[ balance evening out as his knee is caught and cramped into that space, he regards the daemon with a level look, a contemplative hum in the back of his throat. a round-barrel shoulder presses into his sternum like it's trying to compress a cage in on a bird — but that animal is still within him, unperturbed by the flash of teeth, skill, and blood. there's enough pause for prediction: he's thrown back, but his second leg lands a foot on Rokurou's tensed, supporting thigh. ]
[ the arc of a backflip through the air is a graceful sweep, landing him solidly in nearby grass. he watches the display while he can still feel the tang of iron on his own tongue, and it snakecharm-swivels with interest; the inner rim of his bottom lip is still red, he realizes as he detects more flavor there. the guess is a good one, and for that, he lets Rokurou drawn him in close. the sounds of meat against meat, packing and beating, are barely louder than his calm words as he strikes, dodges, parries, speaks: ]
Formerly.
[ what he is now is a much more complicated thing. the exorcising still happens, but only incidentally — and he doesn't have the energy signature of love and light, healing and protection. no, it's dark — consumptive and greedy, swirling and twisting, a sick spiral that starts deep in his core. ]
Curse eater, [ he says instead, his style switching up again for a brutal-boxed undercut, intent to return the notion: to throw him back, down him on the ground, step on his chest as a point of pride... but to feign ignorance at the proximity of where Rokurou's landed to the knife, right at the tips of his fingers. ]
no subject
[ the arc of a backflip through the air is a graceful sweep, landing him solidly in nearby grass. he watches the display while he can still feel the tang of iron on his own tongue, and it snakecharm-swivels with interest; the inner rim of his bottom lip is still red, he realizes as he detects more flavor there. the guess is a good one, and for that, he lets Rokurou drawn him in close. the sounds of meat against meat, packing and beating, are barely louder than his calm words as he strikes, dodges, parries, speaks: ]
Formerly.
[ what he is now is a much more complicated thing. the exorcising still happens, but only incidentally — and he doesn't have the energy signature of love and light, healing and protection. no, it's dark — consumptive and greedy, swirling and twisting, a sick spiral that starts deep in his core. ]
Curse eater, [ he says instead, his style switching up again for a brutal-boxed undercut, intent to return the notion: to throw him back, down him on the ground, step on his chest as a point of pride... but to feign ignorance at the proximity of where Rokurou's landed to the knife, right at the tips of his fingers. ]
Getou Suguru.