[closed]

[chokuto]

WHO: Uchiha Sasuke (chokuto) & others
WHAT: August event + misc catch-all!
WHERE: Various locations, including the shopping mall
WHEN: Month of August
WARNINGS: Will update as needed



[ooc: if you would like to plot something with me/sasuke, my event comment is over here!]

Comments

august 2023 event

[chokuto]

( event log )

—henry creel

[chokuto]

[Water under the bridge.

The words return to his mind a while after the entrance doors to the mall have shuttered, stranding him inside, alone in the dark. They hold no meaning — except in the fact of an ambiguous warning, confirmed as soon as the lights flicker off and a nail-biting cold sets in. Sasuke is tense as he advances through the open promenade area; unconsciously, his right eye bleeds red, though he can feel the immediate drain of chakra as soon as its engaged. He's already discovered that his Sharingan is operating at a lower level than usual. An unsettling change, if only for how much it disarms him. To be reduced to a weaker level is dangerous. Another tally of evidence that this dimension, wherever it may be, has been specifically designed for those inhabitants trapped within it.

As he advances, one red eye aglow in the dark — as eerie as the emergency lights overhead — his senses burn, muted yet still enough to pick up on unnatural energy. Something off, subtle, like a piece of furniture shifted slightly to the right. He had noticed it on the way inside, but it hadn't deterred his investigation. To tell him that this place is wrong would be no news; he could confirm that from the beginning.

But what, exactly, is the purpose?

After some time, Sasuke reaches an expansive, indoor pavilion that appears to house several food vendors, though their storefronts are empty and desolate, dimly lit by a bare minimum. And then he catches movement somewhere in the shadow ahead. Sasuke's head turns, preternaturally sensitive, tracking the stranger.]

Who is it?

[vecna]

[The grafitti’d warnings did little to disturb him, even as the lights flickered into darkness and the temperature delved into a baleful chill. Henry—for good or ill—is a man that is difficult to perturb, his curiosities regarding what lords over this city only ever treading down two emotional paths: indignity and simple curiosity. Both push him forward. Both have him tracking down darkened paths and the yawning clearance of the mall itself, compelled to know why. To learn who would dare try to trap him for the nth time in his life.

It’s the same now, as the mall opens into what he can only assume is some kind of pavilion dotted with shops made to dole out food. (A food court; but Henry’s not once stepped foot into a mall until this day, so he wouldn’t really know.) In the distance, he spots the glowing eye of someone he cannot make out in this darkness, and he pauses his step in the face of their question.]

Henry.

[He says, as though that might mean anything to the other. His voice carries, which says plenty for the empty nature of this darkened mall — he’s soft-toned, and polite-timbered, and yet he’s heard quite clearly.

Unlike his new companion, he cannot sense any wayward energies in the air; he can’t tell if this place has turned malignant in the same moment that the lights went out. But he doesn’t need to be told that much. What good comes from being left in the dark, made to wander while shadows seemingly flicker in their periphery this whole while?

Which makes him say, even halfway sincerely:]

Trapped, the same as you. At least I’m not wandering all alone anymore.

[chokuto]

[A name is worth something — an identity, at least, to fix this person he has not met until now in his mind. Henry. He approaches at those words, wary enough to keep his guard but not suspecting ill intent from this person yet; there would be sense of it, he's sure.]

Sasuke. [A returned introduction. In the limited light, he better surveys the unfamiliar man in front of him and finds little amiss without further evidence. That manner is calm and cool-headed, and both are valuable under duress.] That depends. Together, it may be more difficult to avoid detection, but that's only if we're facing a threat. It's too soon to tell.

[It's frustrating not to know the situation. Yet he does as he has been trained to do — gather the pieces, study the signs, judge the facts. The ominous feeling inspired by this place has not fled him. Sasuke turns, intending to exit the pavilion of restaurants, turning his head to keep the stranger within the Sharingan's line of view.]

Are you capable in combat?

[vecna]

[A name’s better than nothing — it’s nearly all he can garner from most with immediacy, now with his powers dulled and next to useless in this city. He doesn’t recognize this young man, but maybe he’s one of the newer arrivals that come in waves every month. His own eyes sweep over him as best they can in this darkness, lingering on the glowing eye with unhidden curiosity.

Henry, on the other hand, might come across as relatively unassuming. Physically, he’s not much to look at: he’s tall, but long-limbed and not with a lot of muscle on his frame. The opposite of intimidating, really, and his (apparent) unassuming demeanor only underlines that tenfold.

Which is why the question prompts a possibly surprising and straightforward answer.]

I was.

[Or, well… Perhaps not as straightforward as he’d make it out to be.]

I’m psychic. I don’t know if that means anything to you— [Other worlds, other rules. Strange context. He can’t be sure.] —but I can manipulate forces with my mind. It comes in handy if you’re creative with it.

[Creative or incredibly violent. Sometimes both.]

But I'm so much weaker in this city, I don't know how much help I'd be if something came at us right now. What about you?

[chokuto]

[He has learned never to base an assumption on appearances; though Henry may look unassuming, this could hide any number of threats dormant beneath the man's exterior. On the battlefield, these judgments determine the line between life and death in the most crucial situations, so he can't afford to underestimate a stranger.

Case in point: that confession. It shows on Sasuke's face — a slight tightening around the mouth, furrowing line between brows. I can manipulate forces with my mind. And he says it so plainly, as if it is fine to be known. Perhaps it is to him. An unfamiliar perspective for Sasuke, who comes from a world where it's better to hold everything close to the chest, otherwise your opponent has an advantage against you.

Here, does it really matter?]

I am. I'm accustomed to fighting. But weaker, the same as you. ["Psychic"... it is not the word he's come to know, but it'd be a lie to say he isn't bothered by Henry's description. It sounds too similar to the Sharingan's capabilities. What is he like at full power?] I know some of what you describe, although not in the way you've probably come to use it. Is your ability innate, or did it have to be taught?

[vecna]

[This city affords a bit more freedom than the lab, he will give it that. Part of that is being truthful about what he can and cannot do, even if it's useless information without being at his full capacity. Still, if it makes all of those working for the US Government and their little project of psychics writhe a little from universes away? Then Henry is more than happy to tell everyone he has psionic powers.

But that's a satisfaction that fades in the face of whatever's happening now.]

Accustomed to fighting is better than nothing. [He admits that, easily.] Mine is innate, but it took a few years to really come into its own. Now? I guess you could say that I'm weaker than when they manifested for the first time.

[What a thought, to think that his twelve year old self could at least manage to truly get into the heads of others and crack their bones from within, and now he's lucky if he can move something heavy around.]

So, really, the only option for me right now is caution.

[Bold words, for a man who's about to snap in like 2 tags or so.]

—vanessa ives

[chokuto]

[It's an illusion. A complicated illusion built out of perfect memory and ripped from the depths of his mind, but one nonetheless. A child would not be able to tell it apart — but he is not a child any longer, and he has spent his life unraveling the falsities tangled over his eyes like reams of thread slick with blood. It's an illusion. He knows it isn't real.

And yet there is no defense against the emotion that rises in his chest — the hinge of maybe, here in this defiant place — that takes strangling possession and does not allow him to ignore it. The energy he feels first is pale, flickering red in the corner of his sight; he whips around as if burned by cold fire. No one is there. Not even his weakened Sharingan, bright like a bleeding wound in his right eye, is able to track the sinuous movement of a shadow in the dark. Sense and reason have fled, and he follows, first around one corner and then another, down the long tiled halls of the shopping center, desperation on the cusp of discovery.

He saw it. He is certain. That familiar silhouette is a permanent phantom in his dreams and nightmares, as it has been the last enduring decade of his life. He would know it better, even, than he knows himself.

The maddening chase continues until Sasuke has entered a store, blind to his surroundings, heart beating furiously hard in his throat at the barest glimpse of a long black sleeve, a tail of hair, a pale face and narrow eyes... and then he is upon a stranger, an unknown woman, pale and dark but otherwise all wrong. Sasuke startles back and crashes inelegantly into a shelf. Around his feet, wooden toys tumble and scatter.]

You... [are not him.]

[matermali]

[ The near collision is enough to force her backward as well, though Vanessa catches herself just before tripping over the mess of toys. Her breaths are frantic, pale eyes wide with a desperation that has been long starved. Despite the fanciful appearance of her dress and jewelry, she looks miles away from 'proper', with ink stains on her dress and her bun barely containing the mess of dark hair.

She's found another one with red eyes... Another one that isn't a demon. Not that she can sense, at least, but then where have her senses gotten her so far? If her power was of any real use, it might have kept her from this building in the first place. As it is, she's left chasing memories without a plan, and once again it's led her to a dead-end.

Bracing herself, Vanessa resists the urge to run right past him. This path must have led her here for a reason, but she has yet to know if it's in her favor. ]

Did you see him? He was only...

[ There's only one 'him' she can think of, so who else could there be? Even as she says it, she knows her question makes no sense, but hasn't she already realized that she seems to have lost her senses? ]

He was here.

[chokuto]

[He gathers himself, in pieces, some brutal shame in the act of standing upright and avoiding the sharp wooden edges of the toys underfoot. Still, his heart continues to race — adrenaline has a nasty hook in his system as if his body refuses to relax, not after what he's seen. Too many years primed for glimpses of a person eternally out of reach.

This woman is affected too, he realizes, now that he has a better look of her. A brief study of the messy details, whether or not he has the context to place them correctly still out of hand. Unfairly, frustration rises up to replace fear, as if she is to blame for losing sight of his brother. As if she is the stitch in the plan that possesses him now.]

'Him'? [Confusion leaves him blurry, slurred; he closes his eyes only to open them again immediately, because it feels wrong. He feels all wrong.] What I saw was a man I need to find.

[That gathering darkness, cold inside of him, only gets worse. He thinks he ought to make her get away from him, but those aren't the words that come out of his mouth.]

Which way did he go? If you saw, then show me.

[matermali]

Why?

[ It's an accusatory tone, suspicions high as ever. Of course, she should realize that he means someone else. Vanessa has witnessed the curse affecting others, but then she has to continue to remind herself that it is a curse. Only, she sees them and all sense is lost. Terror pushes her. Even now, she struggles through the fog of it. Clarity is near, but still out of reach.

Whoever this is, he isn't asking out of concern. It doesn't sound as if he wants to find Ethan for the sake of friendship, and that draws her to step closer with narrowed eyes. ]

What do you—

[ A clatter from behind causes her to whip around, and a figure rushes past the end of the aisle, disappearing before she can catch full sight of him. Even then, she can tell it wasn't Ethan. His hair had been too dark.

She still pursues, unable to resist the need to discover the truth. Dread grows with every hurried step. Is this who the young man was talking about? Does he know where Ethan is? ]

[chokuto]

[There is no time to answer questions. To him, in this moment, the woman is a tool to reach a goal — to reach his brother. Nothing else will exist in the space of his mind while this occupies it. Behind her, tailing her, almost dogging her with the urgency of his speed and haste, they take the turn of a corner in pursuit of the shadow in the perfect shape of every nightmare he's ever had.

And, in the end, they find it.

In some dark, forgotten corner of the mall where not even the emergency lights' dull illumination can reach, he is confronted with his brother. A man who looks like him and looks completely unlike him, a wraith, turning around to reveal a pair of red eyes, lines of blood down both cheeks. A soft, sincere smile on the pale mouth. He says to both of them, "You're here. Did you get a little taller, Sasuke?" Words that are all wrong, reserved for a history that has already come to pass, that cannot be altered. Words that seem to tear a hole through the air, making it changed, charged.

Then at once a vision assaults them: from the perspective of his own eyes, he is on top of his brother, both intact hands around his brother's throat, strangling the life out of him as his brother chokes on blood and lack of breath, eyes dull black now, sightless, body battered from hours and hours of battle, not even struggling, not fighting as he's ruthlessly murdered, again, with all the rage and hatred between them like one great endless burning fire, until even that meager lingering light is gone from his brother's identical eyes—

As suddenly as it assaults them, it ends, and Sasuke collapses to the ground in ragged breaths as the panic reaches a new, dangerous height. To Vanessa, even if she hasn't spoken a word:]

Stop, stop it— shut up!

[matermali]

[ His cries are frighteningly reminiscent of her own from not so long ago. Vanessa has always been plagued with visions; she has always been haunted by her past. These are burdens she's carried alone, but here there are others suffering similar fates, and so of course her heart squeezes inside her breast with both understanding and alarm.

It's as intimate as only fratricide could be, and she has encroached where she doesn't belong, but isn't that so often the case? She can see their memories, feel their pain, but here the difference is nobody can pretend it didn't happen. Vanessa could feel the life draining from the man as if her own hands had squeezed the light from his eyes.

Sasuke, he had said, and she considers the foreign sounding name carefully while sinking to her knees. One palm is pressed to her temple for the headache induced, and another nearly reaches for the young man so lost in his own torment, but she hesitates with a hand just hovering near his shoulder.

Clarity is near now that she can see the mannequin lying uselessly on the scuffed linoleum. Had that been what they were chasing? No matter what was happening, what this man is feeling is real. Whatever he feels and hears is real enough to cause him pain, and that is something she understands more than anything.

This Sasuke may attack her, and she is prepared to remain calm and still in such a case. He only needs to see that she isn't the enemy, and that isn't something she can force. ]

He isn't here.

—reno

[chokuto]

[There is no way out but through. Alert in the dark, his earlier phantom an unsettling nightmare that has since vanished, Sasuke advances through the mall with the intent to find a solution. He passes dim, shadowy storefronts without looking, investigation primed toward something more useful than window shopping — and that door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY is it. If nothing else, he will be able to navigate the back areas of the mall, rather than the wide-open spaces meant for visitors. There's advantage to be gained from stealth; he knows this well.

Yet the bad feeling only intensifies as he makes his way through the long hallway past the door. Mismatched eyes — one shining an unnatural, cherry-red in the dark — survey the graffiti on the wall as he passes. He shows no reaction to it. There's no way to determine what is real danger versus what is meant to scare them. So far, an actual threat hasn't presented itself; he remains on guard for this seeming inevitability.

And then he enters the security room to find a familiar face, backlit by the blue glow of several screens. A meeting now under more severe circumstances than their earlier chat.]

You again.

[Not the control group anymore, are they?]

[astraphilia]

[ Sasuke is quiet—Reno knew that already, from the way he'd moved when they first met—and if it weren't for his attention to the security feeds Reno would have been taken completely by surprise. as it stands, this is Reno largely in his element, more serious than before as he surveys the camera bank in front of him.

one of them, angled down the maintenance hallway, had picked up a brief glimpse of Sasuke's form moving down the hall, and that was enough to mean Reno doesn't jump out of his skin when he speaks. ]

Me again. [ for a moment Reno's gaze doesn't leave the screens, but then he turns to look at Sasuke standing in the doorway. ] Welcome to my office.

[ the words are a joke but the tone isn't. ]

[chokuto]

[Please, Reno... You're giving him Suigetsu vibes. But, at least now, more serious than his wayward teammate often was.]

I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise to find you here.

[Competent is a word that comes to mind, earned even if only surface-level from their past exchange. Reno seems to pay attention to details, or least understands the level of scrutiny and potential danger they live under in this place; it's only natural to find here at the center of it all, where surveillance is best achieved.]

Have you seen anything on the monitors? [Sasuke seems to hesitate — then, thinking better, in memory of his reluctant statement that collaboration would be necessary: There's something out there. I didn't get a good look at it, but... it followed me for a while.

[astraphilia]

[ google images tells me Suigetsu has greatsword-and-birkenstocks drip so it could be worse!

that comment makes Reno grin. ] You suppose, huh? Do I not look competent?

[ he's clearly not offended by the implication. in Reno's view, the less competent people believe him to be, the more he's able to get away with—it's a tactic that's worked for him for as long as he's been employed by the Turks. tried and true.

he lifts an eyebrow—a personal admission is surprising coming from Sasuke, who had been so intent on playing his cards close to his chest at the first meeting—but doesn't immediately comment, just turns back to the screens so he can rearrange them and display the feeds from the cameras closest to the maintenace rooms. the long staff hallway, the wide mall hallway just outside it, and a few pointing down the hallway in either direction. ]

I've seen plenty on the monitors. There's a bunch of us trapped in here. [ Sasuke can see for himself: the monitors that aren't closest to them are showing a number of city residents moving through the empty mall. ] What'd you see? I'm guessing it wasn't supposed to be here.

[chokuto]

[Truly it's a compliment; Suigetsu is the only sane person in the entire canon.]

That's not what I meant. [Yet it isn't corrected, as if this denial serves enough proof for his intention.] We should focus on the situation.

[In truth, it is Sasuke's nature to speak out of criticism even when it may not be warranted, but he's quick to turn his attention to the monitors, out of the line of Reno's sight. He does not hold eye contact long when the subject is relevant to himself, as it now becomes, staring at the flickering wall of blue-lit screens.]

No. It wasn't. [He struggles to shake the dread that had claimed him like a shroud out there, a crawling sense of unease. Studying the figures of other individuals on the monitor helps only a little; he doesn't recognize any of their faces, but that's little surprise.] I didn't see much. A dark shape, strange eyes. It was... on all fours, like an animal, but still human.

[The words hang between them for a moment.]

... I don't like the idea that I'm being pursued. If there is some way to head it off, that would be better. I could take it down.

[astraphilia]

[ certainly no hard feelings from Reno either way, who grins as he also turns back to the bank of monitors. it's easy as just about anything to read that Sasuke doesn't love being the topic of conversation, even obliquely—it's unsurprising, even though they haven't spoken much. ]

Like an animal, but still human... [ Reno repeats the words under his breath as he flicks through the security feeds. this comes second nature to him—muscle memory from his old life, where private security was his bread and butter. his gaze flickers between views, until finally it lands on something that piques his interest, and he calls that feed up onto a larger monitor for Sasuke to look at.

the resolution isn't very good—it almost never is, on a security camera—but there's at least an identifiable blur of movement, something human-ish but not quite human moving down one of the west hallways. ]

That your friend?

—rokurou rangetsu

[chokuto]

[When it ends, Sasuke is alone. That enveloping darkness lifts its head, returning the world to the cradle of reassuring light — he does not feel it, he is not within the circle of its embrace, but he recognizes the moment he is alone again like a badly healed wound. A bone, jutting out of place. A shard under skin. His brother's presence evaporates from the surrounding tile of the walls, the floor, smoke on a mirror in a state of disintegration. It's the same, it's always the same. It doesn't matter how many times it happens. The first is his fault; the second is another's, but it remains a personal injury to have permanently lost him again, to be called back to the wrong he has committed.

The guilt. It's not even something Itachi holds against him — held, because Itachi can do nothing anymore. He is dead and gone. Their last reunion felt like gauze stuffed down to stem the flow of blood. This is even less, because it isn't real, it's only a taunt meant to gouge out some hole in his mind with the reminder of what he's done. It is a memory made skewed and awful, yet closer to how it feels looking backward than anything he could have imagined otherwise.

He doesn't see how he can be at peace with this. Once, he thought he was.

The lights flicker on overhead, illumination spilling in golden waves through the empty corridors of the mall, beating back that last grasp of desperate shadow. Sasuke has found a place off to the side, out of the path. His body is propped against a support column, protected from the crosshairs of immediate sight and partially hidden — slumped with his only good arm cradling his head, clothes wrinkled, posture tensely set, black hair even messier after his hours, days, chasing a phantom. He's lost his cloak somewhere, but the cold is beginning to abate. And he is exhausted in mind and body. What meager chakra he can access has drained to a useless trickle, posing a worse danger to his life than anything else he's yet encountered in this dimension. Still, he had ruthlessly used it to the near limit, uncaring of that fact.

Footsteps catch his ear. When they don't pass him by, and instead approach, Sasuke lifts his head long enough to rasp out a few words.]

Go away.

[swordhardy]

[ What is left when the dust settles?

Others rejoice when the lights return. Freedom, someone laughs while darting for the exit, and Rokurou can only watched with tired eyes. What is freedom when you are a nothing but a culmination of your past? Light cannot wipe clean a myriad of mistakes and ghosts gone walking. The darkness, at least, cloaks them from foreign eyes.

After an unusual surge of intense emotion, the daemon is especially hollow. Ribs creak with each breath. The weight of his charred heart knocks around, a stone in an otherwise empty can. Monster or human, man or boy, even after his emotions have been numbed with the loss of his humanity—he is always gutted after dealing with his brother.

No, not his brother. A figment. Torture extends beyond the man himself; Rokurou is self-aware enough to understand that he has spent the last few days torturing himself. An exercise in choking on his own weakness. Really pathetic. The man himself would die laughing if he knew his stupid little brother had done something so foolish. It has been years, but in this moment, it is difficult to feel like he is different from the person he had been that damned night. Stronger? Smarter? All of his hard work feels like a joke.

Rokurou's initial intention is to go back alone to the room he had borrowed to lick his wounds. Catching sight of Sasuke crouched against a pillar is a coincidence. When he spots the other man looking as despondent as he feels, the daemon's feet move in his direction.

Cloth falls over Sasuke's head and shoulders a moment after he speaks. It is warm with residual heat, in colors he may recognize: pale purples and orange, trimmed with red and embroidered with birds. An equally hoarse voice curtly replies: ]

Don't want to.

[ A body drops down beside him.

Rokurou has looked better. His mouth and chin have smears of missed dried blood, his forehead branded with a rectangular mark matched with a similar imprint on his cheek. His knuckles are scratched up, rubbed raw, bright red against natural tan. One palm is bloodied, the heavy scar cut across it stained with a series of small red crescents. There is no smile on his face. Features that are normally softened by smiles and laugher show their true colors now. Strong lines, a brow that knows a furrow well, cold masculine edge sharpened by hardship and loss. Calm, solemn, detached.

He pulls his flask from his belt and pops the top open. Leaning his head back, the daemon drains what must be half of the bottle before licking the blood from his teeth. The tastes blend into a cacophony of metal and fruit.

Turning his head, he looks frankly at the other man while offering the flask. ]

[chokuto]

[His vision is momentarily eclipsed by the fall of fabric, plunging Sasuke into a temporary dark that summons nausea, rolling in his gut, body drawn tense like the line of a weapon ready to cut. Then it eases. It is the scent that shocks him out of worse memories of darkness — covered by the cloak, he can smell sweat and soap, a perfume of masculinity unlike any he's come to know. Beneath this, a vague scent of the earth more familiar and grounding, like the forests he'd grown up surrounded by.

In this sudden and dizzying wakefulness, Sasuke lifts his head, fabric slipping down to cradle shoulders and offer a warmth he'd become numb to needing in this place. He had not realized he was so cold. He catches sight of Rokurou beside him, seemingly because it could not be anyone else, marked with clear and vivid signs of battle. This, too, is another comforting flag of familiarity. They have walked off a battlefield to sit in the shadow of fatigue. Only they were not fighting each other. It takes his mind a moment to grapple this slippery thought, as if it should have been a fight together rather than apart.

Then the flask appears in the corner of his view. Automatically Sasuke takes it in hand — he sees a smear of blood from Rokurou's mouth on the rim — that burning, bitter scent of fermented rice under nose at once well-known and utterly foreign.]

You carry this around with you? [If there is judgment in his tone, it is a child's non-understanding, and it means he's paying attention, coming back to himself.] ... I don't drink alcohol.

[The closest he has come to such altering substances was a time long ago, embroiled in the experimentation of drugs. But that does not really compare; one is the improvement of strength and power, the other detracts from it, slurring the senses, dulling the mind. Relaxation could turn into death too quickly.]

Who were you fighting?

[swordhardy]

I do. [ judgement or not, the man does not mind. he lazily waves his fingers, ] Now feels like a good time if you want to try it.

[ He leaves the well-loved flask in Sasuke's hand and rests his wrist on his lofted knee. Even in the aftermath he never quite settles; the lines of his body are straight, posture proper, position leaving room to leap up within a breath if necessary. Old habits cut into bone and burned into flesh. Rangetsu are taught from birth to be warriors, better knowing the weight of a sword in their tiny hands than the protective warmth of a parent's embrace.

The second question earns a huff of laughter. He licks his lips again; they are chapped from days of running without food or water, split from a too-hard bite and hit to the face. He does not feel the pain of it anymore. ]

Good question. [ his mouth twitches with a sardonic smile before easing back down into rest mode, ] Aah ... someone I can't let go. It's my own fault.

[ A flatly stated fact. He has long accepted that his own actions have caused so much of his own torment. He is almost surprised that the city had not just manifested a version of himself to come kick his own ass. Then again, that would not have been as piercing. Going for the jugular—he almost has to commend whatever entity out there is fucking with them. It had wanted to hurt. Outside of his personal investment, Rokurou mulls on that discovery. ]

You know, I don't think I really want to let him go.

[ His gaze had fallen forward at some point to watch the distance. Nothing particular. Somehow searching, as if he is still looking for that figment despite knowing that it wasn't real. Now, it returns to Sasuke's face as he reclines his head back against the pillar for support. ]

Is that stupid of me?

[chokuto]

[He does not return the flask. Neither does he drink it, allowing it to rest within the cage of his fingers, warm from Rokurou's hand, a difference in temperature only significant now that he has been made aware of the cold settled in his body like frigid teeth. Observant, Sasuke notices the rigid tension in the man seated beside him and finds it as a mirror to himself. Even on the edge of his own exhaustion, it becomes challenging to relax; perhaps that is what the sake is for. Mismatched eyes regard the flask again, then flit away, an unsettled restlessness that possesses what is left of his once-limitless stamina.

When his head shakes at the question, he realizes Rokurou may not be looking at him enough to see it — but will likely feel it, as the patterned fabric around his shoulders shifts with movement.]

No. [I feel the same sits on his tongue, a leaden weight, and yet he can't get it out. The ability to connect... he wonders why, even now, it's still so hard. Something is wrong with him. He's known this his whole life; the end of a war didn't fix it. Whatever amends he must still make are not done.] Would they want you to?

[He's watching Rokurou from the corners of his eyes, until that gaze slips away, reluctant to be noticed. Itachi had wanted him to let go. Itachi no longer wished to be alive, satisfied as a memory, and Sasuke had handed this desire to him at the expense of himself. Blame never quite manages to ignite, only a deep, dark well of grief.]

That's what the point of all of this is. I got it when I visited the cemetery and the statue garden. Just a place of ghosts.

[swordhardy]

[ Sasuke is kind.

That odd thought that drifts across the daemon's mind when the other man shakes his head. He does not know why he suddenly thinks so, but he also does not think he is wrong. Rokurou knows his obsession is stupid and self-harming, harming no one but himself, and the answer given wouldn't have changed his mind about doing it. Perhaps it is the validation that feels genuine. Maybe it is that quiet thoughtfulness that makes him feel like—there is something soft beneath that hard outer shell, like a small fragile bird protected in a wrought iron cage.

The daemon hums and crosses his arms, considering the question of whether or not his brother would want him to let all of it go. It is something he cannot answer; in the end, despite the man being the constant epicenter of his life, he does not really know him. His reasons. His thoughts. His intentions. Communication between them had never been good. ]

I don't know. [ an honest admission. ] But even if he did, how's that fair to me? I don't want to so I won't.

[ The reaffirmation of keeping to his path makes him feel a little better, though no less stupid for chasing a phantom for days. Train harder. He fell victim to the city's tricks because he had let his guard down. Even if it is a place of ghosts, he should be stronger than them. Look what that weakness has earned him: temporary loss of sanity, a kick to the face, getting stepped on, and damaging himself in a foreign city where he cannot afford to be in less than perfect shape. Frankly, it is so shameful that he does not want to share the details.

Where Sasuke studies him discreetly, Rokurou makes no attempt to hide how he turns his gaze onto the other man. From position to pallor, he takes in the sight of him and then sighs. Asking 'are you alright?' would be even more brainless than chasing his brother's figment through the mall for a week. ]

I don't know about you, but I'm sick of this place. Want to go somewhere else?