Youji Kudou (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slantedcross) wrote2010-08-19 01:14 am
slantedcross) wrote2010-08-19 01:14 am
dream † 003 † 08-19-10
[ooc: still technically on hiatus. But. Also. Uh. Youji's not a huge fan of pajamas, so... 8D
Dream effects: Tension. Uncertainty. Anxiety. At the end, exactly what Youji feels.]
Even with the sweet, spiced wine warming his tongue, the humid evening chill cut straight to the bone. The ticking of the clock was audible, palpable, echoing in his head in perfect time with the hammering of his heart. The bottle on the table before him, clearly marked ‘Auschlehen,’ had been steadily drained all evening, and the looseness of mind, of thought and potential action, that it provided him with danced all across the realm of possibilities.
Do I dare? Do I not?
This is the point where you’re supposed to tell me, Youji thought, looking all around at the four quiet walls, each tick of the clock piercing another wasted second. This is the point where I need you to smile and tell me what an idiot I am and what I need to be doing.
Silence.
Another sip. Another bid for oblivion; or drunkenness if he couldn’t manage that. Another two seconds vanished, bringing him closer to the point where it becomes do or die, no second chances, forever hold your peace.
Three. Four. Five. Sixseveneightnineten
The clock crashed, banged, rang out the hour, and seven more times after that. Eight o’clock. The breeze fluttered the curtain of a window he hadn’t opened, a motorcycle sounded, roaring off into the inky, starry distance, and Youji looked back to the glass of wine in his hand.
Two sips or one deep drink; to linger, to prolong it, or to take it and run? He wasn’t sure. Each second to savor, each second to waste, was dear, precious, golden, crucial, added up it became more than it was. Sixty seconds to a minute, each creeping closer, ever closer to the edge of the precipice.
His hand tightened around the base of the wine glass. Each tick of the clock, each beat of his heart, each laborious, catching breath, brought the decision closer. Closer, but not clearer, not better into focus. It remained distant, murky, unreal, do I? Or do I not?
The glass smashed delicately against the far wall, each shard stealing a moonbeam and glittering aimlessly. Youji inhaled sharply, and took a deep drink straight from the bottle.
I can do this. I can definitely, definitely do this. No matter what, I can do this.
Whatever it was. Tick. Tick. Tick. He took another drink.
Where was that oblivion she’d promised him?
Tick.
Right. He had to complete his end of the deal. Which was. Something he was perfectly capable of. I can do it. I can.
Tick. Closer. Tick. Closer. Tick.
Tick. Tick. TicktickticktickticktickticktickTICK
Closer.
Tighter.
Youji attempted to yell, but it died, was trapped, stuck at his throat, pressing, tightening, sharply tightening around his neck, at least if the hyoid breaks they’ll be able to tell, three to five minutes before brain death--
[Youji doesn't waste time with screaming or sitting up straight; he just starts breathing deeply, audibly, steadily, noticeably, like he can't get enough oxygen in his lungs. Only after his heart rate slows does he sit up. Without looking, he automatically reaches for the silver cross on his bedside table. He starts to fasten the necklace, but--he thinks twice, breathes again and lays it aside, only now noticing the Dreamberry next to it, still recording.]
Goddammit.
[He shuts it off.]
Dream effects: Tension. Uncertainty. Anxiety. At the end, exactly what Youji feels.]
Even with the sweet, spiced wine warming his tongue, the humid evening chill cut straight to the bone. The ticking of the clock was audible, palpable, echoing in his head in perfect time with the hammering of his heart. The bottle on the table before him, clearly marked ‘Auschlehen,’ had been steadily drained all evening, and the looseness of mind, of thought and potential action, that it provided him with danced all across the realm of possibilities.
Do I dare? Do I not?
This is the point where you’re supposed to tell me, Youji thought, looking all around at the four quiet walls, each tick of the clock piercing another wasted second. This is the point where I need you to smile and tell me what an idiot I am and what I need to be doing.
Silence.
Another sip. Another bid for oblivion; or drunkenness if he couldn’t manage that. Another two seconds vanished, bringing him closer to the point where it becomes do or die, no second chances, forever hold your peace.
Three. Four. Five. Sixseveneightnineten
The clock crashed, banged, rang out the hour, and seven more times after that. Eight o’clock. The breeze fluttered the curtain of a window he hadn’t opened, a motorcycle sounded, roaring off into the inky, starry distance, and Youji looked back to the glass of wine in his hand.
Two sips or one deep drink; to linger, to prolong it, or to take it and run? He wasn’t sure. Each second to savor, each second to waste, was dear, precious, golden, crucial, added up it became more than it was. Sixty seconds to a minute, each creeping closer, ever closer to the edge of the precipice.
His hand tightened around the base of the wine glass. Each tick of the clock, each beat of his heart, each laborious, catching breath, brought the decision closer. Closer, but not clearer, not better into focus. It remained distant, murky, unreal, do I? Or do I not?
The glass smashed delicately against the far wall, each shard stealing a moonbeam and glittering aimlessly. Youji inhaled sharply, and took a deep drink straight from the bottle.
I can do this. I can definitely, definitely do this. No matter what, I can do this.
Whatever it was. Tick. Tick. Tick. He took another drink.
Where was that oblivion she’d promised him?
Tick.
Right. He had to complete his end of the deal. Which was. Something he was perfectly capable of. I can do it. I can.
Tick. Closer. Tick. Closer. Tick.
Tick. Tick. TicktickticktickticktickticktickTICK
Closer.
Tighter.
Youji attempted to yell, but it died, was trapped, stuck at his throat, pressing, tightening, sharply tightening around his neck, at least if the hyoid breaks they’ll be able to tell, three to five minutes before brain death--
[Youji doesn't waste time with screaming or sitting up straight; he just starts breathing deeply, audibly, steadily, noticeably, like he can't get enough oxygen in his lungs. Only after his heart rate slows does he sit up. Without looking, he automatically reaches for the silver cross on his bedside table. He starts to fasten the necklace, but--he thinks twice, breathes again and lays it aside, only now noticing the Dreamberry next to it, still recording.]
Goddammit.
[He shuts it off.]
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Is this the first dream you've seen, Omi?
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[Incorrigible smile. You should recognize it.]
I usually have much nicer dreams than this. My regrets you didn't fall into one of those.
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Youji-kun...
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Y-Youji? Are you all right?
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Better for seeing you.
[Skipping this unpleasantness.]
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Youji...
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I wish you wouldn't make that face.
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I'm worried about you and you just crack a smile, pretending you're okay...
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[Action]
[Sure, Youji probably doesn't want to see him right now, but that's just too bad. Sometimes our needs bear no relation to our desires. This would be Ken heading on in after no more than a cursory tap on the door - heads up, ready or not. He pushes the door open, steps through: stops short with one hand on the doorknob. I guess you could call it circumspection.]
Coffee okay, or do you want something stronger?
[Action]
Coffee's fine. Aspirin is better.
[orz CANNOT DECIDE ON ICON i apologize.]
[Action]
[One of the fortunate things about being Ken and often genuinely oblivious to darker undercurrents is that it's easy enough for him to ignore the ones you do without anyone thinking it's anything more than Ken being Ken.
[You are not going to be left by yourself right now, Youji - not even if you want to be, because I have a pretty good idea what you'd do if you were.]
I can get you both if you want 'em.
[Please say you do. Having something else to concentrate on at least delays the inevitable moment when Ken asks some kind of stupid question of the what the Hell was all that about anyway school... He doesn't want to make matters worse. But he has a horrible feeling he's going to.]
[Action]
Focus on the coffee. I have the aspirin here already.
[Nods towards the bedside table. Here's that incorrigible smile you should well recognize.]
See if you can't find a weapon while you're at it. Aya isn't the only one feeling like they'll be useful.
[...Still, slight uncomfortable vibe in that good-natured sting--obviously, Youji's weapon is hard on his mind. And, less obviously, it wasn't too long ago that he'd finally had enough of killing. Not looking forward to having to do it again.]
[Action]
[Oh look he's smiling. Ken knows that smile in his bood and knows damn well it doesn't mean anything good. Uh oh--
[That irritated glare might have looked a lot more so if Ken hadn't been barefoot, dressed in pajamas and clearly tousle-haired and bleary-eyed. He does the best he can with the material he's been handed, of course, but it's a bit of a struggle. Still, even Aya would have had issues looking convincingly indignant in his situation - and, for that matter, his decidedly less imposing body.]
Dammit Kudou not you too. For your information I already did thanks!
[He's going to be storming out now. To go stick the stuff in the thing and put the coffee on, admittedly, but it's the principle of the thing, dammit!]
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It's too quiet here.
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If you ask my roommate, it's about all I'm good for.
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Going through a rough spell?
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No. But he likes to tell me how lazy I am. Has for years.
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