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 Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2009 10:46 pm
"Huh?" Snapping her head upwards, Kowabi woke from her waking dream of depravity and hastily stood, the bags bunched at her wrist crinkling as the food inside bumped against her leg. Unconsciously she'd heard and understood what Fefnir had told, no ordered her to do, and almost as if directed like a puppet on flimsy strings turned in the doorway and stepped soundlessly towards him. Only as she was kneeling at his side did a glimmer of personality flicker in her neon irises. Bath, that's the least that needs to be done... Stopping her train of thought from wandering to insulting the currently crippled Vizard, she forced herself to place her hands on his waist. Trepidation in completing the simple act had her hands hovering just before him momentarily, but it was overcome as she inhaled. Nasturtiums...the spicy sweet scent wafting from Fefnir's dirt marred body reminded her that he also shared the horrors of the Halfling existence.
Bent over, her arms snaked around his waist as she hefted him from the floor and draped him over her right shoulder. Height differences aside, Kowabi found it as awkward as lifting a kitten even while his filthy crimson hair trailed along the hallway while she stepped forward with purpose. “You can have more to eat after being cleaned.” Leaving it at that, she stalked to the nearest bathroom, three doors down if she recalled right, and flipped on the light with her free hand. Warm light set the room ablaze to reveal yet another red themed setting, and she gently lowered Fefnir onto the carmine tessellated floor. Assured that he wouldn’t move, she set aside the plastic bags of food and searched the cherry stained cabinets for soaps, wash clothes and towels. Luckily, everything was in order and Kowabi removed a simple clothe, and shampoo scented lightly with lavender. Kneeling before Fefnir once more, she locked her neon eyes with his and immediately started to alleviate him of the disintegrating shihakushou she could only imagine how long he’d been wearing.
Without speaking, after she’d finished removing his clothing, Kowabi slipped under one of his arms and drug him into the shower, turning on the tap and letting herself get drenched in the hot spray as well. Pouring a generous amount of the sampoo into the palm she began the long process of cleansing his emaciated body of years of grim and neglect. Not batting an eyelash at the awkwardness of it all, she kept a firm arm around his waist through everything. Finally with one last rinse to his ankle length hair, she drug her fellow Vizard back into the majority of the bath room. Just as anyone sensible, she held him upright until she was able to spread a soft cotton towel on the floor before wrapping him in yet another. Now came the hair, the washing had done wonders in Kowabi’s opinion, loosening the matted and frayed ends. Delving into a nearby drawer, she removed a comb and a convenient pair of scissors. Pulling the brush slowly from the ends of the crimson strands to the top of his head, it took Kowabi a good thirty minutes to smooth all of the tangles from Fefnir’s neglected hair. She wanted to ask how, how he’d ended up this way. She had been hunted and forced into her situation, but the question she most wanted answers to was how the Hollowfication first began. What was the trigger? Not what led up to the desolation and destruction of the turning, but the exact beginning. While deep in her questioning thought, Kowabi carefully snipped Fefnir’s hair down to waist length, separating away the split ends and leaving a well groomed head behind. The floor was another story, covered in a layer of red hair. That didn’t matter, she’d done what she’d been asked too. Finding the bags of food she leaned over him, “Here,” and placed the plastic bags before him before sitting back on the tiled floor.
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Posted: Thu Dec 03, 2009 11:10 pm
The feeling of a gentle touch on his skin made Fefnir cringe. She had a peculiar scent to her, this woman, and it was one that almost made him a little nauseous. There wasn't really much choice for him in this matter, especially since he'd asked for her help anyway. It wasn't like he was going to push her away and say something along the lines of, 'what is that smell' especially when he'd been living in squalor for who knows how long anymore? He'd just have to bear it at this point, and bear it he did as her slight frame, not even half of his own emaciated size width-wise, tugged him over her shoulder and lugged him to the bathroom.
The floor was cold, but the shower was nice and warm. Fef probably would have enjoyed it had it not been for the decidedly UN-delicate way he was scrubbed everywhere (and I mean EVERYWHERE), scraping at him with fingernails and grating motions. It was like she had a habit of making things totally, completely, and undeniably uncomfortable without the intention to do so. First she was too soft for his tastes, and then she was too rough, and what's a guy to do about that, especially a guy who can't actually do anything to stop it. Still, it was nice to be rid of the dust and grime that had build up over the years: Fefnir felt ten pounds lighter as the woman drug him haphazardly out onto the floor and toweled him off with brisk, sweeping motions. The towels were soft, and for really no reason, since he hadn't done do much as shifted them in who knows how long, but nevertheless, they felt good on his now like-new skin.
Then, she grabbed the scissors from a nearby drawer, and with a measured hand, pulled strand after strand away and quartered it, snipping a bit here and there and cleaning the unmanageable locks into something vaguely normal looking. It had been a long time since he'd had a haircut, even before he left the Seireitei, because he always liked having long hair. It was always a bit of a travesty when he lost those split ends and such, but really, it was a bit of catharsis. Call it cleansing, if you will, to shed his old skin and hair, and to become something different than he was before. Now, mind you, he wasn't exactly sure if that was a good thing, but staying the same was absolutely horrid, so Fefnir supposed change must be the way to go.
His eyes began to water as Kowabi tug, tug, TUGGED on the tangles in his long crimson locks, and instead of the normal clear a tear normally had, Fefnir's gushed with red droplets, red as blood, red as the eyes they came from. Again with this indelicacy? Fefnir thought, turning his head lightly to give admonishing looks. She forced his head around to where it was again. Would she take some care not to cause me pain?
A dreary voice answered from the back of his mind in a thick British accent. "Serves you right, bloody twit..."
"Kaji... shut the hell up, you stupid parakeet." He responded silently, answering the phoenix's scathing comment. His beady little eyes had treachery permanantly etched into them, no matter how good his intentions, no matter how few those intentions showed up. Scathing was kind of what Kaji did, and that was why Fefnir ignored him for the most part.
Immediately came the reply, "I've been silent for A HUNDRED ******** YEARS! Don't tell me to shut up! Especially not since I'm YOU ANYWAY!"
"..."
A more noble voice piped up after that, darker and with more dignity. "Pay him no mind, Kamashiro. My brother likes to test my patience as well."
In his mind's eye, Fefnir spied his dragon companion, Arthion, the former spirit of his mentor and friend long deceased. He had been a sort of going away present as she left to search for her lover, and as evinced by her never taking the creature back, she was either dead or never returning, and he sorely hoped it was the latter. The great king's black scales gleamed red, still distinct even after so long. It was strange that some things stay so fresh in the mind even as time fades others. He could still see his (rather short) teacher giving him that last look of pride before she stepped into the senkaimon to earth, the way she'd cried for the first time in front of him then, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then gone away.
It was her that had kept his lust for power afloat. He wanted to save Yuki, and Amie, and all his friends from danger. Glad that worked out, right? He cringed inwardly at his own acidic humor about it. Some coping mechanism...
The rustling of a bag in front of him shook Fefnir from his thoughts, alongside the rumbling of his stomach, and with as swift a motion as he could manage, he pulled food after food out and devoured it with ravenous excitement, barely taking a moment in between bites to thank Kowabi for a job well done.
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Posted: Sun Dec 20, 2009 10:46 pm
Sloughing off her soaked half jacket, Kowabi deposited the garment in the sink nearby and flexed her dark hands in the confines of her water logged arm covers. The leather encasing her arms protested, creaking unusually at the bend or her elbows and the water graying the white stripes that began just past both of her wrists. In her peripherals, she watched Fefnir literally inhale the contents of the bags she’d put before him and mentally ticked off each morsel devoured by scent alone. She’d warned him before not to eat so quickly, a body not used to the intake of food after so long tended to have and adverse reaction almost immediately and she wasn’t looking forward to the acrid scent of vomit should it come to that point. Stepping away from the sink, she bent and removed two of the now emptied bags and the wrappers strewn in the wake of Fefnir’s frenzied eating. Looking him over before standing again, she inwardly sighed, her work wasn’t yet done and in a strangely maternal gesture, Kowabi picked up a wash cloth and grasped the other Vizard’s chin. With quick strokes, she removed the bright red tear tracks marring his face before dropping her hands away.
Leaving the bathroom soon after, Kowabi scented her way through the interconnected rooms but eventually reverted to a traditional search when she couldn’t track down, with its sorely muted scent, the place Fefnir kept his clothing. After about six minutes, she stumbled across a dark cherry closet door and she delved inside, fishing out a number of pieces that, although were not parts of a shihakushou, suited Kowabi’s tastes. With the bundle in arm she traipsed back to the bathroom and wasn’t surprised to see the last bag of food had been emptied. Staring straight into Fefnir’s eyes, her caustic gaze never left as she gathered the bag and wrappers while stuffing them into the other bag full of plastic and tossing it near the door with the sound of cellophane crinkling. “Will you need assistance to dress?” Holding up the stack of clothing in her arms, she tugged out a pair of red boxers between her thumb and forefinger. “Or will you be able to dress yourself?”
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Posted: Wed Dec 23, 2009 11:36 pm
He didn't end up with his meal on the floor in the end, and really, there wasn't a reason Fefnir kept it down, to his recollection. He wasn't too big on details. Still, the food was alright, and he noted this woman Kowabi paid attention to details as she wiped his face off after causing him to tear up from the intense combing. Then, soundlessly, she left, and off a ways he could hear a slight rustling as she rummaged around, presumably looking for more food or possibly drink. It wasn't as if she would steal anything; she seemed quite domesticated, if nothing else. She continued to find ways to make herself useful, and thus prolonged her longevity. Fef was never one to have a one-sided relationship such as this, never one to owe anyone, and so she'd made a good decision in helping him. He would, in return, ensure she was well taken care of for her services.
She returned a short time later, a small stack of clothing in one arm, and gathered the scraps of his meal into the bag from whence they emerged. Then, and Fefnir imagined there was a smirk he couldn't see from his angle on the floor, she pulled a pair of boxers out of that pile and asked whether or not he needed assistance to dress himself. "No, I can dress myself," he said, pushing his thin form onto it's feet with a small grunt of exertion. While the food was helping, he still wasn't at a hundred percent, and he wouldn't be until he ate some more, slept some, and took care of himself a little better. Extending himself to his full height, his ribs were clearly visible, and even in the nude, he still had a vaguely commanding presence, like some kind of regal skeleton of his former captaincy, and he grabbed the undergarment from her smoothly, lifting one leg, then the other, and sliding the fresh linen up. He was just reaching for the rest of the clothing as his legs buckled slightly, and the red man needed to take a step forward to prevent himself from falling. He used his hand to restore himself to a fully erect position and requested assistance, knowing full well he would have to. Kowabi would step in as soon as she was needed on her own, but there was something to asking for help rather than receiving it: it preserved the sense of independence Fefnir craved at the moment, having been an invalid too long and hating to rely on others for even simple things. "Kowabi, assist me..." he said, his eyes meeting her unflinching gaze, and almost as an afterthought, he added, "...please." Still, it was with as much gratitude as he could manage, given the situation, and hopefully she would understand this.
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Posted: Fri Dec 25, 2009 2:31 am
Standing into her equivalent of idling, Kowabi’s bright orange eyes followed Fefnir’s wobbly attempt to dress himself while her facial expression never strayed to indicate any particular emotion. She twitched minutely when his legs buckled but intuitively knew he’d right himself without her intervention and continued to stare unabashedly with the bundle of clothing tucked against her chest. All of Fefnir’s apparent regal air went disregarded, although smaller in size then the emaciated ex-Captain, Kowabi had spent more then her fair share around the imposing to have his display bother her in the least. She let him have his independence and savored the time before he ordered her to provide assistance. At least the command was followed by a sincere please. That stuck with Kowabi, she couldn’t count how many times that simple word was perverted in her presence to demean her in some way, but she could count on both hands how many times it had been used as an actual thank you. Either way though, she stepped forward with her eyes dropping to the next article of clothing in her grasp and efficiently removed it from the stack while placing the rest of the garments on the nearby countertop.
With the deep red cargo pants in hand, Kowabi slide beneath Fefnir’s left arm and wrapped her right arm about his waist. With little effort, she tucked her hip to his thigh and literally lifted his slight weight so that he wouldn’t topple but remain planted upright on his feet. “If you want independence, then request it, I will oblige…” Shaking out the pants with her left hand, Kowabi bent at the waist, still managing to hold his weight and body upright, while silently indicating that the right leg needed to go in first.
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Posted: Thu Dec 31, 2009 3:05 am
Fefnir followed the unspoken instruction and stepped into the pants, and she pulled them up swiftly. He buckled them himself, however, and caught her hand when she attempted to do it. Something about the way she squirmed and tugged away, like she was trying to escape, pissed him off...
"Well, she's got every right to pull away from a monstrosity like you, kid..." Kaji interjected, showing his ever-kind and gentle disposition, "You killed and ate your wife, daughter, and friends. What more reason does she need?"
"But that isn't you," Arthion added, "You are not the same person now as you were then. You will not fall prey to him anymore. Remember, I am outside of you. He doubles as the same beast, but I am not subject to the same restriction,"
"Shut up, both of you... I need silence... Let me think for now..."
Fefnir reached for the next article of clothing, a cream button down shirt that was a skinny but seemed to be designed that way. He handed the article to Kowabi, and she rounded to the back of him, but when she moved to put it on him, she left his view. His instinct took over, and when she touched him, he swung back and struck her with fairly sizable force on her left shoulder with his own left hand. The sudden move left him reeling, and he barely caught himself before he crashed into the dual shower/bathtub. It was then that he realized what he'd done. She was undaunted by the strike, however, and wasn't even moved by it. She simply Walked over and slipped one sleeve over Fefnir's arm, then went to the other and pulled it around his back, slipping it over the other. Fefnir shrugged it on, pulling the front a bit, then deftly fastening the buttons. She tugged a zip up hoodie, black, on him just after that. He couldn't see the emblazoned wings on the back, however, one an angel's wing and one a demon's, both in red. He quietly said, "Kowabi, her gauntlets, his goggles..." and before he asked, she had picked them up and given them to him, after which he swiftly tugged the red cloth and gold plating onto his forearms, and strapped the blue goggles around his neck.
All in all, he looked almost presentable.
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Posted: Mon Jan 11, 2010 9:07 pm
With her head propped against her left hand, Kowabi’s eyes were shut in her version of rest while seated on one of the numerous red couches in Fefnir’s house. Sunlight filtered dully through the soot covered glass to her left, adding a pleasant heat as compared to the heat she’d been reduced to suffering through for the past three days. The leather incasing her arms had a myriad of tiny burns, charred hand prints, and the back of her neck was still somewhat raw from another. That didn’t begin to cover the other bruises and cuts she sported, but each was a dull pain and easily ignored in her day to day life. In the quiet of the house’s location, her introverted mental state still kept track of the tempo driven movements of the other Vizard, a habit she’d never break. His mental state both intrigued her and made her want to slap him silly half the time, but the latter would do little to relieve any of the symptoms he exhibited.
Cracking her eyes open, she sat straight with a rush of breath out before leaning over to the plastic bags arranged about her feet. Snatching a wrapped onigiri, her dark fingers tore away the cellophane and she gingerly took a bite. Eating wasn’t a common activity for her, but Fefnir’s near voracious appetite was a reminder of how far she’d allowed her once health body decline. Anorexia had pulled away her curves and eaten away at her musculature, leaving a husk of what used to be. Taking one last quick bite, she stood hastely and glanced at the window. Judging from the sun, three hours had passed since the last time she’d checked on her ‘ward’, so without hesitation she stalked silently towards the emanation of his burning reiatsu.
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2010 9:29 pm
Not that it would have been too hard to find him even without sensing him. You could have heard him pacing anywhere in the house, his footfalls heavy and measured. It felt like his legs were made of lead all the time now and he had no reason why it was so. He'd gone for longer than this without moving around that much and been just fine afterward. Why in the hell couldn't he manage to make his body do what he wanted? One, two, three, four... he unconsciously measured out as he moved, Two, two, three, four-e-and-a... Four/four time, two measures worth at 85 beats per minute, the last beat of the second measure subdivided into four eighth notes, the turn on either end of the room, and within each beat was another subdivided measurement of distance versus time in his hands. His right hand was vertical in front of his body, the left clutching and cradling it as he would the neck of his now defunct cello. On the back of the gauntlet, there were four lines etched, and at several points along each line there appeared to be divots, where Fefnir had been pressing his fingers to find a melody that was only in his head. It made a small metallic click each time he brought a calloused finger down. Tic tic a-tic titic, tic-a-tic tic-a-tic tic ta-tic... There was something therapeutic about keeping his hands busy. Even in his addled state, he could see much of what he was doing was destructive. Anything that kept him in line, he clung to.
That included Kowabi. He had a very childlike attachment to the Vaizard for what amounted to nothing more than a desire to keep her around. He didn't understand his own thoughts on the matter, but there was definitely the fear that he would be far worse off without her there to keep track of him. She had helped him immensely over the past eight movements, four sonatas, three concertos, and 8 interludes (his music was how he kept track of the time: a movement is 12 hours, a sonata is two hours, a concerto is 15 minutes, and an interlude is a minute) and he could scarcely imagine doing anything without her there to assist him in some way. She didn't seem like the type who would be that patient with an invalid, so he did his best to do things for himself, but some things were simply beyond him now. He barely controlled himself without her, and even when she was there, he often became frustrated by things he failed to understand or do himself. Her burns were testament to that. Still, he was improving to some extent. He had begun to put on some weight again and his eyes had regained some of their intensity. He'd even started thinking before he spoke and acted a little more than before, when his first reaction was the one he went with.
Without Kowabi as a sort of focus, he could barely function on his own, and this made for more and more frustration as his childlike tendencies continually threatened to force her away. He knew he didn't want to go back to being alone, and that was a good enough reason to try and stop attacking her over little things.
This was not one of the occasions he succeeded.
As she came nearer, he neglected to reach out and feel for her reiatsu, and so when she came through the door, he launched toward her from mid-stride, hand extended, intending to grab for her neck with his right hand. It was only a moment before reaching her that he stopped himself and stated, in a mixture of disappointment at himself and happiness in seeing her, "Oh, it's you!"
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2010 11:32 pm
If nearly being on the receiving end of being choked perturbed Kowabi in the least, her dark face expressed nothing, only blinking heavily once before lifting her neon eyes up to Fefnir’s own crimson set. Yes, his childish antics had been on the annoying side for the old Vizard, but she found it cathartic to be truly needed once more, and owed a great deal to his psychosis for pushing her fear of touch to the wayside. There simply wasn’t anyway she could avoid physical contact with him and the only reason her mind had been able to break through the phobia was his scent. To her scent was as important as touch and his spicy-sweet smell under toned by his own singed odor inhibited her powerful fears. Dropping her eyes to his hand, she reached out with her left hand, wrapping her dark digits around his before uttering a soft and distracted, “who else would it be?”
She hadn’t meant the sarcasm that dripped from her tongue, it slipped from her careful control and she frowned ever so slightly in anger at herself. Turning, she pulled at Fefnir’s arm, urging him to follow. For the past three days she’d been mentally reviewing every aspect of his behavior, routine and more. The first thing she wanted to impress upon him before he completely recovered was a return to the outdoors. The house was unhealthy, soaked with the fetid rot of the gallery’s bodies, stale and it was driving her insane. Perhaps sunlight and fresh air would do some good for the other Vizard, but she had little confidence it would. Either way, if anything went wrong a quick unleashing of her full strength could incapacitate Fefnir long enough to get him back inside, or she could track him endlessly should he run. Her endurance was almost unheard of, he’d most likely run out of energy before she even broke out in the first hint of a sweat. Still gently tugging, she made her way towards the nearest exit, the same she’d used to first enter the house.
“Come,” she urged with the same calm voice she was known for, pressing her free right hand to the Seki Sekki enhanced door, cracking the door from the frame only enough to allow the midday sun to trace a hot line inside and the light breeze to slip inside. Her fingers tapped against the door in fourths, matching the tempo Fefnir seemed to live by now, and Kowabi’s easiest tool for tracking his movements. “Come outside, I’ll be there weather you come or not.” Unwinding her fingers from his, she pushed the door fully open, her orange irises enlarging at the sudden burst of bright light. Stepping outside, she paced straight forward ten feet and stopped. Inhaling sharply, the breeze brought the air she so desperately needed along with the surrounding scents. Immediately she picked out the unique odors of the trees, thirteen squirrels, three deer, a few dozen birds and more.
Turning back towards the doorway, she raised her hand in offering.
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2010 8:10 pm
He ignored the sarcasm when she clutched his hand, because something deep inside him said that it was alright, that it was the way things should be, just Kowabi and himself, connected. It was... nice. Fefnir felt like he belonged again, like someone actually cared if he lived or died, that he was safe and knew what was good for him. How terrible that he couldn't decipher his feelings! It was like a fog constantly hovered over his psyche so he couldn't understand even simple things about himself. If he couldn't understand himself, how could he understand others, or what they were doing? He was at first reluctant to follow her, but decided to anyway, because he was no judge, not anymore. He felt like it was right, so he did it.
The light was unfamiliar, and therefore suspicious, but if it was good enough for Kowabi, it was good enough for him. There was some part of him that trusted her judgment in these matters, so he followed her out the door without question. The sun was glaring, blinding him, and a hand shot up to block out the brightness. Slowly, unsteadily, he stepped forward on the porch in half notes rather than quarter notes, and with a sudden thud, he lost his balance when coming out onto the stairs. Thd-ump thd-ump thd-ump thd-ump, tumbling down to the ground, landing just at Kowabi's feet. Quick as a flash, though, he pushed himself up and used her hand to assist in standing again. He neglected to release that hand, though, instead squeezing it harder than he'd intended. He wasn't exactly that balanced, physically, and his legs hurt with the extra strain of actually supporting him again. He didn't want to do anything except stay upright and stay with Kowabi. She'd help him. She'd make him all better. He needed to be better. Yuki always said so. He had to be better to help people again. To protect them. Like Kowabi deserved. She was so good to him. He needed to give back. "It's... ouch..." he muttered, still shading his eyes with his free hand, "I don't like the bright, Kowabi..."
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Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 11:56 pm
Reaching down to fish through the bag that remained always at her right hip, Kowabi lifted the outer flap and pulled her pair of wrap-around sunglasses from the left inside pocket. They would be too small in general for Fefnir, but they were flexible. Turning to him she pried his fingers from her hand and used the left to push his lengthy bangs from his eyes and the other to place on the polarized lenses. When finished she snuck under his right arm as opposed to holding his hand again, becoming a crutch should he need it. “The world doesn’t consist of the microcosm of your home Fefnir, if you want to move forward then you need to become used to the light again.” Holding him with the lightest of touch, well aware of his need for independence, Kowabi took a step forward and drug him into the rhythm of movement his life had taken on. The spill down the stares moments earlier indicated just how badly his legs were functioning and Kowabi planned on a single lap around the house before returning inside to check him over for any sprains from the fall. Perhaps she’d even force him into resting for the fraction of a second she could actually get him too.
“Fefnir, will you be alright if I leave for a few hours tonight?” She questioned softly, turning the first corner around the side of the house. Looking at her Shihakushou and arm covers with a short glance, she desperately needed to replace them and all of the clothing in the house was far too large for her. “I need new clothing, and I’ll return shortly after picking out a few…outfits.” Not much of a person for changing looks or really caring for her clothing other then having it cover her from head to toe, Kowabi was a little dumbfounded by her own need. She’d been wearing the same clothing for more then fifty years and in that time they’d merely faded from pristine black to deep gray with a few threads unraveling here and there. When she looked over Fefnir’s own clothing, the realization that she would stick out like a sore thumb to anyone searching for the ever so commercialized black uniform had her wanting that change more then ever. Her garb since the beginning of her servitude to the Gotei Thirteen would have to go, along with her status as an assassin above all others.
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Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 7:45 pm
He blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the new shade the sunglasses provided. They pinched a little, but he wouldn't complain. It was for his own good, surely; otherwise, why would Kowabi have done it? Really, that was how he justified pretty much everything. If Kowabi did it, it must have been good for him. If it hurt some, it was for his own good. And boy, did he hurt. His legs burned with the effort of supporting his weight, however slight, again, and every movement caused him to cringe some. It seemed like nothing made sense anymore... Just a few minutes ago he'd been pacing back and forth just fine, but now that he was outside, he could barely make his legs do what he wanted. It was like the fall he just took had sapped his already hit-and-miss strength down to nothing. Or maybe it was that...
"Kowabi..." Fefnir said gently, moreso than he'd intended, "I'll be alright, I think... but, is it Sunday today? Time all blurs together for me, but if it's Sunday, you needn't worry about me. The way my body works will have me asleep on the spot around two PM, for close to ten hours, so you won't have to worry about something happening. Take your time and get everything you need, okay?" By this time, they were turning back around the front of the house, and she eased him up the steps, back into the familiar darkness of his domicile. Kowabi found a couch for him through an open door on the left of the entranceway and eased him down onto it in a sitting position at one end before taking a seat next to him herself.
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Posted: Sat Feb 20, 2010 10:02 pm
“Sunday, yes.” Kowabi returned, taking a little more of Fefnir’s weight ever few steps to ease the discomfort she could see working its way across his face. Nodding at his explanation against her worry, they returned to the indoors and she found the nearest couch, settling him to the left as she scooted out from beneath his arm to seat herself to the right. Reaching across the distance between them, Kowabi’s dark hand gently removed her sunglasses, “Considering that it is almost two pm now, I’ll stay until you’ve fallen asleep.” Curt as per usual, she snapped her sunglasses shut and returned them to the bag at her right side and stood. Threading her left hand into her hair she scratched her scalp in thought, a gesture that seemed strangely out of place for the old Vizard. “Is there anything you need? I’ll pick it up as well.”
Remaining only long enough to affirm any needed items and for Fefnir to fall asleep, Kowabi left in a flash, intent on her mission. As asinine as it seemed, she could only function if her objectives were personified as missions in her head. Years of enforced behavior had all but molded her mind to function that way. Either way, her mission was set and Kowabi descended on the nearest town to pillage the goods she needed. Returning in the late night hours, a plethora of bags slipped from her arms to decorate the edges of the couch Fefnir occupied. One in particular wafted with the smell of pilfered McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches. In contrast, Kowabi stood silently against a near by wall, her molten gaze unwavering and seemingly glowing under the slight cast of moonlight filtering in through the soot covered glass to her left. She was now covered in deep gray jeans, black men’s tennis shoes, brand name undisclosed. Up top she wore a long sleeved black shirt, miraculously emblazoned with the words ‘law enforcement’ across the chest in orange. Over that was a black jacket, silver accents tracing the pockets at the breast and at the edges of the raised collar. Topping it all off, Kowabi had applied a fresh coating of white eye shadow to her eyelids and replaced the dulled beads at the left side of her head with a new set.
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Posted: Sun Feb 21, 2010 5:59 am
"No, not unless you can think of something..." He answered after a moment of contemplation. She would know if there was a need, he reasoned, so there was no need to give it much thought.
It wasn't long before Fefnir crashed. At two o'clock on the dot, after he'd already layed himself down, head on the armrest as a makeshift pillow, he dropped off to sleep without a hitch, no hiccup, no nothing interfering. That's the way it always worked; there wouldn't be any waking him for quite some time.
Now how could his conscience miss a chance like this? As self depreciating and self loathing as Fef was, he had to figure out some way to hurt himself, even in his sleep. So, he dreamed.
The way these things always started was with the sensation of falling, falling, falling endlessly until you figure out just where the ground is. It's only after that where you start to notice all the things around the place. For Fefnir, that place was Kyoto, something like 140 years previous, back when he was a small child. The scene played out quickly: if he hadn't been expecting it, he never would have caught what was going on. A man and a woman and two children walked into a building on the side of a busy street. Mere seconds later, and he knew it was much shorter than it should have been or actually was, the woman left, then the man, trailing a ways behind her, forlorn expressions on both. This was the adoption center his parents left him and his sister after their divorce. The hatred was palpable from that building, from the shadowed form, brown hair unstyled and green eyes ( his father had been American ) narrowed into little more than slits, tears pouring form them.
The weather shifted. It was raining. The boy had aged, and was at least ten years old at this point. His sister was nowhere to be found. No one searched. What was one more abandoned child in the the grand scheme of tax increases and land development projects, of gang violence and organized crime? The boy's eyes were filled with tears no more. He wouldn't let it touch him. The walls of his heart were so formed then. It wouldn't be until much later that he would learn his eight year old sibling had been used by a ***** and murdered while the police tried to 'reason' with the man. One shot to the head, the boy would think, why couldn't one of them put one shot in his ******** freak skull?
Two years after that. The sun shone down. The boy left the adoption center. A large black case was slung across his back, nearly bigger than him. His hair was much longer, dyed black. He found a good place, set the case down, and began to play. A mellow sound filled the air of the nearby square. He earned enough in two hours of playing to feed himself that night.
Seventy-eight days later. College admissions have an address to send him letters, even colleges in America. He works extra shifts at the music store where he was employed to get a ticket, round trip, to America. The boy allowed himself to hope for better things.
One week after he arrives. There was a party in the building he was staying in during his visit to a campus. A discarded match hit the carpet, soaked in various kinds of alcohol. The building is quickly consumed. He attempted to help some others around him, including a small child, out.
There were no survivors.
Twenty two years from that point. His body burned with the intensity of that blaze. His eyes were empty, listless, but not reflective of his rather good spirits. This was his wedding day. His lover absolutely glowed. The vows were concise, well said, and best of all, meaningful. They kissed. They retreated to their home, hidden in the woods outside of Squad 13, and made love. Their first child was a miscarriage, devastating to them. It would be another eight years before they tried again. Eight months from then, a daughter was born to the happy couple.
Six years later. The visions had become worse. Blackouts were more and more frequent. He was prone to fits of anger and violence, sometimes even leveled at his wife and child. They sent the child away to live with his adoptive mother, to keep her safe, while he battled his inner demons.
Half a year. It happened. He lost the fight. His wife and friends were devoured, slowly and with much enjoyment. With unrivaled speed, any attempt to stop him ended in failure and their death.
When Fefnir arrived at the last scene, his mind judged things to be traumatic enough to repeat, and so he tortured himself with endless memories of tearing meat, breaking bone, splattering blood for the remainder of his sleep. Crimson tears silently slipped down his face even as his face showed serenity unattainable during his waking hours. His knees were pulled tightly into his chest, as if to protect himself from an invisible attacker.
It was around midnight when she returned, and around midnight that he awoke with a start, covered in sweat and surrounded by bags, one of which had food in it. He was quick to grab for it and take a biscuit... thing... and unwrap it, practically biting at it through the wrapper. Fefnir's appetite was voracious, and his mannerisms crude. With a mouthful of some combination of egg, cheese, and sausage, he asked, "Whatcha get?"
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Posted: Tue Feb 23, 2010 11:15 pm
Detaching from the darkened corner opposite the couch, Kowabi padded softly to Fefnir’s side to kneel amongst the bags. Reaching into the bag the sandwich had come from she fished for a napkin while answering quietly, “Clothing for the two of us, a variety of non-perishable food items and a few necessary toiletries.” Fingers finding the textured paper Kowabi removed a single sheet and came to her knees. As before she grabbed Fefnir by the chin and, unlike last time, gently dabbed away the red tear tracks marring his face. Pulling the napkin back, her fingers splayed against his feverish skin before she removed them as well and scrubbed the grease from the tips of the thumb and index finger. Looking to the sandwich filled bag and exactly how fast he was devouring the…few mouthfuls of sandwich, she decidedly reach in for her single morsel. Food in hand she sat back, crossing her legs until comfortable and unwrapped her breakfast with care. Taking a politely measured bite, chewing, swallowing she brought her eyes back to Fefnir to find his sandwich on its last legs, fortunately the brown bag it had come from still contained another nine breakfast items.
A few minutes later her breakfast was gone and she stood quickly, moving to the cushion directly next to her charge, pulling a collapsible brush from one of the numerous pockets of her new jacket. “Turn around,” hoping the instruction was headed, Kowabi waited patiently for either compliance or an outburst. At this point, the latter wouldn’t bother her in the least. The fact was his hair needed brushing, and until she could get him to care for his own appearance she’d keep her annoyance at the task to a minimum. “Fefnir, is there anything you’d like to do today?” Asked with absence, Kowabi eyed him with the slightest tinge of curiosity in the depths of her caustic eyes. Even if it took years, she’d get him under control…bring back his awareness and composure. She knew to well the difficulties of pulling oneself back from the edge of all consuming insanity, it had happened soon after her own Hollowfication. The mental wounds had yet to fade from her consciousness, even after thousands of years of existence, she was still unbalanced. Truth be told, Kowabi’s need to repair Fefnir was part of that scarring. She needed someone or something to cleave to. Originally it had been her position as an assassin that she’d clung to, her tasks were clear cut, kill and report back, nothing more and nothing less. Having detached from Soul Society took that away, allowing the jitters of being alone and without purpose pervade her already badly scared mind.
Breaking away from her thoughts and unwilling to remember her past, Kowabi lifted the hand with the brush and swirled it in a gesture to reinforce the need for Fefnir to turn around.
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