[ someone has a sense of humor and has turned nodd, hot pink all over. like, neon, l*sa fr*nk type pink. he's almost happy to be dragged with kazuki into the rift.
until he sees what it is.
the memory begins in the middle of everything. the set dressing is hazy, shelving and wine barrels and hookah pipes knocked over, the coals rolling and scorching round burns onto the already slain bodies littering the floor. blood slops around the corpses, diluting the spilled liquor. a man in dark leather armor lifts his sword above a youth maybe ten years his junior. the kid already has a split lip, a missing ear, a limp arm on the same side.
a blur of motion beside the swordsman and his drops his weapon before he can strike a finishing blow. blood pours from a fresh gash across his forearm. less than a breath later, another blur--the man doubles over from an apparent strike to his stomach.
nodd, much younger and in simple garb, eyes without the permanent dark mask surrounding them, stands between the hurt boy and the mercenary.
somewhere else in the room--the basement? a lounge? smoke builds, a fire set. ]
[ young nodd of the memory puts up a valiant effort, taking out that first assailant, turning back to the boy on the floor behind him.
that boy is struck by another mercenary. an arc of gore as their morning star collapses the kid's head in. young nodd ducks a second swing, darting into the second grown man's space and delivering an uppercut to the underside of his jaw.
[ kazuki is kind of... edging behind nodd, without even realizing it. just putting some distance between himself and the carnage, flinching at each attack. ]
A crew for what?
[ he's not sure if he wants an answer to that, actually. ]
[ young nodd manages to continue fighting, but around him other youths are falling one after another, until he's alone. a mercenary comes up behind him and while they're stabbed for the effort, they do manage to hook arms beneath his. another man slams a fist into his gut. they allow that nodd to fall to the floor where the remaining men (one, holding his sliced through jaw), start to kick. thrash. surely intending to slaughter him along with the rest, but slower. somehow more personal. painful. what he deserved for obstinance.
the memory starts to disintegrate there. ]
I didn't die. Obviously--not then, anyway. Too stubborn.
It was. We'd all trusted the wrong leader. Turns out the stupid kid all us stupid kids were following was a runaway richboy. His parents sent the mercs to come collect.
[ after all this time, nodd doesn't know whether the slaughter was part of the contract or simply a fun bonus for a bunch of sadists. ]
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w3; monday
until he sees what it is.
the memory begins in the middle of everything. the set dressing is hazy, shelving and wine barrels and hookah pipes knocked over, the coals rolling and scorching round burns onto the already slain bodies littering the floor. blood slops around the corpses, diluting the spilled liquor. a man in dark leather armor lifts his sword above a youth maybe ten years his junior. the kid already has a split lip, a missing ear, a limp arm on the same side.
a blur of motion beside the swordsman and his drops his weapon before he can strike a finishing blow. blood pours from a fresh gash across his forearm. less than a breath later, another blur--the man doubles over from an apparent strike to his stomach.
nodd, much younger and in simple garb, eyes without the permanent dark mask surrounding them, stands between the hurt boy and the mercenary.
somewhere else in the room--the basement? a lounge? smoke builds, a fire set. ]
You can look away.
no subject
What... What is...?
[ what's going on here? ]
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that boy is struck by another mercenary. an arc of gore as their morning star collapses the kid's head in. young nodd ducks a second swing, darting into the second grown man's space and delivering an uppercut to the underside of his jaw.
with a knife. ]
It's the last time I was part of a crew.
no subject
A crew for what?
[ he's not sure if he wants an answer to that, actually. ]
no subject
[ young nodd manages to continue fighting, but around him other youths are falling one after another, until he's alone. a mercenary comes up behind him and while they're stabbed for the effort, they do manage to hook arms beneath his. another man slams a fist into his gut. they allow that nodd to fall to the floor where the remaining men (one, holding his sliced through jaw), start to kick. thrash. surely intending to slaughter him along with the rest, but slower. somehow more personal. painful. what he deserved for obstinance.
the memory starts to disintegrate there. ]
I didn't die. Obviously--not then, anyway. Too stubborn.
no subject
no subject
[ after all this time, nodd doesn't know whether the slaughter was part of the contract or simply a fun bonus for a bunch of sadists. ]
I would have liked to show you something nicer.
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