[ It's a natural response in the perspective of someone who has that power; Obikawa has never been hesitant to kill, but he has shown restraint. Patient, as any other prey would when it uses the ability to disguise itself around it's environment before striking. Having held out for over a year once the humans had stolen his tail, the humiliation coating every bone in his ribcage with fire. Had he just an ounce more power their heads would be pierced by his fangs, bodies coiled and squeezed until they had suffocated their way down his stomach.
When collective stares and scowls turn to look at them both they're met with impassiveness as Makoto grabs a hold on his arm. A small cant of his head as his eyes narrow, the void behind them growing deeper, his pupils beginning to shift with a single blink of his eye. They could separate from the fight, but they'd only be offering a culling to a God all too prepared to kill.
And that's his third strike. As if it wasn't obvious that there something always off about the man that claimed himself to be a simple janitor -- it's only ever easier to hide when he has an objective, after all.
He blinks again, the instinct to kill vanishing as every word from Makoto lulls him back. He looks to him with curved brows, almost disappointed, paired with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] Is that what you want? [ He asks, just to be sure -- but there's certainty from the demon's expression that makes the answer all too obvious. Breathing out a sigh he decides to turn to leave, arm draped across smaller shoulders as he drags them away.
Temptation wanes, thinning into nothingness as Obikawa forces himself to remain obedient. He would have killed if given the permission, but without it he humbly obeys. ] Then let's go clean up your face. You look awwwwwwwfuuuuuuuul, I barely even recognized you! You gotta stay out of places like this, stupid.
( ooc: i am so very very sorry it took me so long to get to this one! )
(no.
but he answers, ) Yes, ( instead keeping the thoughts of brutal, bloody revenge on those who would call him out for his “toothless” affinity for violence, put him underneath the harsh spotlight of scrutiny, and then punish him for it. he hadn’t needed this lesson. he’s aware he doesn’t fit the picture for a certain archetype of rough-and-tumble villain. but that’s not to say that he’s squeamish about all the terrible things one human being can do to another; in fact, he’d say he’s far more infatuated with their concepts than anyone rightly should be, and it’s for the benefit of everyone else around him that he does his best to keep that fact well to himself.
the fire and vinegar that fills him in the moment that he stands up for himself or tries to make another regret how they’d treated him can be exciting and bolstering in the moment, but the consequences have often been so great that he’s learned to second guess himself. sometimes he ends up angry enough that he just doesn’t get to that point, but… here and now, with the injury to his body combined with the injury to his pride, makoto simply wants to retreat and attempt to move on from this.
the arm slung across his shoulder is heavy as obikawa leans onto him, and it elicits a wave of aches and pains from his bruised body, but he finds that he doesn’t so much mind it. the chumminess, the closeness… he is happy to accept that after the violence, grumbling a noncommittal sound as the older man points out the injuries they’d need to attend to on his face. )
…It’s that bad, huh? ( he lifts one hand to his swollen and bleeding lip, frowning. is it going to look worse than how he feels, or does he feel worse than he looks? he feels pretty damn bad.
he shoots obikawa a look. ) I didn’t think they’d have such an issue with me just watching…( he grumbles as they make their way up the stairs and out of the basement, back towards the rest of the recreation wing. )
It's really bad. [ He repeats, and yet his tone remains chipper; poised, almost, as if to mask the anger that still runs hot in his veins. An emotion that he experiences so rarely that he almost doesn't know what to do with himself -- in the past the answer would be so simple, combing through the lives of humans. So inconsequential, just like the men cheering for violence now at their backs, as their bones and flesh were picked from his teeth without a thought.
But he can't just kill without remorse here. Not if he intends to keep up the image of a person that no one should be frightened to raise a hand at.
Obikawa directs them to the locker rooms, quickly responding with a snort and furrowed brows. ]
What do you expect? People who live in that kind of environment just wanna pull everyone else in... just a whirlpool waiting for the next victim to drown. [ He clicks his tongue. ] Just like the damn yakuza that ran me outta town. And what's the fun in watching some dudes just punch each other?
[ That's so weird? Makoto? No he didn't say anything about the yakuza. ]
( the young demon emits a sound somewhere lost between a grumble and a groan. in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal how much of a fright he looked right now. the loss of his humanity had granted him far fewer distinctions and abilities than he had hoped it would, but the one thing he can rely upon this body for was mending itself quickly. he can’t say he’s had the snot beaten out of him since he died and was made into a demon, but he knows enough from other dire exertions his body has been put through that it probably won’t take longer than a day or two for him to return to normalcy. that’s just one of the quirks of being what he is—that, and how he never has to cut his hair, because it never grows any longer than it is right now.
anyways, it’s just such a shame that obikawa couldn’t vent some of his anger and frustration on some of the rowdy patrons of the fighting ring left behind them, because, despite whatever embarrassment of the man feeling galvanized to act on his behalf, it would be a unique sort of turn-on… as it is, he allows himself to be directed toward the locker room, thinking he really didn’t want to see his current state in the mirror. )
I don’t know… I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that. ( his gaze sharpens to an even sharper point as the man continues; he leaves a dubious silence hanging between them before he answers, )I’ve certainly never run into any yakuza.
( he really can’t tell if obikawa drops little comments like that as lies to smokescreen whatever might be actually true about himself, or if he’s just forgetting to make himself less interesting. neither seem particularly well-advised, in makoto’s opinion…
his swollen lip slowly maneuvers into a pout. he himself considers saying nothing at all in reply (the smart decision), but… well, he’s not always smart. ) It’s not like I can hurt just anyone to blow off some steam… This was the next best thing.
[ For a moment, just a split second, Obikawa pauses - the silence that Makoto had allowed to linger suddenly biting him like a snake in the grass. He's completely unprepared, the wit he'd have to so casually maneuver around the conversation suddenly vanishing; his pupils growing just a hint smaller as he turns his head completely to look at the youth beside him.
There's a hint of confusion as well as fear when he finally answers: ]
That's... good? Huh. What were we talking about just now?
[ His mind draws a blank, further and further away from the answer he knows is true - because he's seen it. The opposing figures that threatened the life of the man he took over with all the money he owed; the sensations of those moments were unfamiliar to him, but he does at least remember it. ]
That's right! Your messed up face! Hey, I'm really good at patching people up - my friend back home was always a mess 'cause of his job, so I'd help up sometimes when he couldn't do it himself. Aren't I such a good friend? [ His grip on Makoto's shoulder tightens. ] So when ya wanna blow off some steam just come to me. I don't want you hanging around with a bad crowd.
( makoto catches the silence of the pause and the brief fluctuation in obikawa’s demeanor, but it happens so quickly and smoothly that he can’t seem to grasp on to what the reason or purpose for either might be. his own expression creases at the corners in similar shades of confusion, just as unable to parse what the other man was saying as he was able to reconcile the memories and experiences of the person who was to the being that currently is.
it’s… strange, to be sure. but obikawa has always been strange to makoto’s eye—and that’s coming from a certified Weirdo™ who had spent several months in the company of bona fide demons. still, something like this isn’t a deterrent to him. it incites more curiosity than wariness, though perhaps makoto should reconsider more of the latter; his self-preservation instincts weren’t always sharpest, it would seem. )
Um… ( —the yakuza? ) It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.
( it’s not like he loses much in letting the topic go. he doesn’t have any experience with seedy, underworld types. this had perhaps been his first brush with such circles, and he thinks he’s learned his lesson.
something he needs to impress, it seems. ) Yeah, yeah… I’m not going to hang around places like that again, that’s for sure. ( he winces a little as the tightening grip on his shoulder sends a small wave of aches and pains radiating down his arm. he glances up towards obikawa. ) Maybe too good of a friend. What—are you offering to let me beat you up?
( he’s mostly being colloquial with the conversation… it’s not even makoto’s preferred method of hurting someone, really. too brutish. too painful even to oneself. he may have gotten a few good hits in, but he feels like those hurt him just as much as they hurt the other person. inefficient, by his own measure… )
[ He’s quietly ushering them back to the barracks, mind rushed with memories not his own; sleepless nights, dark alleyways, the empty apartment surrounded in darkness. The true Obikawa Kiyoshi - alone and with nothing else to lose, a man eaten alive by a god who chose to inhabit his body simply because of his name. Born and died and unfortunate. Nothing that Makoto needs to worry himself about.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe? Why isn’t he so sure of himself? ]
I don’t like getting hit. [ And he directs Makoto to his bunk, which was left in disarray and already marked as lived in by Obikawa - a discarded pair of shorts tossed at the end of the bed, an energy drink left somewhere on the floor. But did at least stash a few bandages in his pillowcase. ] I don’t like my friends getting hurt, either.
[ Did he expect he or someone else would get hurt? Who cares? ]
So if it means you’ll stay away from people who might hurt you, I don’t mind. But that doesn’t mean just hit me whenever you have some minor inconvenience. I’ll actually get mad at you. [ He holds up two flimsy bandages: one decorated with strawberries and another with wide smiles. ] Which one?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
my baby boy makoto
[ It's a natural response in the perspective of someone who has that power; Obikawa has never been hesitant to kill, but he has shown restraint. Patient, as any other prey would when it uses the ability to disguise itself around it's environment before striking. Having held out for over a year once the humans had stolen his tail, the humiliation coating every bone in his ribcage with fire. Had he just an ounce more power their heads would be pierced by his fangs, bodies coiled and squeezed until they had suffocated their way down his stomach.
When collective stares and scowls turn to look at them both they're met with impassiveness as Makoto grabs a hold on his arm. A small cant of his head as his eyes narrow, the void behind them growing deeper, his pupils beginning to shift with a single blink of his eye. They could separate from the fight, but they'd only be offering a culling to a God all too prepared to kill.
And that's his third strike. As if it wasn't obvious that there something always off about the man that claimed himself to be a simple janitor -- it's only ever easier to hide when he has an objective, after all.
He blinks again, the instinct to kill vanishing as every word from Makoto lulls him back. He looks to him with curved brows, almost disappointed, paired with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] Is that what you want? [ He asks, just to be sure -- but there's certainty from the demon's expression that makes the answer all too obvious. Breathing out a sigh he decides to turn to leave, arm draped across smaller shoulders as he drags them away.
Temptation wanes, thinning into nothingness as Obikawa forces himself to remain obedient. He would have killed if given the permission, but without it he humbly obeys. ] Then let's go clean up your face. You look awwwwwwwfuuuuuuuul, I barely even recognized you! You gotta stay out of places like this, stupid.
no subject
( no.
but he answers, ) Yes, ( instead keeping the thoughts of brutal, bloody revenge on those who would call him out for his “toothless” affinity for violence, put him underneath the harsh spotlight of scrutiny, and then punish him for it. he hadn’t needed this lesson. he’s aware he doesn’t fit the picture for a certain archetype of rough-and-tumble villain. but that’s not to say that he’s squeamish about all the terrible things one human being can do to another; in fact, he’d say he’s far more infatuated with their concepts than anyone rightly should be, and it’s for the benefit of everyone else around him that he does his best to keep that fact well to himself.
the fire and vinegar that fills him in the moment that he stands up for himself or tries to make another regret how they’d treated him can be exciting and bolstering in the moment, but the consequences have often been so great that he’s learned to second guess himself. sometimes he ends up angry enough that he just doesn’t get to that point, but… here and now, with the injury to his body combined with the injury to his pride, makoto simply wants to retreat and attempt to move on from this.
the arm slung across his shoulder is heavy as obikawa leans onto him, and it elicits a wave of aches and pains from his bruised body, but he finds that he doesn’t so much mind it. the chumminess, the closeness… he is happy to accept that after the violence, grumbling a noncommittal sound as the older man points out the injuries they’d need to attend to on his face. )
…It’s that bad, huh? ( he lifts one hand to his swollen and bleeding lip, frowning. is it going to look worse than how he feels, or does he feel worse than he looks? he feels pretty damn bad.
he shoots obikawa a look. ) I didn’t think they’d have such an issue with me just watching… ( he grumbles as they make their way up the stairs and out of the basement, back towards the rest of the recreation wing. )
no subject
But he can't just kill without remorse here. Not if he intends to keep up the image of a person that no one should be frightened to raise a hand at.
Obikawa directs them to the locker rooms, quickly responding with a snort and furrowed brows. ]
What do you expect? People who live in that kind of environment just wanna pull everyone else in... just a whirlpool waiting for the next victim to drown. [ He clicks his tongue. ] Just like the damn yakuza that ran me outta town. And what's the fun in watching some dudes just punch each other?
[ That's so weird? Makoto? No he didn't say anything about the yakuza. ]
no subject
anyways, it’s just such a shame that obikawa couldn’t vent some of his anger and frustration on some of the rowdy patrons of the fighting ring left behind them, because, despite whatever embarrassment of the man feeling galvanized to act on his behalf, it would be a unique sort of turn-on… as it is, he allows himself to be directed toward the locker room, thinking he really didn’t want to see his current state in the mirror. )
I don’t know… I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that. ( his gaze sharpens to an even sharper point as the man continues; he leaves a dubious silence hanging between them before he answers, ) I’ve certainly never run into any yakuza.
( he really can’t tell if obikawa drops little comments like that as lies to smokescreen whatever might be actually true about himself, or if he’s just forgetting to make himself less interesting. neither seem particularly well-advised, in makoto’s opinion…
his swollen lip slowly maneuvers into a pout. he himself considers saying nothing at all in reply (the smart decision), but… well, he’s not always smart. ) It’s not like I can hurt just anyone to blow off some steam… This was the next best thing.
no subject
There's a hint of confusion as well as fear when he finally answers: ]
That's... good? Huh. What were we talking about just now?
[ His mind draws a blank, further and further away from the answer he knows is true - because he's seen it. The opposing figures that threatened the life of the man he took over with all the money he owed; the sensations of those moments were unfamiliar to him, but he does at least remember it. ]
That's right! Your messed up face! Hey, I'm really good at patching people up - my friend back home was always a mess 'cause of his job, so I'd help up sometimes when he couldn't do it himself. Aren't I such a good friend? [ His grip on Makoto's shoulder tightens. ] So when ya wanna blow off some steam just come to me. I don't want you hanging around with a bad crowd.
no subject
it’s… strange, to be sure. but obikawa has always been strange to makoto’s eye—and that’s coming from a certified Weirdo™ who had spent several months in the company of bona fide demons. still, something like this isn’t a deterrent to him. it incites more curiosity than wariness, though perhaps makoto should reconsider more of the latter; his self-preservation instincts weren’t always sharpest, it would seem. )
Um… ( —the yakuza? ) It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.
( it’s not like he loses much in letting the topic go. he doesn’t have any experience with seedy, underworld types. this had perhaps been his first brush with such circles, and he thinks he’s learned his lesson.
something he needs to impress, it seems. ) Yeah, yeah… I’m not going to hang around places like that again, that’s for sure. ( he winces a little as the tightening grip on his shoulder sends a small wave of aches and pains radiating down his arm. he glances up towards obikawa. ) Maybe too good of a friend. What—are you offering to let me beat you up?
( he’s mostly being colloquial with the conversation… it’s not even makoto’s preferred method of hurting someone, really. too brutish. too painful even to oneself. he may have gotten a few good hits in, but he feels like those hurt him just as much as they hurt the other person. inefficient, by his own measure… )
no subject
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe? Why isn’t he so sure of himself? ]
I don’t like getting hit. [ And he directs Makoto to his bunk, which was left in disarray and already marked as lived in by Obikawa - a discarded pair of shorts tossed at the end of the bed, an energy drink left somewhere on the floor. But did at least stash a few bandages in his pillowcase. ] I don’t like my friends getting hurt, either.
[ Did he expect he or someone else would get hurt? Who cares? ]
So if it means you’ll stay away from people who might hurt you, I don’t mind. But that doesn’t mean just hit me whenever you have some minor inconvenience. I’ll actually get mad at you. [ He holds up two flimsy bandages: one decorated with strawberries and another with wide smiles. ] Which one?