004 | don't disturb the beast

[mortal_son]

Who: Shinjiro and YOU (?)
Where: Back alleys of Genessia City
When: Backdated to 9/02/2017
What: Aftermath of this thread
Warnings: Language, self-destructive thoughts, self-destructive behavior, regretting not having been murdered, and probably Castor. Shinjiro doesn't want to fight anyone, though.

[ ACTION ]

Shinjiro knew he had to get out of his apartment now. Before he lost control. Before he ...

The ball of terrible, sweet, awful emotion which had sat in his heart since that video on the phone, swelled and swirled within him.

He could almost hear Castor's laughter.


Almost stumbling, he ran out of his apartment, down the hall, down the stairs, out. Out of the place filled with people. Out into the alleys, hopefully not quite as filled with people. He snarled, and tried to bite back the snarl. Tried to get his head under control.

This was a bad place to lose control. A city, even at night, was still quite populated. These streets weren't safe from him. If he lost control ... if he slipped up ...

It'd be like what happened to the Amada woman all over again.

His chest seized up in pain, forcing Shinjiro to stop. Damn it. Running still didn't work out well for him, with these Suppressants. That he wasn't even taking a full dose for, right now. Even if he had, after what that red-headed guy did, could he handle this?

In the abandoned alley, barely visible from the street, Shinjiro coughed until his throat felt raw. Clutched at his head and tried to stop just feeling.

Even if he deserved it.

He deserved all of this, for what he'd done, for being a murderer, for abandoning his friends, from leaving everyone he loved behind, for everything. He lost it all. And it was all his fault. This is what he deserved.

Castor certainly thought he should die, of course.

He struggled to breathe, and regain control.

There were too many people here.

Comments

[softlyspeaks]

"Oh..."

A voice, soft and smooth from the opening of the ally. Someone had followed him in.

A man, dressed to the nines in white, purple and black, a shopping bag full of groceries. There was a pause, was he regretting coming in? Was he scared?

Before-

"... Are you alright?" Genuine, quizzical, concerned, he made no motion to get closer, continuing to stand right there, plenty of room between the two.

[mortal_son]

... He recognized that voice. It was the voice from the radio show.

It didn't matter who it belonged to. It wasn't safe.

"Stay away from me," Shinjiro rasped, voice hoarse from his coughing fit. His tone was exhausted, angry, and heartsick.

He lied, fear in his heart for this man he didn't even know, "I don't need any help -"

Which, of course, is when another coughing fit started again.

[softlyspeaks]

A hand instead dipped into the plastic bag, gently tugging out a bottle of... juice. Just juice. Brilliant pink, and opaque.

"Of course not." Never mind what statement that was in reference to, he moved to offer the drink instead. And yes, indeed if Shinji didn't retrieve it himself, Cecil would cheerfully roll it over there.

"... You're going to throw up." The tone was still soft, not accusing nor admonishing, as Shinjiro coughed again. "Maybe you should sit down for a moment. I won't call anyone."

[mortal_son]

As the coughing fit waned - and the radio host was quite right about the danger of vomiting - Shinjiro shook his head. It was dubious if he was trying to reject help, or if he was just unable to reach out toward the stranger.

His knees were about to give out anyway, Shinjiro told himself. He slid down against the wall, brick rasping against the rough fabric of his coat. Still clutched his head, beanie becoming soaked in sweat.

Just briefly, quick enough that most people would think they imagined it, a ghostly image flickered overhead. Shinjiro shuddered.

"No," he slammed his head backward against the wall, forceful and with intent, just once. Having someone here, likely defenseless, actually strengthened his resolve.

He might have deserved whatever Castor wanted to do with him, but this guy didn't.

But fuck, if his head didn't hurt now. He tried to sound forceful, but that wasn't happening. "... 'M not safe."

[softlyspeaks]

Ah, fleeting, flashing images were no new thing to Cecil, the entity got a seconds long look from him before Shinjiro rammed his own head against the wall. Just once!

With Shinjiro also apparently unable to retrieve the drink, Cecil would... well, totally ignore the warning, moving forward with the drink as the other man insisted he wasn't safe.

"Oh lots of things aren't safe, but that shouldn't stop people from getting involved anyway."

He took a seat not too far from Shinjiro, still a decent bit of space between the two as the drink was slid forward again, and then left there.

"... I do have aspirin too." Calmly refusing to needle or press about anything deeper than the surface issues.

[mortal_son]

This guy had a calm, soothing voice. Of course he did, radio show, obvious. Shinjiro focused on that, as every nerve in him protested accepting help. He had to. He had to use every fragment he could grasp, or things could end very badly.

His breath was loud and labored. It occurred to him that the drink might prevent another coughing fit - might not help with the nausea, but one problem at a time - and he reached a shaky hand for it. The man must have moved it closer earlier. Considerate. Kind.

He grimaced. Pathetic. Weak. This was the reason he didn't deserve nice things, because he couldn't keep himself under control. His thoughts, heightened by the feelings from the earlier video, swirled around and around, dark and morose.

Still. He drank the juice, and only was half-worried it might be drugged. Better drugged and ... whatever, than murdering people, anyway.

His glare, when directed at Cecil, would have been much more effective if he wasn't a sweaty mess collapsed on a ground against a wall, and his voice didn't sound like it belonged to someone four times his age. "Why are you stayin?"

"You helped a pathetic bum, good for-" wheeze, grimace, sip some more juice already.

[softlyspeaks]

Of course! The perfect voice for radio, wasn't it? Maybe not for an exceptionally long drive late at night, but certainly good for this.

Guava, by the taste of it, hints of cactus juice as well. Cool and refreshing, sweet but not overly so. Something picked up at a natural food store by the taste of it. Cecil was still watching, comfortably seated and not looking a bit concerned, either about the potential danger the young man posed or the dirty ground coming in contact with his nice suit pants.

Indeed, the glare did absolutely nothing; Shinjiro would be met back with that same calm, violet gaze, half lidded and almost sleepy in appearance.

"Well you're not better yet." Seemed like a fairly easy answer!

"Easy, easy. Small sips, don't push yourself." He crossed his legs, resting his hands on his lap. Something slid across the radio hosts forearm, serpentine and thin, but he seemed to pay it no heed.

"Deep breaths."

[mortal_son]

He hated himself for it (but, certainly, with his emotions as they were, he hated himself for so many things right now, didn't he?) but he followed Cecil's instructions. It was pretty easy to, anyway. Guy should do self-help audiobooks or something.

In, out. Without any prompting, he kept it at a rhythm. This wasn't his first time, oh no.

Even if it hadn't been this bad in a while. Since the last time he tried to lower his Suppressant intake, anyway. That was a bad idea.

Now, he had no choice. Unless he wanted to blow through them all in a couple of weeks and then go berserk in Genessia. Fuck. After how he left SEES, after what he'd done, and considering how useless he was now, maybe it'd be better if he'd just -

Castor rose up within his brain, again, and Shinjiro cursed under his breath. Right. Right. Thinking like that wasn't going to help shit.

He had to get control of himself -

- out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement of. Something. On Cecil's arm. Like a tattoo, almost, if tattoos could move.

It startled him out of his dark, vicious thought cycle. He asked, too exhausted and worn down by his self-hatred to feel real fear, "The hell is that?"

[softlyspeaks]

And he watched it, every moment, every minute motion on Shinjiro's face. Every tiny change in expression.

He shifted as the other man cursed, battling something back down again. The thing he'd seen for half a second? That seemed like a reasonable guess.

"Hm?" He glanced to his arm, and moved to show him.

Tattoos covered both arms, swirling along his wrists and forearms, curling around his elbows. Native American in many of their designs, some seemed to be Navajo. Others, however, were not quite in line with those old patterns. Markings of eyes, dancing figures, lines that swept and curled here and there...

None of them moving.

"These?"

[mortal_son]

Shinjiro didn't like being watched so closely, but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't just make the guy go away, after all. He'd been very clear how little he wanted him here.

But this was providing a very good distraction now, wasn't it? He looked at the man's arms, and couldn't help but be impressed by the ink there. They looked really cool, even if ... if some of the lines, and markings, were eerie and peculiar. He hadn't seen anything like it before, and yet.

Well. Regardless, they weren't moving. Shinjiro closed his eyes, hissing in frustration. Everything hurt, Castor hated him, he hated Castor, he hated himself, and now it looked like he was hallucinating.

"Now I'm seein shit," he muttered, angry. "Damn it."

[softlyspeaks]

"Seeing things? No, the marks are really there, don't worry."

Ah, see? Speak of them, and a tattooed eye spins about to look at him for a moment, flecks of purple appearing and disappearing in the iris before it shuts and vanishes again.

"I hope you don't mind them, I'm afraid there's really not much I can do about them all without cosmetics. Birthmarks can be so embarrassing."

[mortal_son]

"Birthmarks," Shinjiro echoed, dumbly. He groaned, and rested his head back against the wall. The hell if those were birthmarks! But. This was Genessia. This was going to be a place full of weird shit. And really, who was he to judge considering what he was going through tonight?

If anyone should be judged, it should be -

He clutched his head again. Right. Fuck. Happy thoughts. As if. How about less awful thoughts?

He muttered, angry and uncensored, "Stupid fucking video."

Points to Cecil, though; Shinjiro was still taking those deep breaths, now that he wasn't distracted by the guy's arms. He still was sipping, rather than gulping down the juice.

The most critical precipice of danger was waning.

[softlyspeaks]

"Oh yes. Carlos likes them just fine, but I can understand if they might make some other people uncomfortable." He didn't move to roll his sleeves back down at all though.

"Did something happen on the communicator?" Light and easy, once again lacking in any sort of push or demand. A question that could be easily bucked.

"You look like you're starting to feel a little better. You know, I can tell you where I got that juice, in case you find yourself really enjoying it."

[mortal_son]

Personally, he wasn't quite sure if they bothered him or not, per se. They were eerie, sure, yet Shinjiro had seen a lot of creepy stuff, between the Dark Hour and Tartarus itself. It didn't look like they were about to leap out of the guy's skin and attack him, so it was probably fine.

He scowled, hunching inward a little. "There was a guy who started singin, 'cept it. Did things to ya. Made you ..."

Shinjiro grimaced, and pressed his head against his knees. Not doing that deep breathing now. He was trying to block out the feelings - the intensity of those feelings, rather.

"It's intense. Like - " getting charmed by a Shadow, except worse, because at least then you know your actions aren't your own. This time, these were his own feelings. "- like gettin suckerpunched with regret. And then he kept doin it, and doin it, and it made me so fucking angry ..."

That was really the last straw, the blasts of bitterness/frustration/anger in those last few comments. And here Shinjiro was trying to be nice.

And really, if he had better self-control, this wouldn't even be happening, would it?

He trembled, and ignored Cecil claiming he was getting better, and ignored the offer of juice, and just tried to keep his head calm.

The Persona within him squirmed.