how else would he spend his time aside from these damn adventures—- well, he doesn’t dislike all of them, actually finds quite a numerous amount to be fun, but he would never admit it to their CREATOR.

They are right; that one would have annihilated anything in its path. A grit of teeth signals his anger; he used to be so good at this(right?), why is it this difficult in this world? The FRUSTRATION would have eaten him alive had it not been for the site of them suffering the consequences of his mistake, he even holds in a laugh.

Die——

He sits, a finger rubs on the black scorch mark as if it could be wiped off. ❝ Can’t we, really? ❞ He knows he is sounding crazy, but then again, isn’t this whole thing? ❝ Do you know that for sure? Like- ❞ He hesitates a little, mind forming scenarios within it. ❝ Like what if we had an invisible HP that’s depleting without us even knowing it? What happens when we abstract? Is it like brain death? Is it— worse? ❞ He could go on dumping everything off his mind, but he realized he has babbled too much, beating them at their own game. Besides, why is he asking them? He doesn’t trust them anyway, why bother? ❝ Nevermind! ❞

⸺      ♔.     ❝     I'm   not   afraid   of   𝖆𝖇𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.   It'll   get   me   eventually   .   It   gives   me   peace   ,   actually   ,   knowing   whether   I   do   or   I   don't   ;   I'm   at   least   with   surrounded   by   the   people   I   love   &&   either   way   I   have   to   miss   someone   else   .   ❞   White   mitt   motions   to   take   the   latter's   hand   ,   lightly   squeezing   it   . 

⸺      ♔.     ❝     It's   alright   if   you're   afraid   .   It   can   be   difficult   to   make   peace   with   the   𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍   .❞ ⊹₊

Despite their craziness, their usual words making no sense, these ones, like some others in rare occasions, actually make sense, ring a bell in his mind- wait! Can he call it a mind here? What the hell is he thinking? Never mind! Never mind! 

How do they do it? What did they go through to shape them this way? So resilient and strong despite the mask of cluelessness and INSANITY? He is strong, he has to be, always has been for those around him, he can’t break in front of them—- maybe just in front of Kinger? Is it even real and possible the fatherly warmth he feels in their presence? Pfft, he must be losing it, the digital black tears forcing their way must be evidence for it.   ❝  I-  ❞   His hand squeezes theirs back while he buries his face in the crook of his other arm; he can’t let the others see him like this, vulnerable; he is always strong for them, he has to be!   ❝  I am scared… I don’t wanna be!  ❞   It is as if letting the words out breaks something in him and he can’t stop crying, trying to muffle the sobs, trying to stop! Why is he crying like this for fuck’s sake?