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buttrinthum2023-01-01 04:59 pm
TDM #1
Whether it be sleep or death, you feel your eyes close, and as your body begins to let go, you see a barn owl that is flying through the darkness, soon sweeping you across the clouded sky. You feel yourself mouth the words, “I wish, I wish..” and utter your deepest and darkest desire.
When you regain consciousness, you’ll find you are in an unfamiliar place with no recognition of how you arrived here. You have the clothes on your back, but nothing else. No weapons and if you had a particular superpower, you’ll notice it is missing. All you have is a satchel with a piece of bread, a vial of water and a potion. The potion could be red, blue or golden. There are no instructions about these potions other than two words: Drink Me.
Will you drink it or not?
There is a parchment, handwritten, and it simply gives you a welcoming:
“Welcome to my Labyrinth. Per our agreement, you have consented to live your life here for an undetermined amount of time. In exchange, I will grant you the wish that you desire the most.”
You’re in a garden, surrounded by flowers and plants– most of which you cannot identify. However, there are a few that you can make out: poinsettias and mistletoe. You’ll soon find out that being around the poinsettias give you an odd sense of joy no matter how confusing the situation may seem and the mistletoe, which is left over from the holiday season, gives you the desire to kiss or hold hands with the nearest person to you. It looks like there are plenty of others who are just now waking up from their dream-state as well.. why not go ahead and say hello?
With the influx of new life, the humble town a barkeep tells you is called Somnius seems to come alive as well, with new faces to join that of the resident fairies, goblins and other townfolk. There’s bustling energy to the land that the townfolk will tell you wasn’t quite there before, and some suspect that the presence of the new arrivals might be powering the world around them in some way - but that’s a question to be answered on another day. The quaint town of Somnius needs a little bit of care, that rustic feel to the mushroom houses, old shops and weathered castles too evident at first glance, but it’s not a bad place to live, as the locals will tell you. It almost seems like everything will be okay…
But of course, things are never so simple.
Whether you have been wandering around to get your bearings, talking to the locals or exploring your new humble (very humble) abode, you can expect to find mysterious ice sculptures - fashioned in the shape of snow angels, with blades in their hands - appearing in random places around the town. There are some that manifest in the middle of the street, some that sit quietly at the edge of an inn, and even some that appear right beside your bed, staring at you as you wake up. It’s unclear how these sculptures even got here, but close proximity to them will conjure up feelings of unrest, like you should not step any closer.
It’s smart to trust your gut in these situations. Step too close to a snow angel and it will come to life, moving with the grace of flowing water. They make a vague request and will spare only those able to heed it.
“Cold … so cold … Even the days of Visium are so cold. Have you any warmth to spare us?”
Some angels will accept an article of clothing as warmth. Others are greedy and keep demanding more, wanting to take everything that you have on your body. Heed their requests and they will spare you. Resist even just a little, and that’s when they draw their swords.
It’s not too easy to defeat an angel with brute force given that they reform themselves immediately. Running away or blasting them with fire could do the trick. Be careful not to get cut by their blades, however…
Characters who get cut by their blades will experience an inconsolable sense of chill and emptiness, right down to their bones. They will find themselves desiring ‘warmth’ from others in different ways - whether through physical contact, or affectionate words and gestures. There might be the few who go feverish in their desire for warmth. For those characters – the open fireplace is looking like a very tantalizing place to sit in right now (Yes, sit in, not by). They might even feel compelled to pull a friend in with them. That can’t be good for anyone…
The effects will only subside if the condition of receiving ‘warmth’ is met. This can be in the literal sense (physical warmth and intimacy) or figurative (feelings of love, acceptance and happiness).
When night falls, the temperatures only drop further, which does no favours for the poor souls who had to give up their clothing. The locals want to welcome the new arrivals and give everyone an opportunity to unwind from a busy and chaotic day of being hunted by snow sculptures. That’s why they’ve set up a gathering in the middle of town square. Food and alcohol is being generously supplied by The Cask & Anvil, and marketplace vendors have set up pop up stands to try and cajole the new arrivals into purchasing some fancy new clothes or a pretty gemstone they claim will ward off danger (claims not verified).
At the center of it all is a large bonfire that’s warming up the square. Everyone is encouraged to warm themselves by it after a long day, eat, and make merry. In fact, there’s a certain sense of enchantment to the crackling fire that seems to draw even the shiest wallflower in, pushing them to sit with others and make conversation. As the night goes on, the newly arrived dreamers will find themselves settling easily into the warm and bustling mood, any stresses and anxieties melting away. With time, they’ll start to find themselves without a filter, more than happy to talk about themselves and the life they had led prior to coming to Visium. In fact, they will feel compelled to share a story from their past - one that might be joyous, comedic, thrilling, or tragic. Whatever sorts of feelings come attached to their story, it will be one of emotional significance.
In the back of their minds, they might get the sense someone else is listening.
Welcome to the labyrinthum TDM! Characters will arrive depowered and with only their clothing, and will be given a satchel with a crystal pendant, a communication device, some water and bread and a magic potion. If they drink the potion, they will manifest an elemental, healing or animal transformation ability.
With the exception of Castle Vaeros, characters are free to go as they please, so feel free to place them in any of the locations available on the map. Yes, this includes the Labyrinth - though characters will not be able to clear the maze. Please comment here to request an outcome for your character's labyrinth exploration and a moderator will get to you shortly. (The longest a character can stay in the Labyrinth is 3 days.)
You can find more information about the game here. Any questions regarding the TDM can go under the comment below.
geto suguru | jjk
[ i wish, i wish...
geto suguru utters just one wish, at the end of all things. death is a reprieve and a release for a man who has fallen deep into grief, rage and madness, with bloodstained hands and teeth bared in a mockery of a smile he can never truly inhabit, save for that one, final moment.
don't cry, he thinks he wants to say to him, carrying the last of satoru's uttered words with him, into the wind, into dust. he spares that one last smile, just for him. all is well.
all is well, until it isn't.
geto wakes when he shouldn't, opening his eyes to a brand new world, the taste of blood disappeared from the back of his throat. it makes sense, he supposes. spirits shouldn't be tasting blood, or anything much, really. but then more and more things don't make sense. he's whole again, and this time with a satchel in his grip, with bread, a potion, and water. drink me, it says, and while geto would usually test it on some unsuspecting ape to see what comes of it, this time he drinks it.
it's not like he can get anymore dead, right? nevermind the fact that dead men shouldn't be drinking things in the first place. anyway, he regrets it immediately after, when he gains new furry appendages reminiscent of a vulpine creature. he flexes his fingers, the annoyed twitching of new ears swiftly giving away his mood.
no more curses left. no power. well, they did say that one leaves the world with nothing. he supposes the writer of the parchment he'd been given is responsible for everything else.
the indigenous flora prove to be a proper distraction, and geto picks himself up to wander, hands tucked in the expansive sleeves of his robes. it seems he's not the only one, as he pauses by the first interesting individual he finds, bushy fox tail swishing from side to side. time to be pleasant -- it's easier than he thinks, oddly enough, he's in a very good mood. ]
I don't recommend the gold potion, unless you like having fur.
mistletoe;
[ fascinating.
geto might not have cared for non-sorcerer traditions, but the appearance of the mistletoe is not lost on him. a plant for lovers, for hopefuls, for heartbreak. christmas holds no meaning for him then and now, only that it will be a day that will never come for him.
is it christmas day, then?
he finds himself admiring the shape of it, the promises that it embodies for everyone else but himself. geto is sentimental to a fault (from great passion comes great hate, and all), and before he can stop himself, his hand comes to rest on another's.
...goodness. ]
Ah. My apologies.
[ he doesn't lift his hand. ]
bonfire;
[ geto is a newcomer to the bonfire and the food around it -- the sheer number of people are instinctively off-putting, but geto reminds himself that it's a new world, new rules, and with him left without so much as a cursed spirit, he will do well to bide his time.
and so he goes to do what he does best: befriend, beguile, bewitch. what he does with that after... well, it's anyone's guess, including his own.
he finally settles down on a log next to someone, elegantly adjusting his robes and smiling. if the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, well; that's just a trick of the light. ]
Will you tell me a story?
[ just as well that he likes listening to them. ]
wildcard;
[ hit him up! or feel free to hit me up on plurk for plotting @
scratch that, mistletoe because why not make it awkward AND painful;
( one: this is not a small place, so good luck with that and two, how does it feel to be alarmingly normal for once in your entire life? more on that later. )
this much, to start, means that he won't be as acutely aware of the other man's presence as he would be otherwise ( you know, it's not as though he can just go sniffing the air for his residuals ) but he'll still be able to sense him at his periphery, soon enough that he won't be so close as to leave him wide open should he choose to do … anything … but close enough that it will find the fine hair at the back of his neck standing on end. like the promise of an electrical storm on the horizon with how it charges the air around him.
is it really you?
it's the touch of that hand against his own that has him sucking in a breath and holding it, such a simple but achingly familiar thing catching in the back of his throat alongside a ruined exhale; he doesn't lift his gaze to look at him directly, or even cast a sidelong glance because he's not entirely convinced he can trust himself to do it in the first place. not without giving something away that he desperately needs to keep for himself. )
Since when have you ever gone out of your way to apologize to me for anything? ( he finally asks, voice low, the ghost of a wry smile curving one side of his mouth upward — but only because it helps to mask the way he's now biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it bleed. )
Is it you, Suguru? Really you? Or have I— ( here, he laughs to himself, equal parts incredulous and exasperated. ) Have I finally gone mad?
im crying this is so sad ajhsdkjahf satoru pls
wouldn't you know me anywhere?
suguru doesn't shift his hand from where it's resting against his -- a part of him wants to, because there's still so much between them that cannot be fixed, not even with those final words, with his own feelings. but the rest of him is reluctant. satoru's hand is warm and real, and even if the man doesn't look at him, suguru looks. he sees the ghost of that smile, the clench of his jaw, the sheer enormity of his restraint.
he looks... a little older, a touch sadder, or perhaps it's just wishful thinking on suguru's part. suguru's thumb brushes lightly along the seam of satoru's, tracing over a knuckle almost absently. ]
I died. [ he confirms quietly, because he could be cruel and draw this out, but he finds that he doesn't enjoy any of that when it comes to satoru. mostly. ] That is the last thing I remember.
[ and how you looked like you were going to cry. he muses, ]
Maybe we're both mad.
[ hmm. maybe: ] Did you die? I thought I'd still be waiting for you for a long while yet.
YOU WANTED PAIN as usual
only time is going to tell, on that one.
i would. i would know you. at least i think i would, and i hate that i can't trust the normal human senses that tell me you're right there, it's your voice, it's your hand on mine.
they should not be touching and he knows it, there should be more distance between them than there is now and it isn't as though they're stuck like this, but the sheer gravity of the situation they've found themselves in keeps them rooted to the spot as though his own personal singularity holds them fast in place. his heart hammers against her chest and when the brush of the other's thumb comes, something in him cracks around the edges, and he wonders how long he's going to be able to keep this up. )
You died. ( he confirms, though they both know there is no real need for it. ) By my hand … but I guess there's no reason to bring up one more thing we both know, is there?
( for a moment, it's almost like they're right back where they were before it had all ended, before everything had stopped and he forgets to breath for long enough that his lungs protest. ) I don't think so. ( he chuckles, but there's no mirth to it at all. )
I was asleep … and dreaming. And then I woke up here.
i have regrets now i'm crying
[ suguru says amiably. dearest satoru, suguru intends to spare you that reminder, but you are always hard on yourself that way sometimes, aren't you?
he looks at him, really looks, and even in the years of estrangement suguru still knows him to his bones, his very soul, and knows that satoru is barely keeping it together. oh, if only they knew. if only they knew, in those years, how to be together. but hindsight is 20-20 and they've always been more alike in all the ways that matter -- and oh, how that had broken them apart, driven by geto's hand.
and now here they are, with all the broken pieces.
he doesn't pull away. he can't. satoru feels like the very first, very real flicker of warmth he's had in years, and suguru is only just a man. he has nothing left -- nothing but this. ]
What did you dream about?
i'll make it up to you i promise .... somehow
suguru doesn't take his hand away and in turn, this one … might just hold on a bit more tightly, or at least give over the impression that he doesn't want there to be more space between them even when there most definitely should be.
always more alike than not … two sides of the same coin, two beings cut from the same cloth and poured from the same mold whether they realize and acknowledge it or not, but where the other is feeling a flicker of warmth for the first time in too long, gojo is feeling like a part of him that's been missing has finally come back home.
he shouldn't trust this, and he knows he shouldn't, but weakness always has a way of showing itself when it's most detrimental to all those involved, doesn't it?
what did you dream about? ) I'm not sure that I remember … only that it was in black and white. ( he pauses, and finally looks at suguru fully. ) I only ever dream in color. Do you think that means something?
no you're just going to bring more pain
loopholes, and such.
but suguru chooses to focus on the heat of his hand, the press of his fingers, so long and so elegant. his fingers curl over his after a moment's hesitation, because this is a type of homecoming, even for one as lost as he is. there's a bittersweetness that sits in his chest, and if this is weakness, then let them share it together.
he meets his eyes when satoru finally looks at him, and suguru thinks about that question for a moment before he reaches out slowly, a single fingertip easing satoru's sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so he can look into those blue, blue eyes again. how beautiful they still are.
were you mourning, satoru? ]
Your brain might have just decided to go with a more avant-garde approach.
[ he stays instead, and looks down at their joined hands. if they are all depowered, and satoru, too --
more quietly, so no one can overhear. ] Did you let me touch you on purpose?
you don't know that for sure!!!!!
there is. so much to unpack here, so much to sort and sift through like there was ever any hope of coming back from it in the first place, which there never could be, but he's always been something of a hopeless romantic ( read: absolute fucking idiot ) when it comes to holding onto things, incapable of letting them go even when heh knows well that he should.
( he should have let him go a long, long time ago, and even still there are tendrils keeping them tied together, connected whether they want to be or not. )
he allows that touch, the subtle downward slide of glasses from the bridge of his nose and he wonders, before the other's question even comes, if he would have let him touch him, given the choice; there has always been a weakness in him where the other man is concerned, perhaps there always will be, but there is little to be said of how this really does feel like a homecoming that isn't why couldn't we have met like this sooner.
maybe not precisely like this, but maybe, too, there was no other way for this meeting to be so subdued if not for the complete absence of their powers.
he inhales deeply, lets it out slowly. ) You can feel it, can't you? The absence, the … emptiness. It's all gone. ( there is no simple an answer as yes or no, and he's just going to let him speculate if he chooses to. )
Your curses are gone, too, aren't they?
i know you!!!!!!!
do you though!!!! ( jk you do )
look at this THIS IS MORE PAIN
bonfire
She just sits and stares at the fire for a long while, just feeling-- Well, she doesn't know. Everything feels dimmer without her powers. Everything just seemed dull now.
Too used to being left alone, she startles a little when Geto sits next to her. She instinctively shifts to avoid accidentally touching him--not that she has to worry about her powers activating here, but still, habit--and looks a bit concerned.]
...I don't mind, but... None of the stories I know have very happy endings. I'm afraid I'd just bring the mood down. [Yuri winces a little, apologetic. She tends to bring the mood down a lot actually, unfortunately.]
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there is a melancholy in her that piques his curiosity, and he laughs softly, assuming the veneer of a kindly monk. it's easier for him than he expects. interesting. ]
I'm no stranger to unhappy endings.
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A monk? A priest? Despite herself her shoulders relax a little, the familiarity of the clothes putting her somewhat at ease.]
Alright. [Why not, after all. If he says it's fine, then it's fine.] Do you want a short one, or a long one?
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Shall we start with a long one?
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Alright. [She says it in the sort of tone that seems to imply: ‘you asked for this’]
I live on the bases of a cursed mountain. [The story starts easier than she expected to—and also isn’t the story she’d planned to tell at all. The story came far easier than it normally would have and Yuri pauses for only a brief moment before she continues.]
Long ago it was a sacred place. Women with a certain special ability lived there, and people from all over would travel to see them and die under their gaze. The priestesses could take the pain of someone’s death from them, take on all of their sins and secrets so the person’s soul could move on, clean.
[Her fingers curl and then uncurl against her knees]
One day, a man came to the mountain. He wanted to die, but he was terrified of the priestess being able to know all the bad he’s done. When she lifted her veil, he panicked and ran. When she ran after him, he attacked and killed her.
Knowing that any priestess who saw either of them would know what had happened, he went on a rampage. Her killed as many priestesses he could and gouged their eyes out so they wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore, and threw their bodies into the sacred waters. Then he set himself on fire and died.
A few priestesses were able to escape, but the damage was already done. The place became condemned and cursed. Anyone who wanders onto the mountain could be spirited away and the spirits of the priestesses still wander, trying to continue their duties. By force, if needed.
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humans, the progenitor of all these cursed awful things, of death and disaster and pain, and yet -- there are those who call for them to be protected. but perhaps that's another argument for another day. ]
...Those are powerful spirits, then.
[ he comments after a few moments, looking into the fire thoughtfully. the idea of a mountain rife with cursed spirits and all that energy... ]
How did you come to know about this story?
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Some people didn’t understand, after all. But Hisoka would also say that someone else’s reaction to the truth wasn’t her fault or responsibility, probably, so…]
I live there now. I… help find people lost on the mountain. [Another brief pause, hesitation] My mentor is a descendent of a priestess who survived. And I have their same abilities too.
When I touch a spirit I can re-live their deaths. Everything they felt, thought, saw… Their sins and their secrets, it all transfer to me instead.
[She rolls her shoulders a bit, feeing stiff from how tense she’d been sitting]
I’ve spoken to the priestesses’ spirits and seen what happened.
[Felt her eyes be stabbed and hacked by a fear-crazed fool. Her eyes ache in the memory and she reaches up on hand to rub under one eye, brow briefly furrowed in a wince before she straightens again, watching him carefully for a response]
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poinsettia
it's not the first time he's woken in a strange place with no recollection of how he got here. it's not even the second. but it is the first time he's awoken while still remembering the other strange worlds he's been abruptly pulled to—just like this.
gaze drifting skyward, the robotic idol wears an expression unusually vacant for him. his fingers curl in the dirt; he lifts his foot, and digs his heel against his other toe. he feels a dull poke. he wished for something... he'd been properly asleep. but this didn't feel right at all. in nippon, where he'd just been, he could feel things. like the stab of his high-heeled boot.
--unless you like having fur, comes an interruption of a voice. a welcome interruption, MTT decides quickly. with a mechanical turn of his head, mettaton affixes geto with his heavily-lidded gaze. he glances down at himself. there's no fur on his body anymore...]
The golden one. ... And, are you some sort of expert, darling? [never mind his need to collect his thoughts for now. mettaton smiles, coy and sharp.] Is that where you sourced your ears and tail from? But it's such a good look on you!
[his lips are yet pulled into a slight smile at best, as he casts his attention down to the potions, then back to geto.]
It doesn't come at your recommendation. Yet, I can't help but feel you don't mind it...
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geto doesn't miss the way the stranger is off in his own world, just for a few moments -- he imagines the disorientation is just about universal in this place. but also, geto's never seen anyone quite like him before; is it armour that he's wearing, or something else...?
still, that coy, sharp playfulness doesn't escape him, and geto, presently bereft of genocidal purpose and meaning in an entirely different world, decides that now is as good a time to get to know the people who catch his eye. ]
It can be quite troublesome, for one. [ he tells him pleasantly, incredibly fluffy, soft tail swishing back and forth in interest. ] I tend to sit on it more often than I ought.
[ he shifts, glancing at the potions he's looking at, too. ] Do you know what the others do?
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if anything, geto is giving mettaton the impression that he's been here for longer than he has... but that's just to start.
before he can ask on that, though, his attention's drawn to the other potions. the options, none of which have any information on hand to clarify their effects. to that, the robot hums, lifting first the golden potion to give it a gentle swish in its bottle, examining it more closely.]
And they don't even have the good grace to slap a label on these OBVIOUSLY suspicious concotions. The nerve. Where are food and drug regulatory agencies when they actually matter?? [like for magic potions, hello?? this is all to say, as mettaton gracefully drops the potion into the dirt,] I have no clue, sweetheart!
[but this is a chance to figure out if geto knows more of this place, anyway, as his eyes go as round as they can with curiosity.] Do you know? You've made it clear that you have experience with the one, anyway...
wild as it gets baby
just fucking figures.
at least no one he knows is around to witness this insult to injury.
whatever. wandering one life aimlessly isn't all that different from wandering the next, so he walks, bored, irritated, trying to figure out what the fuck he's going to do to occupy his time so he doesn't go the rest of the way out of his mind.
and then the universe drops it on him, practically in his lap, like a consolation prize for winning the most bullshit crammed into one shit life award.
it's the little curse manipulator, though he's looking not so little anymore. yeah, yeah, yeah, he can work with this. this'll do. toji stretches, eyes on geto's back, warming up his muscles until they're loose and limber—
—then his breath is on geto's neck, arm hooked over geto's shoulder to clamp a hand around his throat, broad chest braced to geto's back from behind to pin him in. ]
Boo.
GODDAMNIT asdjhadjkhf i love u
here he is, minding his own fucking business, right before he gets jumped, throat-clamped and nearly strangled. worse. worse, he will know that voice anywhere. that voice belongs to the person who's given him one hell of a lifelong scar, shattering everything he had thought he once knew and had. riko, shot dead right before his eyes. fushiguro toji is the living embodiment of the moment everything had started to fall apart for him, the person who spurred geto to work harder, be stronger, the humiliation of being defeated by such a man forever branded into his psyche.
his first instinct is fury. maddening, blinding, raging fury -- but toji is better than that. geto has replayed that painful humiliation over and over in his mind in the years that followed, noted the swift, coldblooded speed of his movements. fushiguro toji's strength lies in that absolute ruthlessness, his incredible speed, and that sheer skill; to give in to his shock and anger is to lose immediately, and that's just not a good look even for a newly dead (and yet not) geto suguru.
so geto stills, unmoving, even if everything in him wants to reach back out and grind him into dust, but see -- he's still at a disadvantage here. ]
Why, if it isn't the monkey! [ because suguru can be a bitch, and because there's far too much bad blood to even pretend to be civil for awhile, especially when his breath is on his fucking neck. ] You're not my type, you know.
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this is the only way toji knows how to feel alive, and he is living.
maybe this won't be so terrible after all. ]
Oh? You remember me awfully good for not being your type. [ he passes his thumb over geto's adams apple, crooning directly into his target's ear. his voice drops lower, a deep rumble that is equal parts inviting and mocking. ]
I'll bet your body remembers me even better. [ the hand not wrapped around geto's throat slides around geto's waist at that, tracing over that once beautifully maimed torso. toji laughs softly, then drags his tongue over the line of geto's jaw, just because he can. that's what you get for not moving, you little shit. ]
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he feels the way that arm wraps around him, acutely aware that he's tracing over the scar he still sports, no thanks to this bastard. that single, wet, wet lick just about pushes him right to the limit. everything in him roars to commit violence, to beat the everliving shit out of him and put him right into his grave again. but more than anything, geto remembers just how deadly toji is, and so he --
-- leans the fuck back, right flush against him, his smug and playful veneer masking the murderous rage right underneath it. his hand comes up to grip the arm that's around his neck, digging in. geto suguru has become much stronger and more dangerous in the years that have passed; as it turns out, hunting down and toying with seventeen year old sorcerers before murdering them in scant minutes really can motivate a person. tipping his head back so he's just about resting on his shoulder, he just about purrs, because fuck you, asshole. ]
Why don't you remind me?
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nonetheless, toji's instincts rule him more than he rules them and the one time he overcame his gut, gojo satoru painted the walls with him. so there's a palpable change in the way toji holds geto, a taunting embrace locking down to disable, to dismantle, to—
toji's nostrils flare with his sharp exhale, pupils constricting as he pushes back against his own reaction. geto's head rests against his shoulder, meeting him down in the murk and the muck where toji lives.
the expression on toji's face is one of confusion, of discomfort and uncertainty. the fuck is this.
he lets go of geto's throat, a red handprint in his wake. his other arm remains wound around geto's waist, toji too out of sorts to move any more than that. ]
Aw, you're gonna lower your fancy standards for little ol' me? [ he finally manages, laughing less steadily than he'd like. ] Tell me.
[ finding his mental footing again, fixes his gaze on geto's eyes to study his reaction. ] How did surviving me work out for you?
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toji lets go of his throat and geto shoves himself free roughly, coughing at the sudden rush of air into his lungs. he will sport the red marks on his throat for awhile yet, a thought that further infuriates him.
he massages it, taking quiet note of the fact that it actually aches, meaning: he's not dead. and despite history, toji isn't dead either. it's fortunate for the both of them that toji let go when he did, because that's about the extent of geto's arsenal vis-à-vis gay chicken without having it get unsettling for them both.
but here, when he gets to look toji right in the eye, geto is acutely aware of something else: that the man is also a convenient vehicle for his hatred. the cult who hired him and all the ugly, ugly humans in it -- how the star vessel incident seems a thousand years away and yet is not, the splintering of his path from gojo, the one true connection he has ever had in his life.
how did geto survive him?
grandly, he holds his arms out, because it will not do to tell the truth: that something broke and died inside of geto that day, swallowed up by unaddressed guilt, grief, rage and resentment. and geto had been lost, untethered to his only friend who had become so strong that geto could never reach him again.
and then geto had fallen, forever lost. the man that geto suguru used to be did not survive fushiguro toji at all.
and so geto looks into the face that embodies his greatest, most devastating failure, and smiles. it's a wonder that he doesn't choke on the weight of his resentment. ]
Wonderfully, of course.
[ his smile sharpens, and there's nothing friendly about it even if he objectively knows that fighting about this is pointless. they're both already dead. ]
Have you met your son yet?
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bonfire
it's been strange for him, being here. he can't summon his bloodline limit, could feel from the first second he opened his eyes that there was a wrongness in him somehow. a lack in his body, an emptiness where his blood used to thrum with power and resonance. it doesn't bring him relief. should it have brought him relief? not having it now does not unwrite the suffering and death it caused. losing it now only makes him vulnerable, only makes it so—
geto's voice pulls him out of the past and he turns his head to study the man addressing him.
older, dressed in long robes, handsome. pleasant, but perhaps a little too put together. there's a trap in there somewhere, surely. haku is completely unarmed here and it sets him on edge, looking too deeply into his every interaction. he wonders why that is, what he even has left to want to defend. it's just instinct, reflex. the death rattle of a corpse still trying to understand that it's dead.
it's pointless, to hold on so tightly to something already lost to him.
gently, pleasantly, haku smiles back. ]
I'm afraid I don't have any pleasant ones to offer.