genessia | Two | Action/Accidental Video

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Two | Action/Accidental Video

[Spirit has been doing his best to behave, spending the vast majority of his time working or exploring the city. Generally, this has gone on completely without incident--barring a few run-ins with unsavory folk, he's been doing all right for himself.

Today, however, is not that day. It's already late when the video feed turns on. There isn't any image, just a black screen and quiet scuffing. The phone is still in his pocket.]

S'...h-hey. S'not even that late yet!

Look pal, you've been here for ages and you've had enough. Get out. Go home or something, I don't care.

[A door opens and slams. Any passers-by near Jack's Bar would be greeted with one intoxicated Deathscythe being tossed off the premises.

It's only a few moments later that the phone is fished out of his pocket. Anyone watching is greeted with a frowning face.]

Ah, shit...sorry.

[With that, the feed abruptly turns off.]

[ooc: feel free to run into Spirit along any part of this misadventure, from before he's kicked out to on his way home!]

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[Stein could continue to move furniture. Though Spirit had moved everything he could physically relocate to block the door, it wasn't much: a chest and some drawers, and a small chair. It was a deterrent, not a barricade.

So, with a little wheedling, it wouldn't be impossible to get the door open.

Unfortunately for Stein's plans, however, the noise was enough to wake the scythe. When the door finally opened, Spirit was standing ready at the other side of the door, arms crossed.]

You can't think I'm that stupid.

You might be. [It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

It's one thing to cut someone open in their sleep, and something completely different to attack his weapon while he's standing there.

Stein backs up, and goes to sit on the couch. His skin itches.]

Well, I'm not.

[He can sense his former meister recoiling before the boy does so. It almost seems unfair to do this to him. As an adult, Spirit is more than aware that Stein didn't threaten to vivisect people for the express purpose of being terrifying. He did it to sate a deep-seated curiosity.

The part of him that remembered being the non-consenting subject of those experiments, however, can't shake the jittery anxiety that had him push every mobile piece of furniture in front of the door.

He's quiet for a minute, turning back to his bed but not going to close the door again. The question he wants to ask lingers, but doesn't find itself voiced. Instead, he sits back in bed, still facing the doorway with a glower.]

Don't make me regret this.

[When he speaks, his voice is quiet and hesitant. Every inch of him is screaming not to be an idiot, but he can't help but feel cruel. And if he doesn't help Stein through this phase of his life, stuck here as a child again, who will? If, as he'd said to Guardian Tepet, Spirit wasn't available as the unwilling test subject, who might be subjected to it instead? Theirs had been a failure of a partnership at its' very roots, but it had been theirs. And if nobody else had to suffer through Stein's peculiar brand of madness, maybe that would have to be enough.

He lets his head hang with a quiet sigh.]

Please.

Edited 2014-10-29 00:45 (UTC)

[Spirit's too trusting. Stein has no intention of letting Spirit stay in one piece. But Spirit's offering trust. Spirit's saying "I know this is stupid but I want to trust you". He wants his weapon to trust him.]

I'm going for a walk.

[He stands, and shoves his hands into his pockets. He needs to cut something open, even if it isn't Spirit.

He needs to cut himself open. He needs to slice and cut and figure out what's wrong with him. If he cuts deeply enough, he'll cut it out, the piece that's wrong. He just needs to cut something out, keep himself intact but still tear out whatever's wrong.]

[He wants to trust Stein. It had been easy enough to do so as a kid, before he'd put two and two together and been confronted by the fact that someone else knew the truth as well. But with age comes wisdom--or something like it--and that broken trust is not something he can so easily forget. Not anymore.]

It's after midnight.

[He was so damned tired, and he's too damn old for this. This had been the reason, as an adult with the perfect vision of hindsight, that he'd been quiet about how broken their partnership had been for so long.

He didn't particularly like Stein when they were kids, but he didn't dislike his former meister so much as to wish harm upon him.]

Go to bed.

[He hesitates, and then points to the chair sitting askew in his bedroom.] If you have a scalpel or a box cutter or a knife, it stays here.

[Stein knows that sort of command. He's had experience with it, with parents and doctors and teachers telling him to hand over anything sharp. So he does. He slinks into Spirit's room, turns out his pockets and sets two box cutters, a razor blade, and a scalpel on the chair.]

There are knives in the kitchen. [He reminds Spirit, voice coming out tired and small. See? He's voluntarily giving up something Spirit didn't even ask for. He's behaving.

He needs to cut something open. He needs to. He won't be able to sleep, he'll spend the next hours and days pacing the apartment, picking things up, putting them down, fidgeting and restless until he finally becomes too exhausted to stay awake.]

I know.

[If the array of cutlery on the chair in his bedroom unnerves him, Spirit makes every effort to not let it show. He makes no move to collect the items. Asking Stein to relinquish them was enough, at least for now.

The clock in the living room is ticking and it is indecently loud, and he wonders if this is what madness is really like.]

Will you be okay?

[The absolute epitome of stupid ideas crosses his mind. Should he have stayed silent in his bed, grit his teeth and kept his eyes closed and pretended he hadn't heard the quiet scuff of feet, the clink of metal? Pray that the alcohol was numbing enough to keep him still and hope the pain would knock him out quickly? That--that was something he understood. He knew, ultimately, it would be more than miserable. But in a few days the pain would wane, and he could probably get some medicine from somewhere, and the wound would heal into another neat little scar that he could blame on some confrontation like all the others. In a week, it would be okay. Another night of broken trust and another scar, but he'd survive it just like he had all the others.

Is that what he should have done? That was a set of circumstances he knew the outcome of.

These? He couldn't know. He couldn't know if Stein would be okay. And despite it being the most disordered train of thought he could recall ever having, he couldn't shake the thought that it was his fault for knowing what his meister had planned to do.

He should have had more to drink.]

Go get them. [Stein is trying. He's trying his very best right now, and the strain of it shows in his voice.

He can't go get the knives because if he even starts moving over there, he knows that he won't stop until one of them is cut into pieces. And he knows he won't be able to stop once he gets started.

He keeps his hands in fists and holds them at his sides. His skin stings where he needs to cut it.

Spirit has to know that Stein's doing his best. He has to.]

[Spirit had no recollection of this being so hard. Then again, he had no clear recollection of truly standing his ground as a teen, either.

It feels like he's weighed down, the effort of standing and going to the kitchen monumental. It isn't the alcohol. It's the weight of betrayal. This, on the scale of the sort of betrayal he's dealt his meister in the past, is nothing. But it is a sense of betrayal that is happening right now, and that's enough for him.

There's only a few knives in the kitchen and he retrieves them. As a sign of good faith--or stupidity, depending on whom you asked--he puts them with the other sharp objects on the chair.

Exhaustion is starting to set in combined with the gravity of the situation, and he sinks back on to the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.]

I'm sorry.

[It's not betrayal. It's Stein willingly putting himself on a leash, telling his weapon what to do to minimize the threat.

This is what his life is going to be like, for as long as Death lets him live. He needs to get used to it.]

Close the door.

[Maybe, if there's a door between him and the knives, he won't grab them. Out of sight, out of mind.]

Get some sleep.

[Stein is still standing just slightly in the doorway. Something about literally locking his meister out of the room, when he was so obviously distressed, seemed cruel.

One hand on the door, he glances away, unwilling to meet the gaze that continues to watch him. Without seeing, he knows the gaze is hungry. Desperate.]

You're...okay? If...

[He has to know that he hasn't broken something irrevocably, at least in this moment. That tomorrow there is a chance that things might be okay, or at least not catastrophically wrong.

The words die half spoken. If this is too much, all you have to do is say so.]

Edited 2014-10-29 02:47 (UTC)

Go. [He manages the tone of a meister giving commands to a weapon, that unshakable authority that all weapons are trained to follow. He's going to get Spirit out of the way before he hurts his weapon.]

[The door closes almost instantaneously. But he lingers on the other side, arms crossed and frowning.]

If you need help, I'm here.

[That's all that remains to be said.

The various knives, box cutters, scalpels--he collects them and tucks them into the back of one of the drawers, and sinks into the chair that now faces the door. Intoxicated and exhausted he may be, but he had no delusions of sleep happening tonight.]

[Stein doesn't come for help. He spends the hours until Spirit wakes up pacing around the apartment, never taking the same exact patch twice in a row. He doesn't stop moving, like constant walking will drain the restlessness away. He picks up things, puts them down in different places, opens drawers and cabinets, shoves furniture around. It doesn't help.

After about two hours, he can't avoid the urge anymore. He pulls his shirt off and starts scratching at a spot on the left side of his ribcage. He can't make a clean cut, but he can claw with blunt nails until his skin splits open and blood drips down behind him as he wanders. He's not going to patch it up. After three more hours, he'll have scratched down to the bone.]

[Spirit listens most of the night. He scoots his chair right up against the door, his forehead resting against the cool wood, and counts footsteps until he can't keep track anymore. He counts the times he hears furniture scuffing across the floor. He counts the drawers opening, closing, opening and closing.

When the pattern of footsteps changes, he opens the door just a crack to see the drops of blood on the floor and he cringes. Stein had always had moments of this sort of behavior--the self harming, when nothing else was available--and it always made him incredibly uncomfortable. As his weapon, he was supposed to prevent his meister from being hurt.

So when he sees the raw flesh through the small crack in the door, he comes out immediately. Both hands grab his meister's wrist, slightly rougher than intended.

Spirit says nothing, just gently tugs the boy along with him to the bathroom. He forces Stein to run his hands under the hot water as he gathers antiseptic and gauze. Like hell he'd let Stein leave a cut made by his bare hands get infected on top of everything else he'd allowed to happen tonight.

He makes quick work of patching up the cut, frowning. Spirit contemplates too wrapping up Stein's hands. It was something he'd tried once or twice with no success, but that didn't stop him from considering it then.

Assured that, at least for now, the small wound is protected, Spirit turns and leaves the bathroom, confident Stein would follow eventually if only out of curiosity.

Back in the kitchen, he starts hot water for tea and gathers the small bucket of cleaning supplies he kept under the sink.

Five minutes later, he plops a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table.]

Sit down and drink it. It will help you sleep.

[There's no argument to be had here as he turns to the small drips of blood on the floor. It was nearly morning, and he was exhausted, and he needed to report for work--but he'd do his best to ensure Stein was safe or at least safe enough. It was the least he could do.]

[Stein fights against Spirit when the weapon grabs his hands, doesn't say anything, just tries to slip away. It doesn't work. He knows he won't be able to break Spirit's hold, but that doesn't mean he has to come easily.

So Spirit drags him to the bathroom, forces his hands under the water, makes him stand there while antiseptic is applied and gauze is taped on. This is one of those days where wrapping his hands might have helped, if only because it would have made him pause for a moment. It might have made him think. As it stands, he's picking at the tape even as he follows Spirit into the kitchen.

At least he follows quickly, pulled along by curiosity as surely as if Spirit had him on a leash. He waits in the kitchen, circling around behind Spirit and watching the weapon's every move. Stein isn't rational, not right now. He's all predatory observation, studying Spirit's pulse and the way the tendons of his hands stretch and move underneath his skin.

He's relearning Spirit, getting back that instinctive understanding of his weapon even though Spirit's nearly two decades older than he should be.

But when Spirit gives him a command, he sits. He takes the mug in his hands and just breathes in the steam. See, Spirit? He's behaving. He can do this.]

[He can feel the eyes watching him as he moved about the apartment, and tries not to think about the uncomfortable sensation of being studied. The sensation isn't unfamiliar. Stein had been the first (and by far the most persistent), but that hadn't stopped his ex wife and more recently Lord Death from doing the same. Regardless he wasn't a fan of the prying eyes.

As the saying goes, however, he should count his blessings that it's only eyes and not the infinitely unavoidable soul perception. A smarter man would take what he could get.

Spirit watches as Stein sits in front of the mug of tea, one eye focused on his miniature meister as he ponders where he might have winter clothes. While Stein sips--or contemplates sipping, whichever he chooses--he digs through the coat closet.]

Aha!

[Let it not be said he isn't resourceful when it's necessary. Triumphant, he walks back to the couch and plops down next to Stein. In his hands are a pair of gloves. They're the small and stretchy sort, and Spirit carefully tugs on a few loose strands of yarn. Perhaps the strings would be enough to pick at, a distraction. And if it wasn't, nobody could say he didn't try.

Spirit sits the gloves in Stein's lap.]

Stop picking at the dressing. [He laughs. Nervously.] You know I really don't like blood and I don't want to have to fix it again.

[The irony of having a meister who lives to cut things open and a weapon who really would be quite content to never see blood again. Funny, that.]

Uh...please.

[Stein puts the gloves on. He doesn't like it. His hands feel trapped, feel clumsy and hidden and he hates it. But Stein's trusting (maybe "trust" is the wrong word, but at the very least he's accepting) that Spirit's more experienced, that his weapon knows better how to mange him than Stein knows how to manage himself.

The boy should drink the tea and try to sleep, but he starts pacing instead. He's too restless.]

[Most days Spirit is just glad they made it out of their childhood primarily intact. When he looks back on their interaction as partners he realizes it's nothing short of a miracle that they did. Meaning, of course, that he has absolutely no idea of how to manage this; he's just a convincing liar now that he's a bit older.]

Stein.

[Speaking of older...he's too old for this.]

The tea will get cold. Doesn't reheat well. If you have to pace at least do it while you're drinking it.

[A parent learns when to compromise, after all. Maybe that will work to their advantage.]

[It's going to be different this time around. Stein's a child, and Spirit is not. Sprit's a qualified adult, a death scythe, a parent. Spirit knows what Stein is and what he can become. It's fair to say that Spirit knows Stein better than Stein knows himself.

He grabs the cup off the table, quickly enough that some of the tea splashes onto his gloves, and gulps down a huge mouthful of tea.

If it burns him, he doesn't show it.]

[Witnessing the gulp that Stein took, he was glad he remembered not to let the water boil to scalding... otherwise he'd have a burned meister as well as a wounded one.

Meanwhile he prays that the herbal tea will be enough to settle pacing feet and help Stein rest. Nobody can handle anything well when they haven't slept.]

You need to sleep.

[And not only for his own sanity. The instant he thought it would be safe to leave Stein alone for a short while, Spirit planned to take the scalpels and box cutters and razors and knives and get rid of them--give them to Kid or Soul or Maka or even someone down the hall. Just get them out]

[The boy shakes his head, back and forth and back and forth, and takes another gulp of tea. It's too warm, and he doesn't like the taste.

He has too much energy, too much restlessness in every muscle and tendon, too many images stirring through his head.

So he just keeps pacing.]

[As a general rule, Stein, nobody likes straight herbal tea. Not one brewed this strong.

His head hurts. He's too old for this. A weapon doesn't order his meister around, but...]

Come on Stein, you have to stop. I know you don't think you can now, but I know you learn how to. You have to try. I know you can.

[He pauses, hanging his head.] That's enough for now. It's going to have to be.

You don't get to decide that, senpai. [Weapons shouldn't order their meisters around, even if Spirit was selected as his partner in order to keep him under control.]

Don't be stubborn. You haven't slept and you have to stop, even if you don't want me telling you that.

[Huff. He's not making up the instruction after all. That's in large part what he'd been told to do.]

[Action] I am pretty proud of it

[Action]

[Action] I feel bad ;-; Spirit is also a trusting idiot but I still feel bad. Also tldr tag sorry

[Action] oh right i feel like there should probably be some kind of self harm warning

[Action] ;-;

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yeah self-harm warning

Hope this isn't too much in one tag..

no that's perfect!

I love that Stein keeps thinking Spirit isn't the right age...wanted to say that a ways ago

well he issssssss

XD;;

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