slantedcross | 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.]

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[Youji shakes his head.]

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.]

Okay, coffee. I'll go stick the... the stuff in the thing, then.

[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!]

Edited 2010-08-20 08:12 (UTC)

[The temptation to ask 'which stuff?' exists, but Youji lets it slide, just this once. Possibly because this tension just barely slips into that vague realm of what he's willing to be serious about.

He watches Ken and his blue pajamas storm out with an odd sort of satisfaction. Doesn't help his mood much, but watching Ken huff was Youji's standby diversion.

All right. Act together now. He dresses in loose clothes--still deliberately foregoing the silver cross around his neck. He knocks about three aspirin out of the bottle and swallows them dry. Tastes terrible, but he doesn't much care.

What next? He doesn't want to talk about the dream, but doesn't quite resolve to work as much distraction on Ken as he did on Iris. He shelves that decision in favor of whether or not he should go meet Ken in the living room...]

[Ken takes it out on the coffee maker. One of these days, Hidaka, you're probably gonna break that thing.

[Once he's sure the stuff's in the thing and it's busy doing... percolating stuff or whatever it is coffee makers do to make coffee, he busies himself collecting cups, the sugar bowl, milk - doesn't matter that it's two in the morning, just as long as he's keeping himself busy and not thinking too hard about what he's doing all this for. Biscuits. Do they have any biscuits or has Youji eaten them all again and forgotten to buy more? Sure he got some while they were out, but those were emergency biscuits. Was this an emergency? Ken didn't know.

[Right. Cups, pot of coffee. Done.

[He'll be heading back out to the living room now, carefully carrying a laden tray. He just wishes he knew what he was supposed to say--]

We're in trouble, aren't we?

[Not that, clearly. He wasn't supposed to say that.]

[...you are, most assuredly, the one and only Ken Hidaka. Obviously, the living room won, and Youji rests on the couch with a shadow of his normally casual grace. Not that his grace isn't present or casual; just that it's suffered a bit.

The biscuits are in the cabinet above the refrigerator, and Youji amuses himself wondering if Ken found them.]

Laying aside the mass murderers who will probably get theirs when it's most poetically just nonsense, you mean? It certainly feels that way.

[Well, at least Youji didn't seem to be mad about it?

[Ken puts the tray down on the central table and, for a moment, takes advantage of the need to deal with the coffee to avoid meeting Youji's eyes. Carefully, he pours coffee into one of the cups and hands it to Youji before attending to his own. He's trying, in his own small, confused kind of way, to help - maybe he doesn't know what with or what good he can possibly do, but he wants to help all the same.]

Milk and sugar and stuff's on the tray.

[... he said needlessly.

[Of course, Youji'll have to wait his turn for them. That small job done, he grabs a couple of biscuits and retreats to the other couch, sitting cross-legged on it. He holds the mug in both hands; he's waiting for the coffee to cool. Until then, he guesses he can at least warm his fingers on it.]

What'd you think we should do?

[The idea that there might not be anything they can do is, of course, anathema.]

[Youji skips straight to drinking. The warmth and caffeine are both desperately needed.

[He can't help the sigh.]

Wait.

[...what else is there for them to do?]

[Which is something that Ken, of course, has never been particularly good at. He looks up, brows drawn sharply downward.]

Wait? That's all?

[Of course it's all. But if he admits there's nothing they can do--

[Ken sighs, and - well, he's tired, and the damn stuff does smell good - gives into impulse, taking a sip of the coffee. It's too hot, of course, it burns his tongue and he doesn't care. He feels better for it all the same, and at least he could vaguely pass for actually awake now.]

Youji, what the Hell's going on? This has gotta be happening for a reason.

[Youji sighs tiredly, and he's beginning to feel old. 26, was it? 26, and a life of nothing but hitting dead ends and scraping the bottom.

[Not that he's entirely surprised. Amusement seeps into the weariness.]

Ken. It's August. We've been here since February. If I had any idea what the hell was going on--don't you think I'd have used it by now? Don't you think someone would have?

I'm willing to say no one knows. Not even that doctor.

[Truth be told, Ken wasn't really expecting Youji to know the answer. He'd been hoping, though: he was good at that. On some level he appreciates the honesty, but he's not so keen on the tone.]

Dammit, Kudou, I was only asking--

[His heart's not in it, either. Ken's an optimistic soul, but the past few days have been wearing him down. Truth be told, he's not been sleeping well either. He's just grateful that the Dreamberry at least seems to have decided to cut him that much slack, but then perhaps there's just no point when everyone's seen it all before.]

Doctor? What doctor?

[Youji sighs, and very deliberately does not thwap Ken on the head. Ken can throw him across the room. He tells himself this.]

The one on the Dreamberries when you were walking through walls. Think even you'd remember that. Suddenly chose that random to talk. Why then? Why not now?

dream † 003 † 08-19-10

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