The Sea of Trees

Nai · Dec 20, 2016

[SIZE=14.6667px]Log date: 03/07/2021[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Jukai is merely a mirror of our sentiments, and reflects the behavior that we inact on it. If we treat it with benignity, and make use of its capital scarcely; our craft will not face indict or in other words: [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]We will not face death[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]The roots of Jukai run deep, and are unscathed by the frost of winter. Abide by the laws of the land, and you will not face the cataclysm that has tormented this land.[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]We held onto these words, and savored them throughout the year that we lived in Jukai. We changed with the seasons, and adapted as tis’ the seasons of which mother nature brought to us. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Today, the weather has begun to warm, and the harsh frostbite of winter has come to an end. The plum trees we planted together have begun to sprout, and we can only hope that they will grow as tall as the homes we forged across the skyline. From the shadows, a light had sprung and the blade that once was broken was renewed. In spite of the events that continued around the rest of the world, unbeknownst to us, we would live how we always have, how we always wanted: peacefully. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]This opportunity, this blessing, however had not come without sacrifice; many gave their lives to assure the continuation of our own. While their souls have passed, their memories would not, with each name kindred to a flower. These flowers were harbored all in the same garden, as equals, and watched by our camp’s very own leader: Carter Ryuzaki. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]From amongst the treetops, death seemed unfathomable, and Dazai was the epitome of this truth; lounging lazily underneath the orange casket skies. His eyes could only linger the sky for so long before his attention was brought down to the ground, surveying rustling colors and their correspondents: daffodils and chrysanthemums. The color-dyed bedding of savouring blossoms was nothing more than a memorial.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]A memorial for the deceased, whose names still hold color, and manage to haunt Dazai like mantras to his prayers. He says nothing as the wind brushes past, tickling chills up his arms, and settling the freshly dew of lilac seasonings flitter across his senses. Carter hums from behind, peering over the edge of the makeshift railing, “Beautiful, huh?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai nods a silent greeting, “There’s no netting, do you plan on keeping it that way?” he comments offhandedly, the quiet tap of his fingers setting a rhythm to their conversation. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Since the months of their departure, Carter had let his hair grow, a soft silky dark color that drapes down his shoulders and runs beautifully down the apples of his cheeks. They frame his face with delicacy and add a sense of fairness to his face that leaves Dazai, and by the stares of many, captivated. To say Dazai felt a little more than unsettled by this fact was an understatement, but he wouldn’t deny he doesn’t enjoy the pleasant evenings spent together. Watching with intricacy the thin of his lips when he smiles or laughs, like the freshly perked buds of cherry blossoms or when he frowns they’re an eruption of wilted lilacs and fluttering butterflies to Dazai’s chest. It’s the unfortunate truths that always leave Dazai dizzy with uncertainty for their future, of “what ifs” and “how comes”.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“We don’t have the resources.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Then let me get the nets from our pod,” He says all too simply and almost tilts his head comically, eyeing the way Carter seems to purse his lips, “we’ll repurpose them and adapt them to fix up here.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“You know we can’t just-”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“What are you afraid of?” He laughs, although it’s feigned and mostly for the sake of Carter’s reassurance, “That I’m gonna fall? Come on Carter,” He smiles and brushes their shoulders together, the third added touch of today.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]But to Carter, it wasn’t just their third touch, it was their long awaited reunion. Truthfully, he’s been afraid that Dazai’s recurring synesthesia flares would cause problems to his health. Yet, he knows better than to keep Dazai locked up for too long, reluctantly agreeing with a sigh that he mutters through thinned lips and an all too literal of a pout.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Can you do a quick collection?” Carter asks, “It’s pretty late already, the foxes shouldn’t be long now.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Don’t worry,” Dazai grins cheekily, yet the ache in his chest says otherwise, and he watches with fondness as Carter’s eyes dart away from the far, and distant skyline of the treetops. He settles for view before him, the profile of his beloved, ingrained to memory. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai takes a moment longer before looking down and away with a smile. “I’ll take Hayato with me, and we’ll try to be quick.” He says, and catches sight of Carter’s eye-long glance before slowly taking one last look at the dipping sun, “Some dogbane will do fine, keep the kids from plummeting to their death.” He jokes to lighten the mood, but it does little to change the way Carter watches his leave, a saying behind his eyes and an intimacy of something more.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Be careful,” He says and it sounds like a whisper as Dazai leaves with a smile, not a touch made nor or a kiss shared, but it was enough to let their hearts soar with something more. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Embarking towards Hayato’s pod, Dazai begins to cross underneath overhead platforms, which support the civilian infrastructure. The architecture of the camp was built around the idea that height and safety had a direct correlation, and for this reason those who could not defend themselves lived at an increased elevation. All housing was in the form of pods, large whirled that utilized the thick trunk of trees. Most were indistinguishable from each other, cocoon shaped constructions secured simply by steep ropes and a wood base. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]It would seem tedious to live at this height, but each pod was equipped with a spiral staircase; twirling around the base of the tree. While these staircases never reached ground level, for defensive purposes, they second half of steps were omitted for what was instead a rope-bound ladder. Between the rope ladders, the securing ropes and the net ropes; there was a pivotal need for dogbane, their primary source to make it. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The idea was proposed by Atsushi, who proclaimed it to be a safety precaution essential to base security. As second in command, only beneath Carter, his word was absolute. He provided locations for their expansions, safe traversing routes and even the regime their scouts were trained on. The expertise he had gained from his time in the Ravens proved to be an essential part of their camp, and while Dazai was a late raven himself; he never received that training. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Atsushi’s position prevented manipulation of power, and was assured due to Dazai and Carter’s rumored relationship. A monopoly amongst best friends was elementary, and even though Carter was too kind-hearted to take advantage of such a situation; he denoted Dazai to be a powerless, standard citizen. Occasionally helping Carter in his studies was the most Dazai was allowed, and beyond this there was not much to be done, he lived life normally. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Before arriving at Hayato’s quarters, the taste of Basil pricks the tip of Dazai’s tongue, an odd sense of unfamiliarity sparking life into his benumbed senses. Piqued by the taste, he follows the scent that flourishes soon after, and watches the licks of fuchsia fume out of Hayato’s chambers. “Hayato?” Dazai calls into the pooling steam of aroma, which seeps breathlessly through a waterfall of beaded strings hanging overhead the entrance to the quarters. He’s naive to the silence that befalls behind close quarters, and he stands still as the the euphoric aroma spills from the room, infusing into the air and escaping with the breeze: the smell of sex. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Dazai!” Hayato shrieks, after a blank moment of realization, shooting up from his floor-bound mattress, and flashing Dazai with more than enough nether-regions for him to know he was bigger than a twenty-three year old man. Hayato fumbles with his remedy to sooth the already bumbling mess of his sexual affair, by yanking the blanket off his bed, but instead manages to pull the blanket off his daily lover. Dazai, on the other hand, stares blankly at the scene before him, raising his right hand and shielding his eyes. Ignoring the defying shouts the two lovers as they fight for the covers.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“We weren’t doing anything!” Hayato denies fumbling towards Dazai with his pants, as he backtracks from the entrance.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I know what sex looks like,” Dazai baby-barfs into his hand, “—and now what it taste like too…” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]A pregnant pause.“ —What does it taste like?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Oh shut the fuck up.” Dazai says striding away as fast as possible with Hayato scurrying right behind him. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]After their quick descent to the ground, the two begin preparation for their journey and make their way to the scout headquarters. It was the only residential building on ground level, and where Jukai harbored all of their weapons. This supply was sparse, due to the vacant nature of the forest, but still maintained a key part of dealing with creatures who contracted the strains of Cordyceps. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Jukai is a vast forest, and because of this, there is a low amount of humans plagued by Cordyceps. Animals, however, are a common feud and while they don’t progress through the same zombified stages as a human; they contract their own unique strain of the infection. Upon the host’s death, the disease activates and carries the animal through a single stage until termination. There was no telling which animals carried it, and every slaughter of an animal could potentially escalate into that situation.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Nevertheless, the infected humans that did periodically surface strutted a variation of Cordyceps unique to Jukai. Based off research conducted Iliya, the undead in each region of Japan had adopted additional forms of Cordyceps to assure successful feeding. The adaption in Jukai was known as Kumo, and was defined by a mock arachnid state. Larger stalkers that beared multiple spiked appendages, capable of climbing trees. They had only encountered two, in the past year, but each feud resulted in a excess of deaths. The Kumo weren’t exactly interested in infecting, killing or eating humans; those were just a bonus. They instead aimed for the pods, destroying them and knocking villagers onto the ground; where they could be easily preyed upon. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Luckily, with an abundance of wood surrounding them, archery had become a large emphasis for Carter’s camp. It allowed them to make use of their height, and shoot Kumo from the trees and onto the ground. Close range combat was a territory that Dazai was much more familiar with, and with his signature katana; none had yet to prevail against him. Yamato, like the mass, preferred a crossbow and had quite the precision; Dazai once saw him shoot a squirrel from 400 yards.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]They proceed on foot at a smooth quick pace, Dazai in the lead as Hayato manned the rear. It was protocol amongst combat, and a tactic enforced by Atsushi. As long as the pair remained alert, they would safely complete their collection and encounter few problems. However, with the stars already beginning to speckle the night sky, it was no wonder that they could feel their bodies shake with anticipation. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Their destination was south, the opposite of the man-made trails set by the camp. It was also one of the most dangerous paths to take especially due to time, yet for the deeper one ventured into the sea of trees, the easier the path of fodder and forage unfolded, and they were headed in the right direction.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Their conversations are kept to minimum, Dazai’s lack of response doesn’t seem to waver Hayato’s chirper attitude however, as they reach the dogbane patches, collecting many by the dozens and chatting animatedly about the girl he just so happened to have been caught previously. All prior embarrassment blown out by the wind and Dazai’s stoic nature. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“You’d think she’d want to talk to me after that?” Hayato asks after a particular heavy bundle of dogbane wrapped nicely in between crossed arms.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I wouldn’t,” Dazai retorts, although his lack in attitude isn’t because of the conversation, but because of the sudden flare in his synesthesia. There’s a tinge of what smells to be gasoline in the air, yet the scent isn’t as distinct as he’d be notable in pointing out. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“You o’kay? You look constipa-” There’s a rustle in the bushes, and it sets off Dazai’s senses in a frenzy. This isn’t a tanuki (racoon-dog), this is— “Finally! I didn’t think we would get some action at all tonight!” Hayato hollers with a startling raise of his crossbow.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“No, wait-!” Dazai attempts to intervene, but he isn’t quick enough. Everything moves all too fast, by the time he manages to catch whiff of what they were up against, Hayato was on the ground in a gurgling cry and a defeated thump. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Buried deep within the confines of his blue-hued tinted chest is a tomahawk, orange and inflating by the seconds, tearing through Hayato’s life strands, and killing him effectively in one swoop hit. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai’s left speechless, the fizz of his comrade fading from his very senses as he looks up to the infernal orange that steps through the dogbanes in squelching steps. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]When did he?[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] He darts his head up to spot the figure right before him, the boots he heard step through, were the same boots covered in the blood of his friend. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]He stepped on him[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“It is just… so dark out here,” The stranger comments with animate hands, as he leisurely strides over the corpse and towards Dazai, “—Oh.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“...Yo-you’re,” Dazai stammers.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Gemini,” the redhead equips into the conversation so much, like the smile playing on his face, “Like the rock.” He holds an accent, although it isn’t as thick noted for him to be classified as a foreigner, his Japanese is too well spoken to denote him from listening alone. “It is kinda funny, you know, I had been following you guys for awhile. I’m kind of shy, and didn’t have the confidence to say hello, but then you guys went and did it for me.” he paused, “—You know what they say, right? The rabbit, and he calls for help. And then the fox goes to help him… or eat him, something like that. Not that I’m going to eat you.” He finishes, although throughout the duration of the speech, he’s manage to have closed the distance between Dazai and himself. A mere hair away from their faces, as he eyes the boy with distinct peculiarity. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai can’t seem to find his voice in the moment Gemini has his forearm draped above Dazai’s head, It’s an assertion of dominance anyone can see that, yet he makes himself clear of his indication with the press his weight, and his looming subduing act of coddling him against the bark of the tree.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“It is your turn to follow [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]me[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] back home,” Gemini whispers coyly, pulling his body from Dazai and taking a few steps backwards; to pry his bloodied tomahawk out from Hayato’s corpse, “I’ll pretend not to know, of course. I like to stop and look at the rabbit holes.” [/SIZE]

Deviced · Dec 23, 2016

Carter drew a sharp breath, the only word he could think of in that moment multiplying in his throat, stopping just short of his lips.
The arch of his back above the futon quivering as his groin singed with the touch of someone else-- he couldn't see their face, but a pair of silken lips traversed Carter's fair pectorals up to his collarbone, similar to the sensation of the bottlebrush flower that once caressed his cheek in a blue memory. The air was cold, but the shared breaths between the depicted lovers was brimful with the emanating and warm essence of skin on skin, figure on figure-- star dust on star dust. The two muddled together like melodious paints on a canvas, watercolor clouds occupying negative space.

They were the only two people in the world.

As little gardens of Aster blossoms burgeoned in the cavity of Carter's chest, his eyes opened wider this time, breathing against the person who had so gently placed themselves atop the boy in such a way that their heads were next to each other, tucked into the other's right shoulder. Carter melted into the kisses left on his neck, shivering as the presence eventually left his side and presented itself before him in only warmth-- he could see nothing other than the familiar outline of naked body and blue eyes; the color of stone chimney tops on a cloudy day, mixed with the blue tears of mother nature one could call rain. Carter felt pellucid under such an intensive stare, but the faint preceding of ecstasy failed to ebb no matter how vulnerable he was.

As more moments passed of heavy breathing that was added to a thick, wordless ambiance, Carter felt it rising in his throat-- the Asters, they were going to creep up with all the words he had been trying to keep tucked away, caught in the meniscus of doubt for a brief moment before the climax, before the peak of their connection.

"Daz--"

He caught himself, breath hitching as a jagged flow of energy rippled through his body, causing the futon to shift under the struggle. Carter opened his eyes a moment after he had forced himself upright in his pod, stillicides of sweat from the back of his neck tickling the prominent spine that lay bare against the nighttime chill. The boy's mind whirred at a million miles an hour, trying to grip the current situation at hand.

Had he been dreaming?

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the faint outlines of the trees outside swaying under the star-freckled sky. The feathery touches from his dream were now like echoes on his skin, begging to never be forgotten.

Carter grabbed a handful of his hair with the hand that still shook in remembrance of beautiful detail, whispering curse words as he blindly staggered to the corner of the pod.

Their pod.

Dazai could be heard adjusting himself under the woven cloth blanket, his sleeping breaths shallow and choppy. Carter glanced behind him, tracing the outline of his beloved's profile against the moonlight, feeling ashamed about what had transpired a few moments earlier. It felt as though he had betrayed his friend, and even though he knew his subconscious worked in mysterious ways (and sometimes with little reason), there was a pit in his stomach at the thought of Dazai being disgusted with him for such a thing.

"Dreaming of something like that... at now of all times? You're ridiculous," Carter's mind chided as he peeled off his dirtied pair of sleep shorts, hurriedly grabbing the underwear that had been newly washed by none other than Iliya, the only person he would trust with such duties. This week was leaving him under more pressure than he had bargained for, so having to do his own laundry as usual would just add to the list of responsibilities-- But Iliya seemed happy to help out, so why object?

In an attempt to cool his aching nerves, Carter brushed back his hair, collecting it into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and securing it with a faded piece of twine he'd constructed out of dogbane fibers. A long sigh escaped his lips as he tucked the shorts beneath a crate full of his belongings, making a mental note to get it cleaned tomorrow.

Carter shuffled his way back to his mess of blankets, quietly resting on his side to face Dazai.

The latter's cheek was highlighted with the subtle glow of an early morning horizon, his dark eyelashes resting on the pale slope of skin. The dark ringlets of his mane were tousled and textured to form perfect little c's that curled under his earlobe, appearing to be an earring in such poor lighting.

Suddenly, Carter began to wonder whether or not Dazai was truly asleep-- had he perhaps made noises during his dream? Did he call Dazai's name?

Such thoughts made the boy cringe heartily enough to tug the scratchy blankets over his head, hiding the bare skin of his upper-body and midriff. His heart felt about ready to burst with embarrassment as Dazai's breath continued to sport low, quiet exhales, lulling Carter to eventually follow suit. The radiating heat of the body next to him made the boy recall the moments before they go to sleep each night, the only routine Carter ever felt safe with; the way the two would scoot their futons together slightly, passing it off as a precaution in case a fox or stalker found its way into the pod. How Dazai would always end up placing one of his blankets over Carter as he claimed to get too warm in the night, even though he knew Carter was a space heater and ended up stripping all of his clothes off anyways. The way they would crack their eyes open just slightly to check if the other was asleep yet, even though they both knew the other was wide awake.

It was a comfort to know that Dazai cared for Carter, but that's what made the thought of losing him all the more painful.

At some point in the early morning, Dazai must have slipped out of the pod to busy himself with the endless list of things to do around camp, leaving Carter to sleep in later than usual. As the boy woke up to realize this, he was silently grateful that now he had an opportunity to erase the evidence of last night, cheeks becoming colorful with the memory replaying in his mind. He pushed his thoughts aside, smoothing his blankets over the futon and folding the thick fabrics into a tight roll, finally placing the bundle flush against the wall.

Carter began to dress himself when he figured he should stop by Iliya's station at the water tank, as the rain from last night must have caused a frenzy with the other campers. He could practically already see the line of people flooding their narrow walkways and staircases, hoping to get a little more water than usual-- and it seemed like that was indeed the case. Carter scooted past the ocean of eager faces and greeted Iliya with a smile, sticking himself right into the process of handing out fair amounts of water to each person.

It went like this for hours; the two running around, filling jugs and cups, answering questions, and repeating safety procedures over and over again until the only ones who remained were simply milling about without any need of assistance. At this point the sun was turning its orangey-yellow hue, signalling late afternoon, and Carter was getting antsy with thoughts of Dazai. They had seen each other a total of two times that day, and both occurrences lead to awkward side smiles and even some physical connection; albeit, one instance was only a gentle touch to Carter's lower back for Dazai to scoot by, and another time where their fingertips just barely touched in passing.

"Maybe he's in our spot," the boy concluded, making his was up to the place in which he was referring to-- the outlook above the trees. Lo and behold there Dazai stood, tucked beneath the glow of the departing sun. Carter smiled at the view of the person he admired so much, falling into conversation after finally announcing his presence with a hum. As the topic of leaving the camp confines rolled around, the male suddenly felt nauseous with the thought of Dazai leaving; there was too much to think about. Sure, resources were low, but they worked with what they had. Dazai's synesthesia flares were starting to become an area of concern, and what would the camp do with someone so important out of commission? That's at least how Carter saw it. However, the more he thought about the situation, the more he came to terms with the fact that Dazai was his own person. Carter was reluctant, but once the soft "Be careful," left his lips, he knew there was nothing left to say that could convince Dazai otherwise. He observed in defeat as the one person he'd managed to hold onto for so long left his side, the one person who he loved more than anything in the world;

Carter prayed that he hadn't made a mistake.

A few more regretful moments passed before the boy decided paying a visit to Iliya from earlier would probably help him regain his composure, so he stopped by the pod to pick up his... ahem.. shorts, and trotted down to the "lab" where Iliya most likely was chatting to/helping a camper, as anything else seemed uncharacteristic of her.

"Knock knock," Carter piped up once he reached the room that was sort of pod-like in structure, but slightly larger and much sturdier for the amount of work that was done in there. He then began chatting at a pace so unlike him it was comical, but it didn't keep him from lending any details.

"Do you have any idea how the subconscious works, truly? I mean, I know it's supposed to be some composite force greater than science and all that, but I can't help but wonder if it's so much simpler than what we think. I dunno, even though it's a part of my brain, I can't wrap my head around it. The reason I say so is because I had this dream last night, and I'm pretty sure it was about Dazai-- I mean, it looked like him, but you can never be sure in dreams, right? It was nice... I think."

Carter's cheeks returned to their former rosy color in remembering how Dream Dazai touched the very skin of his back, but quickly shooed the intrusive visions away whilst he flopped over onto their crudely constructed wood work table. Being in love was so demanding.

A sigh escaped his lips as the young man tilted his head up in search of his friend's response-- at the moment, she was the only one who could provide comfort, so just hearing her voice would help put everything into perspective.

Hopefully.

Corgi · Dec 24, 2016

Rays of delicate reds and soft yellows peaked the horizon, casting shadows among the camp. It was early morning and the air was already humid, summer not letting up on its harsh temperatures. The only mercy the campers found was either the tender care of the shade, or the occasional soft breeze that would sweep the bad thoughts away. At least, in Iliya's case that is. She always saw the positives in situations, regardless of there being a horrifying apocalypse that was possibly incurable. She was trying her best to make it more bearable with a good attitude.

Iliya approached the long line of campers with a kind smile, keeping up small talk with each person as they waited for their ration of the water, thanking them for their patience, and sending them on their way with a wave. It made her happy how light the air was. Despite everything that was happening outside of the camp, the morale was high. Knowing that her positive behavior and caring disposition was helping some of the campers emotionally made the heat and the long hours of water distributing a lot more tolerable.

As she continued her extensive task of rationing water, she wondered if there was hope for things to go back like they were. There was still a lot of researching that had to be done to even start to comprehend what those mutants were. She had hunches, but without there being other scientists to consult with and verify her information about her suspicions, her ideas were no more than that, a hunch. In order to find a cure, she needed to do more experiments and tests to see if her hypothesis is even slightly true, but to do those, she needed more equipment, but what she had was what she needed to work with.

Because of the circumstances, it was highly unlikely that things would turn back to normal anytime soon, if at all. But she still hung onto the hope that she'll be able to go back to teaching one day. Even though she only taught for two years, which is a significantly short amount of time, she enjoyed every second of it. Being able to be a role model for impressionable minds excited her. Teacher's played such a significant role in her life, which was why she wanted to become one. It was Iliya's dream to help kids. Whether it be academically or not, she wanted to help them, be there for them. And being able to fulfill her dream, even if it was for a short amount of time, made her genuinely happy.

Her thoughts were cut off by someone suddenly picking up the bucket of water she was struggling with. Her eyes rose to see Carter, handing the bucket off to the lady in line. Iliya's smile grew as she watched him wish her a good day. She didn't know much about the boy's past, but she was sure his mother would be proud, wherever she was. Iliya hadn't known him for too long, three months at most, but throughout that time, the topic of their past never came up. The most they've talked about was what her occupation was before the apocalypse. Of course, she's thankful for that fact. Her past wasn't something she liked to reflect on, nevermind talk about. She had the feeling that Carter was the same. With how he acts and carries himself, he seems like someone that's had his fair share of hardships, but what she respects the most is that he's still able to be sweet.

"Thank you." She said, appreciating the help.

She acknowledged his response, a quick smile and nod.

The two of them hurried back and forth for the rest of the day, fetching the right amount of water they needed until there was no one waiting in line left. After a long and well-needed sigh, she looked up at the sky, hands rested on her hips. She had successfully made it through another day in the hellish world. The once blue sky had retreated and shied into an orange-y hue, reminding them that their work was done for the day.

"Thank you again, Carter. I would've been doing that into the night if it weren't for you." Iliya drew her attention away from the sunset and to the boy next to her, offering him a sweet smile. "I'm going to go try and get some other work done, if you need me, you know where to find me." She concluded, waving a quick goodbye before leaving and heading up to her pod.

As Iliya sunk herself into her work, it wasn't too long before a voice came up from behind her, making her jump at the sudden flood of words. Iliya spun around, surprised to see Carter asking about the subconscious with flushed cheeks. She gave an excited smile, happy that he took interest in learning something.

Iliya immediately began rambling on, obviously enthusiastic about the subject, "No one knows exactly how the subconscious works completely, but we do know that I play a very important part in how you act, it shapes your personality and your entire life, really. It's strange how we don't have a complete understanding of our subconscious when it practically controls our day to day life, it tells you when to breath, when you're hungry, how to walk, all of the things that we don't have to focus on to do." She started, realizing she was getting off track, "B-But you asked how the subconscious deals with dreams! So, to start, when you sleep, your conscious mind sleeps with your subconscious remains awake. This is how dreams connect to the subconscious. As an example, let's say you.... had a problem you were concerned about! Your subconscious mind would show it to you in your dreams in order to remind you of it or to help you solve it. The weird thing about the subconscious is it normally speaks in symbols and metaphors, but your dreams can also affect your subconscious in ways. They can make you have feelings for something you didn't think you felt so strongly towards. Sometimes the subconscious acts in mysterious ways. As for your dream, seeing that you have strong feelings towards him, that's most likely why you had a dream about him."

The passionate girl realized that she had rambled on and blushed heavily, quickly throwing an apology, "Ah, sorry about that! I get carried away sometimes," She let out a sheepish laugh before continuing, "To sum it all up, you probably had that dream because you have such strong emotions for Dazai that your subconscious remembers him."

Iliya hoped that her explanation was enough to answer his question. If it wasn't she'd happily continue her explanation, but she didn't want to start rambling again. It was a habit she did that she doesn't particularly like, but as long as she got the point across, she was okay with it.

Nai · Dec 29, 2016

[SIZE=14.6667px]Fear, a synonym for the dread and anxiety one feels when faced with any fraughtful situation. It’s a sentiment well-traversed among the living, and the only sentiment to bring cataclysmic travesty.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“It is your turn to follow [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]me[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] back home,” The boy with vibrantly red-colored hair whispers eerily against the shells of Dazai’s ears. They’re a muffled ring to Dazai’s subconscious, a taciturn to his mind, for all he can see is the slumped corpse of Hayato laying wasted above the dogbane patches: permanently paralyzed by the hands of death.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]His lips are parted in a silent plea, as he collapses helplessly against the cold-dead shrubbery beneath him. Unwilled by tapered chapped lips and watery red eyes, he balls himself, and releases a deaden-pitiful wail.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Gemini [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]parts Dazai without so much as a glance, he does, however, keep his chaste. Sauntering merrily over to the corpse and ripping the tomahawk centred around his [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]once[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]-friend’s chest. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I’ll pretend not to know, of course.” Gemini speaks up again, Dazai’s recognition not at all properly interpreting his words, ”I like to stop and look at the rabbit holes.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Rabbit… Holes… [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]He repeats, and watches drearily as Gemini ambly disappears through the trees and into the forest.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He doesn’t make a motion to stand up, instead he lets his knees dig further into the moss beneath deadbeat shrubbery, and allows himself to lean back wearily against the old wooden bark. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He should’ve known.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s no choir tonight, no sound, or life around him. It’s almost as if the animals that inhabit these parts of the forest all witnessed the same death, and left him to mourn in peace. Dolefully, he drapes his arm over his eyes and spares the woods a pitiful cry of truth. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He scoffs at his inability to have fought back, but perhaps it was because he just hadn’t expected it. The smell or the presence, it was if his senses had dulled gravely, or worse, this man affected him. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Just like Carter...[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He staggers to his feet long after the sun has dipped and left him woefully in pitch darkness. Yet, regardless of his condition, he makes his way back to camp, slow and dictating himself through his senses. The pace is ample and resilient under the harboring preternatural trees, there’s no light that shines through like most forests, and the uncanny impression of what his synesthesia nurtured death to look and feel like is surreal in the eyes of his foreboding. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s not far from the camp, he calculates, a twenty minute run time. Although, as he threads through the dark inky path back home, he runs the risk of being spotted by the unknown.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s a snap of twigs being stepped on in the distance, and it’s a wake up call to his position. He can’t let death will him so easily, and so he runs. He’s bolting through the trees and leaping over low shrubs that only do little to slow him down. He’s close, he sees it in the distance, the faint lights of civilization trickling in the distance, but sirens of safety to his synesthesia. He doesn’t make it far however, he halts mid-run, hand pressed readily against a nearby trunk, as he reaches over his shoulder for his katana. He’s been stopped by a fox. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]A death-lamented fox, plagued by the infection of the virus. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The eyes are mere slits in comparison to his mutilated face that’s been plagued by the plaques it’s now allowed to spread significantly across it’s face. The amber fur of the once beautiful creature, now bristles with instinct and twitches with fitful abandonment. A sign of its transition from stage two of infection to stage three: clicker.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]It tilts its head forward, almost as if sniffing the air, but opens it mouth to reveal a bubbling spor site of blood clot erupting from it’s mouth. A spray of that to any open wound would result in the notorious fatal countdown to death.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He has no choice, he surveys the area with little to no distinction coming forth from his senses. He could only assume he was safe, but the odds were against him. His adrenaline was pumping far too fast for his synesthesia to catch drift of what was happening. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s no breaths taken as he raises his mask high above his nose, and he unsheathes his katana in one single swoop. It’s like an epic to a poem, hearing the high string of metal grazing the air with it’s ring of summonings.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The demon before him, however, takes it at his sign of preparation and lunges forward without haste. There’s no room for mistakes, and in one single twist of his wrist and cross of his arm, he watches the head of the beheaded fox collapse in misery. No cry or howl of defeat comes, but what does come is far worse than what Dazai had anticipated: a horde of the undead.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He runs from his direction of safety, after a particular dodge that leaves him pressed against a trunk and slicing through another beast that didn’t at all look like a fox. Somewhere, far along the making, the origin of most of these creatures seemed almost impossible to distinguish.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]With each dodge and slice of his katana, he grows inexplicably tired and frantic as he’s both mindful of their wide-opened mouthed jaws and the inexplicable dip in the ground that suddenly sends him tumbling through the rubble of gravel and dirt. He collapses into a trap set by the camp members made months ago: a [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]ditch[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] for the undead. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He clasps at one of the jutted out roots protruding out from the gravel the ditch is settled around and jams his katana near one of the high end openings of the pit. He’s frantic as he tries to climb his way out, the mud greasing the walls, and only becoming worse as one of the creatures that managed to fall with him lunges forward and latches ravenously against his bookbag. He’s settled into a fit of panic, as he reaches down onto his thigh brace and rips out his dagger, effectively digging the blade into the creature’s head and shrugging off his bookbag. He makes a leap towards the top of the ditch, struggling to get his footing, but loses his grip the moment a hand grasps hold of his ankle. He doesn’t even make an act of looking down and he already jerks his other foot hard against whatever has his ankle clasped on so tightly. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s mid-scale up the trench and that’s when he takes a moment to breathe. He’s far too high up for the dead to reach him, but by the look of things, the way they gather all together, piling right on top of each other it won’t be long before they’ll be able to reach him with a simple jump.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He looks up with trepidation for what awaits him, above are the creatures still awaiting him with open eager mouths, drooling down at him, and allowing red-bloodied slobber to drip and land disgustingly against Dazai’s moppy mess of dark hair and shoulders. He grits his teeth in silent plead, as he presses his forehead against the muddled dirt holding him up. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Let me live[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px].[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He prays, and groans angrily against the rubble before looking back up to meet with the two towering beast who wear both equally matching grins. Their anxious for his arrival, and Dazai can only glare as he makes his way up towards them, scaling the wall and watching as one becomes far too anxious and accidently falls face first plummeting to his death. He watches the landing, the creature not even making a cry as it hits head first and snaps its neck upon impact. Dazai practically thanks the gods then and there, but he doesn’t expect the next round of dogs to circle the pit like they were waiting for a bone. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Nonetheless, he reaches the top and lunges forward grabbing the dog’s plagued face pulling him down in one simple swoop, the next are not so easy. He’s at a disadvantage, but that doesn’t stop him from ripping his katana out from the gravel and allowing the ground to crumble beneath the dogs. They back away to safety, however, it leaves Dazai an opening to climb on top and bolt. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The dogs chase him, and it isn’t long before Dazai turns to greet them with two messily drawn swipes of his blade and two go down injured, but not dead. He’s bleary from the mud coating his face and cold sting of his eyes the air has on him from his run. The loss of breath has him on edge and he can’t stand straight without having a hand on a tree trunk for support. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s counting the breaths he has left and he wonders if he should just surrender now. Let his body collapse and let the three remaining dogs eat him alive. He doesn’t let his mind travel that far however, for the next move comes all too quickly, it’s a lunge he isn’t prepared for and he falls back against the trunk of the tree he’s pressed against. His head hitting the bark with a sharp sting, and for a brief moment, all he can see is white. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He sees his mother, his father, his friends from high school all cladded in white, —he sees Taro’s side eye glances from afar, Chrys’ dotting nature and giddy laughs, Anthony’s bravery and sacrifice, … He sees Shiba’s lingering stares and sly touches, … He [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]sees[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] the dead. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s back in a blink of an eye, and he’s hand has already switched his Katana out for his dagger, he cries out in its plunge into the cranium of the dog. Tearing his head away with gritted teeth and scramble of his body sitting up as he drops the dead dog onto it’s side as far as his strength would let him. He’s readying himself for the next lunge, his body shaking with tremors and spites of anger. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s ready, he tells himself, he’s ready for death. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]But it never comes, instead some[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]one[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] else does. As the last two remaining cordyceps make their leap of faith, so does the newcomer. The strike happens far too fast for Dazai to register it, but who he does register is someone he didn’t think he’d ever see again. Atsushi stands before him, short stature and all, standing anxiously above him. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai’s body has gone slack from all the fight that’s left him, and all he can do scoff at Atsushi’s face, “I’m not … bitten.” he clarifies, and Atsushi nods, helping him up and lifting an arm over his shoulder, “Although… Take me to Iliya… I’m not to sure about this scratch on my back and stomach…” He grits through his teeth, as he clutches weakly around his waist, and exhaustedly stagger their way back home. [/SIZE]

Genieva Von Bubbles · Dec 29, 2016

Atsushi, despite being deemed second-in-command, refused to leave his pod unless necessary. Instead he whittled away his hours buffering the specially carved wood bullets made for him by Iliya, molding them to fit perfectly into his weapon's chamber. Using guns in the boundless silence of Aokigahara was a sure fire way to call unwanted attention to oneself, but the petite man couldn't help but have a hard time letting go of his handguns.

He was practically born with them.

Besides he could get away with quite a lot, being second only to Carter, who rarely reprimanded him unless he really screwed up. He smirked to himself as he watched the aforementioned leader make his way to Iliya's pod, no doubt distressed about something Dazai related. Honestly the pair of them were going to make Atsushi into an elderly old man before he hit age twenty-seven.

Speaking of Dazai, the boy had come to Atsushi earlier on to let him know that Hayato and he were going out. Atsushi at the time had mostly absentmindedly agreed to it, to busy basking in the heaviness provided by smoking. Another habit he should more than likely get rid of, lest it light the whole camp aflame.

Now though, the sun was far too close to the horizon for comfort, and Atsushi could practically feel the devils stirring. A quick jaunt around the camp confirmed that neither Hayato nor Dazai had returned.

As fast as humanly possible, Atsushi strapped a set of blades to himself and holstered his guns into well worn straps around his thighs. A quick peek outside to affirm his stealth and he was off. The glowing ember sky cast distorted shadows around the camp and surrounding areas, making it rather simple for the slight figure to dash from shadow to shadow until he was far enough away from the pods to begin ascending without an audience.

Since moving out to Aokigahara, Atsushi had made it his practice to find solid footing in the highest branches of the trees. Now he was comfortable enough to fling himself from tree to tree, occasionally over large drops, opposed to traveling on foot on the forest floor.

He did so now, moving quietly and rapidly through the tree tops, eyes scanning the forest floor for his missing campmates. His first signal was snarling followed by muffled thumps which were loud enough to alert him that the missing party was close by. Not only that but they were clearly having a little trouble with the forest's nighttime inhabitants.

When Atsushi laid eyes on Dazai, his first thought was to turn around and leave the kid to the consequences. Seriously, how he managed to get himself into that hot mess was beyond the man and he had to laugh before sobering up. His second was to wonder where Hayato had gotten to.

However that train was tragically derailed when Dazai's legs gave and he was suddenly down for the count. Atsushi could practically see the resignation from way up high.

What an idiot.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye three things happened near simultaneously. The last two mutated creatures leapt for the downed boy, Atsushi dropped from his perch (he wasn't all that high up at this point, having shimmied down during the few moments when Dazai had continued to hold his own) and then he dropped the mutants with one bullet to the brain each. The weight of a gun in each hand provided muted comfort as he scrupulously scanned Dazai for injury.

He was one of the few people Atsushi would rather not have to shoot.

Dazai answered for him, saying he wasn't bitten but scratched and that they should head to Iliya for a double check. Atsushi merely nodded and hefted the boy to his feet to support his walk. The trudge home was tense, overshadowed by the feeling of being observed. Not to mention Dazai stood a good foot taller than Atsushi himself, so supporting the extra weight was beginning to wear on him.

Finally they stepped into the outskirts of light in camp and Atsushi realized their problem. They were way past the allotted time to be in and out of camp so they would have to sneak their way to Iliya's pod. Thank the gods that was one of the outlying pods and they wouldn't have to shamble past Carter.

Slowly but surely, Atsushi muscled Dazai into her pod and let the kid slump into a heap on the floor. Said woman wasn't facing the door, instead she was chatting it up with none other than the head honcho himself about something odd, like dreams.

Atsushi wanted to scream. So much for keeping it a secret from Carter.

Vaan · Dec 29, 2016

From the patches of Big Bluestem a rustle quietly resonates, followed by the exit of a dulled-orange fox, with a rabbit hinged at his mouth. No blood seeps from the prey’s neck, rightfully plugged by the same teeth that penetrated it. The fox saunters at a leisurely pace back to Gemini, dropping the rabbit’s twitching body on his dirtied shoes. The red-haired boy remains silent, but rewards the fox with a pat on the head; a measly reward for a skillful hunt. Circling around the boy, the fox plops itself onto the ground and patiently awaits its brethren, whom would soon come to finish their hunt as well.

Gemini, at least today, could complete the rabbit-gathering himself without the use of foxes. In spite of this, like himself, they need to be trained and have their skills refined. The food chain in these woods had been skewed by the sudden abundance of foxes, and they were truthfully exterminating the food source of whatever predators reside here. The foxes needed to eat though and it wasn’t particularly fair to cage them up. He could relate to this, as the four walls of that shack of a home were enough to drive him crazy.

The fox that laid at his feet was his favorite, and while it didn’t have a name; there was a distinct imperfection on its coat. A single patch of white fur, located on the back, drowned in an ocean of orange. Likewise, he had a least favorite as well, but that one was in no way as unique, it was just aggressive and refused to listen. Today, he had decided to leave it at home, proceeding training without it; it only caused problems. On the last hunt, he had spent hours looking for it after it mysteriously vanished.

Mother sparingly offered advice, claiming that she “understood how difficult it was to train something that refused to listen,” but the words never seemed to fall well into application. Father, on the other hand, was much less tolerant and less willing to listen to excuses. With the foxes collected, once again stored, and the deceased rabbits lazily stuff into a bag, Gemini stood before him and awaited the praise of a successful hunt. Yet, there was no such praise in store, as like his least favorite fox; he too could not follow instructions.

“You left one,” Father commented begrudgingly, pulling a chair from the table and gesturing Gemini to have a seat before him, “Why?”

Gemini was befuddled, he had done such an excellent job, there was more than enough stock for both the family and the foxes to feast upon. Each and every fox that he brought with him completed their hunt and truly one measly fox (or its rabbit) was not a big deal. “Father…” Gemini begins truthfully, “that fox… he does not listen—”

“You do not listen either.”

The boy’s gaze wandered elsewhere, straying from his father as he tapped his fingers impatiently at the underside of the table, “...We completed the hunt.”

“No, Gemini, there is no we. We implies that you and the team completed the hunt, not the members of the team that you hand selected.”

“Father,” Gemini reluctantly tries again, “He is letting down the pack. He is not as good as the other foxes. I do not want him.”

“Is that so?”

Gemini nods in response, and fidgets quietly in his chair throughout the silence that quickly overtakes the room. After a brief pacing of the floorboards, his father comes to a stop once again, and places a reassuring hand onto Gemini’s back.

“If that is your wish, then we will get rid of him.”

As promised, the fox was removed from the batch. Russian tradition, however, states that nothing was to be wasted; especially considering their isolated state in the forest. The fox was butchered, and crafted into a stew. There was no secret to cooking fox meat, as it was extremely lean and very tough to chew, but the taste is distinct and one that Gemini will never forget. As usual, Gemini continued with his normal routine training of foxes, as they needed to be ready for their next shipment.

Upon opening the wooden gates of the Fox kennel, Gemini is greeted with a rambunctious flood of his furry companions. However, upon surveying the passing colors for a speck of white, he finds that it is nowhere to be found. The space is quickly cleared out, and he is relieved to find that a fox remains in the kennel itself, lying against a pile of hay; until he hears an undertone of growling. His delicate hand is met with a sudden snap, the boy quickly jerking back. He begins to feel vomit collect in the pit of his throat, as he steps back and makes a dash back towards the house.

The door busts open with a thud, and standing in the kitchen is his mother; slowly stirring the stew and commenting to father, who is seated at the table, that it needs more time to tenderize. Gemini does not bother to continue with his usual expedition, the foxes will simply have to wait. He instead sits in his room, bawling and inducing vomiting; he betrayed his best fox. It was so pure, and it didn’t deserve this, it probably wondered where he was.

After collecting the foxes, his father finally takes it upon himself to once again speak to Gemini, who has still yet to calm down or even leave his room.

“What is wrong, my son?” He asks, taking slow steps towards the ruffled blankets of Gemini’s bed.

“Father, you killed him, I loved him and you killed him.”

With a nod of the head, he condescendingly questions Gemini’s tone “That is odd, I recall you saying that you hated him. Did you not? Is this not what you asked me to do?”

“—I asked you to get rid of the fox who did not listen. The fox who always growls, and never moves.” Gemini cries, too caught up in his own mess of emotions to even breathe.

“Ah, of course” his Father notes, “Are you angry with me?”

“Yes! Of course I am angry with you!”

Understandingly, Gemini’s father begins to walk back towards the door, “You may sit here, and choose to be angry for as long as you wish, Gemini. However, you did not listen, you have been aggressive and you have not moved. What makes you different from this fox that you hate?”

Gemini never came to know whether the slaughter was a mistake, or an intentional lesson. Either way, it was the worst stew he had ever had the discourtesy of tasting. The flavor of Skal, a mango soda unique to Japan, was just barely enough to mask that eternal taste of betrayal; the gurgling helped. Lifting the bottle to his lips, Gemini lined the cap of the drink with his teeth, wedging it onto one of his bottom molars. With a sudden “Click!”, the cap had been torn right off by what he considered the most innovative replacement for a tooth: a bottle cap opener. Admittedly, it felt weird to run his tongue across, but was a great trick for parties. Not that he had gone to any parties recently.

After a couple of gulps, he slammed the soda onto the stand beside him, and shot up from his reclining chair; making his way to the blood-churning screams coming from the back of the house. They faired pretty loudly in comparison to the white noise of the television, and were much different than the yelps of cordyceps-plagued foxes towards the front. He continued to pass what was confinement for various forms of undead, clear air-tight walls showcasing each for his viewing pleasure. He had quite the extensive collection, to Vyache’s distaste, and was more than satisfied with himself. Together, they were a team and being a team meant that no-one, or nothing got left behind.

Not all prisoners were apart of this team, however, and this was clear as he came to a stop before the pleading screams for help. Inside of the confinement was a young girl, boasting a dirtied bob cut and covered in mud. Vyacheslav had yet to return from his “recon”, and while he was more than capable of taking care of himself, Gemini should probably check up on him. There was no reason that he couldn’t take this girl along with him, after-all: he hates being caged too.

Ophirius · Jan 3, 2017

alone-black-n-white-cry-depress-Favim.com-1993232.jpg

NAGASE KIRILL

Sultry breaths mingled yet once again in the cold of a starstruck night; bloodlines overcome by greed and sinful contiguity occuring behind closed curtains.
Silence was their anthem, words like silhouettes because when it got dark, they disappeared. One was crying, the other gritting his teeth as splayed hands roamed the agonizingly small torso of a child.
"Thank you, I'm sorry, I love you."
The ruffled skirt is snaked up the short stature, chilly fingertips brushing against tender thighs on their way back to fetch the waistline of cotton panties; and when everything was bare and the only human that was around wasn't human anymore, it ended.

-
"Kirill."
Waking up was no longer the same pleasure that Kirill remembered it to be; the scenes and sensations from before still lingering about as golden eyes regained focus. Nevertheless it didn't disappear, the suffocating mass that rested upon his frail body and nor could he stop the revelation of a dark pileum amidst the seemingly endless supply of flourishing nature. In other words; reality is a bitch.

- Kazumi, monochrome and dull compared to their surroundings, hovered above him. His strong arms planted on the ground in such a steady manner that it seemed like he had rooted himself there and then; uncomfortably close. Why this was the case though, remained a mystery for Kirill who cautiously shifted beneath the man. Reluctant to further advance their contact just to break free.

"Can you get the fuck off me or are you planning something else?-" Stiff limbs slacken, elevated breaths evened out in a matter of seconds thanks to the hand that hurries to hush his protests.

Cold.

Kirill knits his eyebrows in recognition, breathes in the familiar scent of smoke and exhales against calloused skin.

Is it you?

Daffodil tinted eyelashes flutters shut, memories uncontrollably flashing by as delicate lips are parted.

No.

His mind is rid of thoughts, instincts driving the pink muscle on to gently brush against the finger. The tender cheeks immediately flushes red, golden eyes shooting open in false shock to gaze at the man.

Stupid ass.

Corgi · Jan 3, 2017

As the hot wind melted through the trees and the sun lowered behind the skyline, hard shoes crunched underfoot of Kazumi and Kirill. It was relatively quiet other than the occasional branch snapping and unknown noises that came from afar. Neither have them said a word to each other, walking in a stale silence, looking out for any animal that may be both dead and alive. Their job, assigned by Iliya, was to hunt for as much food as they could get before nightfall, but after several hours of walking, they've come up empty.

The humid air stayed despite the light withdrawing into the distance. When the orange and red hues danced together, everything in the hectic world seemed to gradually come to a close. Like no matter how much shit is going on, there are some things that would never change. There are some things that show as beacons of hope.

Of course, all good things come to an end. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several shapes, low to the ground, prowling. Immediately, he knew what they are- or were. Foxes. Their distorted faces were once what some considered cute, but now that they've been riddled with disease, flesh bubbled and drooped, eyes were decayed, and even if they still had eyes, they were swelled over by the fungus.

Kazumi moved quick, turning to Kirill and tackling the poor boy into the underbrush. His breathing was steadying and face blank, any trace of emotion would've been the side of his lip tinted down slightly. He peeked his head out of the bush to see the foxes taking notice of the loud thud, making their way over.

He figured that he had tackled the poor girl because her eyes were unfocused, gazing off into the unknown, "Kirill." Kazumi spoke low, hoping that the foxes wouldn't get a better idea as to where they were. And although he didn't show it, he was a bit worried that he might have hurt her.

But when the girl's eyes went from a confused haze to a focused glare and her gold eyes met his own. As she opened her mouth and spit out an argument as to what his actions and intentions were, he put a finger over her mouth, trying to tell her to be quiet without explaining.

His finger suddenly retracted when it was licked, looking at Kirill with a confused look. He looked over her flushed face and decided not to do anything about it at that moment. He was obviously puzzled at the reason for her doing what she did, but now was not the time to be thinking about it.

Claws against echoed closer and closer to the point where Kazumi held his breath, one of his hands resting on his side where a dagger was, ready to leap at them if they figure out where they were. But thankfully, the sounds of snarling and paw steps quickly ran off after another unfortunate animal or human.

After a few seconds passed and he heard no more noises, so he took out his dagger and slowly got out of the bush, looking around for any other signs of dangerous life near them. When he found none, he stuck his free hand out towards Kirill, taking hers and pulling her out of the rather prickly hedge.

His voice was monotone, focused more on where to go than the words he was saying, "There were infected foxes. Since I owe you my life I figured I'd save you the trouble of having to fight them." Kazumi didn't apologize for his actions, seeing as he did nothing wrong other than protect her.

"We should get back to camp. If it gets too dark, we'll be in trouble." He explains, noticing that the beautiful colors that were in the sky were now dulling into a dreary gray.

"Trouble? Yah, you were in trouble the moment ya touched me."

Kazumi decided to ignore the scoff as well as the sass and took it more as an acceptance to what he did, "Watch where you step." He warns Kirill, motioning to the roots and loose rocks as he trudges in the direction they came from.

A short-lived silence ensues between the two as they tread over untouched terrain, nature free from the grasp of humanity. Despite the suspicious of unwarranted danger lurking around every dark crevice and shadow, it was all surprisingly peaceful. However, despite the serene beauty that surrounded him, he was still on edge, knuckles white around the dagger he held in his hand.

As a hesitant voice broke through the silent, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in remembrance of someone he knew that carried the same small voice. He tightened his grip on the handle of the knife, knowing that who the voice belonged to was not who it reminded him of.

"F-Fukucockroach, uh, you better not tell anyone else about what happened earlier. You know... that...thing... It was just a spasm, I freaked out! Your ugly bitch face was so close."

Seemingly unfazed to Kirill's insults, calmly responding, "It's Fukukawa." He didn't address any other concerns the girl had, seeing as it wasn't his business to talk about what happened in the first place.

"Whatever, Fukubitch."

Kazumi was about to correct her again on his name but suddenly stops at the sound of branched snapping under the weight of someone, or something.

He quickly pulls Kirill behind the cover of a thick tree, slowly peeking out from behind it to see a solitary red haired boy walking through the woods. As the bark scratched against his cheek, he was grateful that in the dim light, his hair matched the moonlit leaves, making it much easier on his part to not worry about the boy seeing him.

His light brown eyes watch as the boy passed. Something about him intrigued him. It may have been the fact that he looked unafraid of being in the unknown, but he felt inclined to follow. Kazumi glanced from Kirill and back over to the stranger and whispered in the quietest voice he could manage, "Follow my exact steps and don't make a word." He then slowly and carefully followed the boy, making sure to stay behind some sort of cover at all times.

He had never seen this boy before, so it led him to believe that there was possibly another camp somewhere. As they approached the house the stranger entered, he realized that his suspicions may be true. Kazumi hunkered down next to a tree, shrouded in darkness by this point. He squinted his eyes, trying to see better than he could. His senses were high and he was contemplating whether the sound of his heart beating could be heard in the stillness.

After a bit of sitting and waiting, a silhouette rushed out of the house. Before he was able to tell who it was, if he knew them or not, they were gone. His light brown eyes formed into slits as he listened to the running sink into the distance.

A few more minutes of silence pass and he figured that whoever ran out was probably the stranger that they had followed there, so he grabbed Kirill and went, wondering if there were more people that were inside or if it was just the stranger alone, or maybe there were more people out that weren't arriving till later.

All the way back to the camp, Kazumi walked in silence, either ignoring or not hearing the questions Kirill asked because he was so deep into his thoughts. Once he returned to the camp, he split off from Kirill and went on his own route, finding himself at the base of a tree, cigarette in hand and smoking his life away as he thought about what he should do with the information he had.

Nai · Jan 5, 2017

/monthly_2017_01/Vyacheslav.jpg.67557a69293d08f5fb53136a1c1bb1ef.jpg

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s one match left in his stock supply of matches: two charred cigarettes buds and one match left. He repeats through dark smoked fumes and thick dark eyes. He flicks a scorched bud aimlessly down a patch of gravel driven leaves, high enough where treetops won’t reach. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“отбросы,” He mutters in his native tongue, and lights another cigarette between dry-parched lips and rough, cold hands. The drag of the cigarette is long, and he holds it out enough for the fumes of the puff to flow evenly and mellowly against the still-dead air. He brings the binoculars, he’s been having hang loosely around his neck up to dark murky eyes, and clamps down on the cigarette between two sharp canines, “Come out, come out, wherever you are, my little [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]fox[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px].” He cooes crookedly into the evening chill of the night, and awaits eagerly with a narrowed gaze as the man of the hour, starked with dark long locks and a small lean build, stepped out of a small wooden-makeshift pod. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]“... Hello there.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav surveillance services of this camp has neared over two days now, and with each passing day, he’s come to the conclusion of three things. One, the tall lean man with dark hair, and roughly aged around his early twenties was deemed head-chief of some sort. Two, the woman with thin framed spectacles and large breasts was, in fact, the medical supervisor, as well as some kind of consultant with the amount of trips the chief takes to her room. He’d almost pass it off as a relationship of some sort, but with the previous night’s scouting, he’s learned that the man whom he shares a pod with, isn’t just a companion but a possible lover. Three, the shortest man in the whole camp, who is mostly seen lighting cigarettes on the outskirts of the camp and keeping watch majority of the nights is, in fact, dangerous.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]These pieces were just bits of information gathered throughout his time spent amongst the trees. He’s thankful for the Gods being kind with him, for the weather has been grandiose and not at all painstakingly harsh on him. Two days, he counts between cigarette buds and match stock. He’s grown tired of the familiarity of this camp, and he’s almost been thrown for a loop whenever he had to cross between branches for the sake of following his little fox. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Yet, he can’t deny the wicked satisfaction he receives from watching the man amongst his daily routine around the camp. He’s learned his schedule among these two days, and he figures with another scheduled loop, it should be enough. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s also noted, there hasn’t been many trips taken outside of the camp, and those that are, are made within a small group of four or five.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]This[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], however, was different.― Upon watching the chief's small interaction with his companion, he could only assume they’d settle in for the night, yet that was put to rest when the other parted with an unsettling look of farewells rather than their usual partake to their usual safe keep. ―There’s a departure that settles roughly in the late hours of the evening, and he watches with curiosity as the two men taking off in the opposite direction of their usual trails. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] How peculiar[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. Vyacheslav thinks after rising to his feet and strapping the binoculars around his shoulder blade. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]After a brief stretch of his lanky limbs, he leaps onto the next branch. He proceeds at a silent pace, his footing falling indistinct, while his balance sets example of his military training. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav counts a twenty meters difference from his target, and he watches with distinct favoritism at the man with dark curled locks. Considering the relationship with the chief, it only made sense. They arrive at a small patch of dogbane, and Vyacheslav takes a moment to stretch his legs, cracking his knees with a squat and rolling his neck with a savory moan of satisfaction. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He was getting too old for this. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]They’re speaking amongst themselves, he studies, when a distinct noise perturbs the moment. While the they pick ample at the dry roots, Vyacheslav is back on his feet, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Dogs[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]? He quirks a furrowed brow and listens for the sound of footsteps gathering far from the rendezvous point. He doesn’t fester the idea any longer, he’s left dumbstruck when he recognizes a [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]very[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] familiar tomahawk strike the dark curl’s partner. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Gemini, you sonova-[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” Vyacheslav practically bites his tongue, as he watches with seething disdain the affront attack Gemini just pulled off with his target. He stands upright with a exasperated sigh, bending his back from his slouched squat and takes a moment to watch the interaction between the two men. Dark curls, seems in a state of shock, while Gemini flaunts himself like usual. “What a shitty personality.” He mutters under his breath and turns away disgustedly by Gemini’s sudden need to pin the other man. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He has no need to keep watching, what Gemini does to the man, is in his hands now. Although, this could prove to be useful, he muses with a quirked brow and flips forward into the neighboring branch. There’s an unpleasant feeling mocking his stomach, and he isn’t sure if it’s due to the emaciated two days of poor diet, or the mock repugnance he just witnessed. Regardless, he makes haste with his time made back to the camp. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s only so much time left. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He arrives at the camp in quick progression and does a quick survey of the area, it’s late and by the look of things, their security is made for low level confinement. The trees serve as an aerial viewpoint for the high and below. Yet, with their training and their fears all directed to one common source, it’s a no brainer, how easily Vyacheslav manages to infiltrate the camp. He enters through one of the far outter placed pods, and makes haste of his time relocating the pod of the man he just witnessed die not twenty minutes ago. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He arrives at the deadman’s pod, circling the wooden deck with curious eyes and lingers for a bit before letting himself slip in. He doesn’t, however, expect a woman a foot shorter than him and with nothing but a shirt on, be standing in the deadcenter of the room. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Shit[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]She’s stock-still with fright, and she doesn’t gather enough air to let out a bellowing screech before Vyacheslav has his hand around her mouth and his arm wrapped around her neck. He has her in a headlock, and tightens his grip only when she begins to thrash and struggle. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Shhh,” He ushers into her ear, and switches his grasp around her neck, cutting off the air and leaving no room for a response of her own to come out, “Just relax,” He eases in his well-refined Japanese, and strokes back her dark long locks. She does relax, her body merely trembling in his grip as he takes a fair look around the room, nothing in here seemed relatively important, “Does your boyfriend work for head of this camp?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The girl shakes her head in fright, the blacks of her eyes wide and dilating as he frowns, “Pity.” He mutters after snapping her neck, and dropping her with a thump to the cold wooden ground. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He steps over her head and walks out of the room before taking a peek back outside. In all his years of military service he’s only had to do clean up, twice. Although, given the gravitude of the world’s recent stakes, he hasn’t minded this kind of clean up. He lifts the woman over his shoulder, her body coming down like a sack of meat, as he readjusts his grip around her ass and hips. He takes one last peek back out, before taking three quick strides to the edge of the wooden deck and flinging her over the rail with precise range. He waits for the thud at the end of the fall, and does a quick look over his shoulder before backing up and running off the ledge himself. He uses the railing as a support beam as he he springs himself onto the next neighboring branch, and in quick succession uses each juncture as a pathway towards the bottom. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav lands with a tucked knee and a hard foot pressed solidly against the ground. It stings momentarily, albeit he also didn’t exactly catch the last branch properly and managed the drop too early. He lets out a withered sigh, and slowly stands with a crack to his lower back. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Definitely getting too old. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]I blame Gemini.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Taking one last look over his shoulder for precautions he hauls the corpse over his shoulder once more, and begins his tread towards home. Once he makes good pace, and deems far enough from the campsite, he drops the body over a bush, and does little to hide it. He does, however, slit her neck with a pocketknife and kick her jaw in with the heel of his steel-toe boots. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Precautions[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], he justifies. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav arrives later on at his own camp, a small run down shack of a home with rundown moss circulating the small crevices of it’s brick rampart, and doing a wonderful trade in concealing the home in it’s neighboring greenery. He climbs up the gradual steps leading to the entrance of the house in an amble pace, he’d take a stroll in most cases, yet with the way his body has been acting up, he’d rather just get inside. He rolls his neck twice upon opening the front door, and he’s grateful for the silence upon entering. He forgoes the customary of kicking off his shoes and instead makes a brisk pace past the kitchen. He’s forgetful, he muses, almost deciding to disregard Gemini’s eager chews coming from the kitchen, until he remembers the happenings from earlier. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Gemini,” He greets with a feigned simper to his tone and smile. He makes a note of stripping his heavy jacket off his shoulders in a sensual strut of his gaze and step. Gemini jumps at the use of his name and turns questioningly at Vyacheslav with gluttonous eyes, “What did you do today, Gemini?” He hums in a tone that sounds all too alluring for even himself, but nonetheless proceeds with wiping a stray crumb from Gemini’s cheek. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"Oh... Vyache, you're home... I was looking for you all day!" Gemini feigns with a mouth full of macaroni.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"Mm..." He soothes with a run of his hands gathering rough, bright red locks of Gemini’s stark colored mane, "Were you?" He questions with another fondling hand slipping down between Gemini's legs, and grounding his own leg in-between the spread space. "I won't repeat myself, Gemini," He drops his tone an octave, “What did you do,” He scorns with his rough russian accent, and grips the man's testicles in between his fingers. The grip on his brightly colored hair tightening and jerking his head back.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"Ahh..." was all Gemini could muster, "I know what you want." he says with a coy wink, fidgeting painfully in place, "Coming back for seconds of the foxy Gemini!"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav goes silent after releasing the man in a slow perpetual manner. There’s a pregnant pause between them, before Vyacheslav broke the gaze and ultimately turned away in exasperation and reverberating what sounded like a gurgle coming from his throat. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Yes! … yes,” Vyacheslav turns back to him once more after a quick composure of his sanity, and smile, “I’ve also missed our time together,” He says while gathering Gemini’s face together in his hands, “ Now,” He smiles crookedly, “Come here, my little… [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Fox[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px],” He hisses after rightfully headbutting Gemini, and sending him flying back against the countertop and onto the floor with a thud. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"Gomen, Vyache, Gomen!” Gemini cries in his broken japanese, attempting to humor him as he crawls back against the cupboards, ”I thought if I killed him we would find each other, and look- here we are!" Gemini whines, although makes no attempt to look at Vyacheslav in the eye as he tries to discreetly crawl away.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyache, on the other hand, took that moment to uncuff his belt strap, and growl out, “Why the fuck are you so stupid?!” He says snapping his belt against the air and freighting Gemini the second the crack snipes the air. “Every fucking time!” Vyacheslav cries, bring the belt down like a whip onto Gemini’s back, ”Do you do it to get a rise out of me?!” He hollers, chasing after Gemini who all but cries and struggles to run, “Did you ever consider that [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]maybe[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] they were people you [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]weren’t[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] suppose to kill?!” He beats.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"No!" He cried truthfully, "I wouldn't of done it if you just let me kill the prisoner, but now she is gone too! She escaped... all by herself!"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Vyacheslav halts his makeshift whip for a moment of clarity, “You… You let her [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]escape[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]!?” He all but screeches, and kicks his ass, “You had [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]one[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] job! [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]One[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]! And you go and screw it up!?” [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Whips,[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] “[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Gemini Soetsu![/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]"B-but wait! There is good news!" he pleads.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“What?!” He hollers, smacking him in the face with the belt. “What could you [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]possibly[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] say to make [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]any[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] of this better-”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I,” He begins, regardless of the sting left from the leather belt smacking him upside his face, “... have not masturbated all day and am the very pent up!" he says with a waggle of his brows and a very excited shimmy of his waist.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“... [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Run.[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” [/SIZE]

Vaan · Jan 6, 2017

The amp of the bass sounds throughout the building periodically, the crowd roaring with the emission of each soundwave. Underneath the dancing horde, lights sporadically flash and sweaty bodies grind and rub against each other; moving to the rhythm of the music. The constant flashing in the room makes it difficult to decipher faces, however, Willow manages to stay fixated on her girlfriend: Clara. The pills that the two took at the door have only now begun to take their effect, kicking in and making it much more difficult to stay invigorated.

In fact, a sudden sense of exhaust overtakes Willow, and she feels the urge to lie down, but there is nowhere to go. Eventually losing sight of her girlfriend, Willow is constantly thrown and flung into more people, attempting to navigate the crowd with little success and the constant greet of profanity. She had completely forgotten where she was, and much less where Clara was, and the sudden thrash to her head didn’t help. It left her feeling disoriented, her body eventually swallowed whole by the crowd as she was continually trampled.

The trauma is enough to blackout her vision, and despite the shriek-worthy pain she feels, she is simply too fucked up to acknowledge it. When Willow wakes up, she is tucked under the sheets of her hotel bed and Clara is leaning over her; patting away at the scrapes on her face with an alcohol wipe. She has been asleep for a while, indicated by the morning news on the television in front of her, which she can’t seem to decipher anyway as it is too fast-paced and she feels like crap.

“How are you feeling,” Clara asks through a yawn, with long blonde locks occasionally brushing against Willow’s face, “At least you're not vomiting anymore.”

Huh?

“Hurry up and pull yourself together, the professors are gonna be here any second, you need to look presentable for the trip.”

“...W-who?”

“Damn it Willow,” Clara sighs, “Go put on some make-up, you look like crap.”

Willow does just that, nauseously stumbling into the bathroom, occasionally using the wall as means of leveling herself. She lazily picks up a lipstick off the counter, and smothers her face with it; looking like a female rendition of the joker. It didn’t seem to matter though, as the lipstick would have been ruined anyway, with Willow’s head quickly buried into the toilet bowl. Clara, with irritation radiating from her, strolls back into the bathroom and stands behind her, making sure she doesn’t choke on last night's contents. Reaching down, she pressed a button on the top of the toilet, blasting Willow’s face with water as a wakeup call.

“What the fuck,” Willow groans, swatting clumsily at the water and falling back onto her ass.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she hears in the back of her head, the plink of a water-drop setting the memory off entirely. Her downcast eyes look up from the stained floor, and instead up at the wall; which bares nearly the same disgusting design. She wants to turn to the side and look at the glass, where her captor stands, but can’t seem to budge in her current position. “Just kill me already,” she screams at the top of her lungs, and while it seems futile; it is enough to get the attention of Vyachez.

"Not yet," Comes his English hallow reply.

“...I won’t try to escape again,” she says begrudgingly, her eyes looking back down at the torn fabric of her shirt, where he had previously reprimanded her for an escape attempt. There was a nice, dark scar to accompany it, where the knife had punctured the skin, “Please.”

“Does telling the same lies, repeatedly, give you the same satisfaction as attempting to commit them?” He humors her with a comical raise of his brow, and a snap of his latex rubber gloves as he removes them, “It’s almost fun watching you struggle,” he paused, dumping the red swollen cotton swabs and gauges into a small containment bag, “Your screams remind me of my own mother.” He finishes with a sneer that all but hides beneath the shadows of the poor lighting.

“...Your mother,” she repeats, attempting to squirm out of the binding ropes around her appendages; right before Vyacheslav. Her limbs were tied to the arms and legs of the chair, and if she struggled anymore, she would tilt it over and she would be stuck like that for a while, again, “Does this… does it make you feel alive?”

Vyacheslav almost snorts at the comment before replying, "I've always felt alive," He says with absolute certainty, and hears the door to the front entrance open. Just as he sets himself to ready to leave, he pauses at the door with a smile, "What makes you feel alive?" He hums after departing and hearing his signature cry for attention roar throughout the house.

That question stuck with Willow throughout most her confinement, it was honestly something she couldn’t answer. Maybe it was lying, or drugs… or even Clara.

“You’re much faster than I thought,” Gemini’s broken Japanese echoes loudly throughout the forest, “Do you see Vyachez?!” he adds, bolting an axe forward and lodging it into the ground next to Willow’s foot, "He has been gone all day! I don't know where to find him." It had been thrown from quite the distance, but based off the previous throws; it was intended to miss her. He seemed to of slowed down, vanishing behind her into the thick overcast of trees, and after what felt like forever: she was finally free.

Willow comes face-to-face with a flurry of pods, perhaps a city, raised into the air throughout the trees. She is tired, sore and notably groggy as she collapses onto the ground, and begins to profusely cry at the base of one of the pods; laying herself onto a bush. Yet, when met with the cold, dead touch of a hand in the bush; she begins to cry louder. She eventually tires herself out, the urge to scream vanishing, as she collapses out of exhaustion next to the dead body of Hayato’s girlfriend.

Deviced · Jan 17, 2017

His question hung in the pod like thick, suffocating smoke; not another word was uttered in the brimful darkness, the shrill chirps of the crickets outside seeming to hush altogether as the wind stood still in probable trepidation. Carter had been upset before, just as much as the next person. But this wasn’t just a superfluous emotional outburst-- this was raw and genuine fury, unchecked rage without any reason other than pure displeasure.

“What the fuck?”

The sight of Dazai, his best friend, crumpled on the floor in such a way of vulnerability made Carter want to sob, to hold his lover and touch his hand to the chest that rose with subtlety of shallow breathing-- to cradle Dazai’s long fingers in his grasp, to share his warmth;

Yet, he simply glared at the lot in front of him, gritting his teeth so tightly that his jaw became angled and hard. The boy left his spot on the table and took loud steps toward his first victim, the one who had brought Dazai in and let him slink to the floor.

“You,” he seethed at Atsushi, trapping him with the stare of a million daggers, brows knitted with the crease of relentless disdain.

“You will sit there, and you will not speak until spoken to.”

Carter then moved onto his second victim, crouching to match his potion slumped on the floor. Dazai’s blue-gray eyes-- the one’s he constantly dreamt about-- hung at half-mast, clearly exhausted and demonstrating pain. Carter showed no sympathy, taking his lover’s chin with a tight, unrelenting grip. He glanced at his convict’s open mouth, so dangerously close he could taste the sour scent of dried herbs and the underlying fragrance of honeysuckle.

“Consider yourself detained until further notice.”

Carter removed his hand from the warmth of Dazai’s skin, hooking his arm around his friend’s back, then beneath his other shoulder. A year ago he couldn’t imagine lifting a man of Dazai’s stature on his own, but after erecting pods, carrying supplies, and scaling up and down trees for the better half of a year, he had built up a relatively ample amount of muscle to do so. Carter placed Dazai’s beautiful lithe body on the table he had sat upon moments before, using his shaky hands to correct the posture of his currently feeble inamorato.

“Sit still.”

Iliya was already nervously puttering around the workspace, retrieving things like gauze and medical wraps and disinfectant, while Carter chewed his lip in waiting as he stared up at Dazai. He was not angry at the pair who had come in on their most weary breaths, nor was he scared of the outcome of this situation-- Dazai would be okay. Carter was just unmistakably incensed with himself. He knew exactly what would happen, he knew the risks, and he was still willing to let Dazai leave. That made Carter a bad leader, and he hated himself for it.

Iliya poured the disinfectant into two separate bottles, diluting both with clean water. She then handed Carter a roll of gauze and some bandages, also passing off a few other items such as tweezers and a pair of gloves. Both swiftly equipped their latex mitts, inspecting the wounds that freshly inhabited Dazai’s flesh. Iliya didn’t utter a word from the other side of the table, clearly able to sense the sort of atmosphere that clouded the pod; but then again, who couldn’t? It was asphyxiating.

“Grit your teeth,” Carter’s newly adopted monotonous voice warned as his sterilized tweezers prodded the gash on Dazai’s chest in search of dirt clods and pine needles, digging in a bit more roughly than was necessary. The erratic twitches in response to the cold utensil Carter utilized somewhat inappropriately was duly noted, but still he continued to be rather brutal throughout the extraction process. After all the notable bits of foreign material were successfully removed, Carter moved onto the fun part-- soaking a few squares of gauze in disinfectant proved to be tedious as the silence of the room weighed down on each individual, but all was quickly forgotten as the male dabbed onto the open wound with the cotton, earning a not so gracious reflexive kick from Dazai.

“Still, I said.”

Carter hissed, clapping his hand onto Dazai’s inner thigh to steady the two. He leaned in closer, fastening the bandages snugly around his lover’s stomach.

“Now,” the distraught male began, slowly lowering himself onto a crudely crafted stool whilst resting his elbows onto Dazai’s knees, using his laced fingers as a cradle for his chin.

“You’re not infected. Probably not, anyways-- we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll switch out the dressings when necessary, so you’ll just have to take it easy for a while. My previous statement still stands, by the way. You’re not to leave camp until I say so-- if I say so.”

He waited to hear any protests, but decided to keep going after he realized he didn’t care either way if Dazai had anything to say that would dissent his decision.

“Nakajima-San,” he finally sighed, relinquishing his stone cold eye contact with Dazai and relaxing in his chair, a slouch taking over his spine.

“I expect you to take responsibility as well. You’re limited to the confines of campgrounds only until I see fit, and you’ll be on water ration duty this week and next week as well. That is all,” Carter finished, removing his gloves so he could rub his eyes that were now stinging with exhaustion.

“With that out of the way, I have a few questions. First, where is Hayato-San? He accompanied you, did he not?”

Corgi · Jan 17, 2017

The simple creak of the door seemed to shatter Iliya's whole world. The once clear atmosphere was suddenly suffocating as the two boys stepped into the pod. The pleasant smile on her face fell into a dreadful frown at the sight of Dazai and Atsushi, seeing the red cloak his clothes.

Her heart felt like it flatlined and her stomach dwindled down to nothing as the smell of copper overwhelmed her senses.

Bang

The pounding on the door rocked her whole body, trying to keep whatever was chasing them outside of the room. As sobs and gurgles filled her ears, she began to find it hard to think straight. Hesitantly opening her clamped eyes, she looked around the room, her heart hammering in her chest as adrenaline rushed through her veins.

Puffy, red eyes stared at her, begging for her to help them. Her heart was breaking at the sight of these kids- her students, suffering like they were. Sobs and wails being passed around in a futile attempt to comfort each other.

As the bangs and cries grew louder and more prominent, she felt herself sinking to the ground, her eyes trained on her shoes. Red soaked them and it was slowly rising. From her heels to her ankles, then her calves... She realized that it wasn't stopping. Panicked, she banged on the walls, crying, screaming for help, praying someone could hear her, but the copper was so nauseating and the noise around her drowned her out- she couldn't be heard.

The red was flooding her. It was trapping her. By the time it reached her hips, she couldn't move. It was too thick. It went higher and higher until it swallowed her whole. The red choked her. It squeezed the air out of her lungs, and no matter how much they begged, they showed no mercy. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't breathe

Iliya gasped, grasping for air, trying to rid the black specks that clawed at her vision. Tears rolled from her chin, onto the floor, her head throbbed and her whole body quaked. She suddenly realized she didn't know what was happening. Frantically, she looked around, trying to understand where she was and what was going down, until she felt pressure on her head that made her stop. The light pressure lifted and put itself back. Her frightened brown eyes slowly turned towards Atsushi, who had his hand on top of her head.

The kind gesture calmed her. The copper seemed to dull down and she felt like she was able to breathe again. Her eyes went from Atsushi and slowly over to Lenon. Her eyes widened as she saw his hands on the boy's stomach, "Lenon... Don't look." She instructed, taking a step closer before coming back to her senses.

She quickly wiped her eyes as she realized what she had just said, getting rid of the blurriness that obscured her vision to see Carter, "I-I-I'm s-so sorry..." She said, looking down in shame while she tried to process what just happened, "It seems you have this covered, Carter." Iliya said, adding emphasis on his name to tell herself that it wasn't Lenon.

"I'm going to step outside..." She said, barely above a whisper before agonizingly shuffling out of the pod and sitting outside, wiping her face to try and get off any residue of her moment she had.

Nai · Jan 26, 2017

[SIZE=14.6667px]There’s an air of sensibility carried among the wanderlust winds Carter prawls himself through, it’s like a coil to Dazai’s synesthesia, a disassociation of his abilities and his senses. He can’t see the colors Carter portrays, not the lilacs or the pastel hues that curve around dignified smells and tastes —[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]tastes[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] that relish in the seasoning dips of warm tangy Carter. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s speechless under Carter’s authority, and falls breathless after a garble he only manages to croak out, after attempting to defend Atsushi. However, Dazai flinches after an indignant response is made by Carter and wholeheartedly, albeit fitfully, turns towards him in a spite of rage. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Consider yourself detained until further notice.[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai shrinks under his hard-cut scrutiny, and diverts his gaze with little to no effort. He aware of the burning embarrassment creeping up to the tips of his ears, and wonders vaguely if his face is as red as it as it feels. He’s tentative, however, to notice their lips are terribly close, and his loss of breath could just simply justify the accountability for his lack of his mind’s coherency, yet he knows, deep down, it’s simply because Carter has always had an this kind of effect on him —regardless of the situation. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He’s brainless when Carter wraps an arm loosely around his back, in an attempt at lifting him off the unstable ground. He feels faint at the mind, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]a prerogative for the survivors[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], his thighs burning from their midnight course run, and his arms entangle themselves desperately in attempt at rejuvenating his balance. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]It’s here, that Dazai realizes his ignorance, since day one of their escape. Dazai has always taken control of Carter’s actions and chose to pave the path for Carter to follow. Here, however, Carter has decided to pave his own path. Not only for his own sake, but for the sake of others just like them. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He feels foolish in his overtly-pensive thoughts as Carter lays him down. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]grit your teeth[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]”, he hears in a tone he almost doesn’t associate towards himself, yet does so listlessly. [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Despite his anger, he sounds anxious as ever, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai thinks absentmindedly, as he receives and ever hard knock to his knee and jerks. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The pain is present, as present as the iridescent mood the room circulates itself between: there’s the grief that Carter occasionally lets slip between silent stitches, but most prominently becoming his perseverance; Atsushi’s nettled plight, that’s crowding the corner of the room with a fiery staredown, while Iliya’s perturbation soaks through the hardwood floorboards like wildfire.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai’s anxious himself, at the dangerously close hand that seems to gather right between where his thighs fall short of warm and shy. He’s holds his breath, and with a tighten tug set by Carter’s impenetrable wall of subtly, secures the bandages around his stomach. He allows Dazai’s rightful gruff in response. Yet, as Dazai climbs his ways up in a loose raise, one that has his elbows braced, and his eyes trained on Carter’s worried-worn face. He can’t help but feel guilty.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He did this[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]He watches with solicitous eyes, as Carter cradles his chin with laced fingers and chooses in that moment to reach shy of caressing his face, yet his hand never manages to leave his side far enough to seem objective, instead it falls short of a subtle twitch. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]You’re not infected. Probably not, anyways—” [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai lets his hand drop, and allows his eyes to waver from Carter’s gaze,[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] “we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll switch out the dressings when necessary, so you’ll just have to take it easy for a while. My previous statement still stands, by the way. You’re not to leave camp until I say so— if I say so.[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” He doesn’t reply, instead he remains silent after Carter’s redirection towards Atsushi.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]I expect you to take responsi[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]—”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]You could’ve of told me,[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” He hears instead of the picturesque tone of Carter’s voice echoing far in the distance. There’s the sound of spraying rain somewhere far in the distance, diluting itself to subtle fat drops of water dripping above split pipelines. He’s—They’re in an abandoned mall stationed somewhere near the shinjuku district, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Shiba[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] is pacing beside him with his head held low and a hand loosely handling his crossbow strap, “I… wouldn’t of been upset with you,” He says with a darted gaze that speaks volumes, and finishes with a defeated, ”I don’t think.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“It wasn’t important at the time,” He perceives himself saying, remnants of his past piecing themselves together like puzzle pieces. He feels foreign in his own body, but he watches with a nostalgia that has him clutching at his chest. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Is it important [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]now[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]No[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], he mentally replies, yet that wasn’t the foretold truth, Dazai diverted the question when asked. He remembers the steps he took to the messily, wet neon sign horrid scribing reading, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]flash sale[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px], and taking the opportunity to look around. At the time, it seemed apathetic. He had no interest in continuing the conversation that would lead to their inevitable fights, but…—,“Want to go shopping?” —they fought because they cared.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I want to talk about this,” Shiba whines with a stomp of his foot, and while the Dazai of that moment would— [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]did[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] fall for Shiba’s playful antics,— [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]this[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px] Dazai, didn’t.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“What’s your waist size?” He elicits with mischief in his tone, two hands casually encircling Shiba’s waist as if space wasn’t necessary. ”Seventy-one centimeters?” He quirks a brow that speaks volumes of his change in attitude, and he almost can’t help himself. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“With as many times as you’ve had your hands clasped around me, you shouldn’t have to ask.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“You’re right,” He feels himself dipping playfully down to Shiba’s level, the sway to his body falls light in his steps, despite the heavy flood raised high above their knees. He finds himself enticing Shiba’s neck with his breath, the ghosting touch leaving faint touches of what used to be, and it’s almost elementary the way his arms find themselves so easily onto the small of his back. It’s become a practice of intimacy, and a cradle to their emotions. —He remembers this, the close proximity of another, the warmth of … a [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]replacement[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]. —Dazai hands Shiba the dark wash jeans in pretense of avoiding any further intimacy, “Go change.” He finishes with a small smile, and deep regrets.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The command, however, is ignored. For Shiba, takes that moment to clasp tight onto the rugged tatters of Dazai’s worn out jacket, and successfully pulling him into breathes of mingling desperation— He chooses not to remember, not the touches, or the words— “[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]I don’t need to go anywhere, this isn’t much different than our quarters, no?[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]—There’s a laugh, and it’s his. He doesn’t try to remember, yet the memories come to him in hazes, and he’s struggling to redeem himself. Fighting for the memories in which their nostalgia ended with nothing but chaos and screams, ‘[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]You know, once he got to know you, he would of never loved you.[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]’— [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Have you seen yourself? You’re filthy,[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” He says[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]I clean up so well though[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]” Shiba teased, treating Dazai to a coy smile of invitation, “[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Just picture… dressed in white, a huge wedding, you could play piano. If your mother is still alive, we could find her, we could ask for her—[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]—No. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]This part, he remembers clearly...—[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“If we’re going to find anyone, then it should be… —[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]Hayato-san? He accompanied you, did he not[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Dazai blinks awake, reality settling back into place, “Dead.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]

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[/SIZE]

Genieva Von Bubbles · Jan 28, 2017

“You will sit there, and you will not speak until spoken to.”

Atsushi scoffed and rolled his eyes as far back into his head as physically possible. Carter was six years his junior, and while he was most definitely the leader of their ragtag little group of survivors, he had a long way to go before he had any right to boss Atsushi around. Honestly the kid should be glad that he brought back his boyfriend in mostly one piece.

Although the fact that he had to go after Dazai in the first place made Atsushi wonder what the hell happened on their run. The foxes, while a nuisance and dangerous in large numbers, weren't so hard to handle if you had backup. However when Atsushi came across Dazai, it seemed as though he had been running for quite some time, which meant he had been alone even before the sun went down. SO that begged the question of what happened to Hayato-san.

Atsushi was mere seconds from voicing this question, regardless of Dazai's unresponsiveness, but Carter beat him to it by roughly beginning to patch up the other boy. Atsushi sighed and made a mental note to ask later, when Dazai wasn't getting semi-felt up by their fearless leader.

Turning his attention away from the pair, his bored gaze settled on their resident healer. Little Iliya was standing off to the side, seemingly watching over Dazai's care but her far away look betrayed her. Atsushi watched as minute shivers wracked through her frame, and he slowly inched closer. He was familiar with the throes of flashbacks, and while it was different for everyone, he knew a few simple tricks to pull the victim back to the present.

Slowly, he laid a feather light touch to the top of her head, and let it rest there. He had learned from experience not actively move, but offer a steadfast and stationary touch that was easily maneuvered out of should touch be the reason for the traumatic experience.

He watched as Iliya came back to herself and offered a nod when she met his eyes.

Apparently she wasn't completely free of the memories grasp however when an unfamiliar name slipped from her lips rather than what she had intended. Her embarrassment was clear, and her retreat hasty, but Atsushi was certain that Carter and Dazai were so wrapped up in each other that they hardly noticed. He wanted to roll his eyes again but refrained from doing so in fear that his eyes would perpetually be stuck like that.

Instead he rolled his neck and shoulders to work out the knots and stress from lugging Dazai's giant body all the way back to camp and then proceeded to rummage in his pockets. He pulled out a cigarette and placed it tiredly between his lips before running a hand through his dark locks.

"I need a smoke," he said to the room, "I'll be just outside if you need me." He sauntered outside, another act of showing just how annoyed he was with the whole situation and settled on the balcony of the pod. He kept Iliya in his line of sight online a few feet away. There to provide a silent comfort, should she need it. His dark eyes wandered aimlessly around the camp, watching the few shadows of others moving amongst the trees.

After a momentary silence, a soft crying caught his attention, and he tracked the sound to only a few pods away. He pushed gently off the wall of the pod and made his way to the forest floor, following the sound as it got louder. He took a calming drag of his cigarette as he approached the hunched form of a woman. He was about to ask her if everything was all right when his sharp eyes caught sight of the other body. The other very unmoving body, squirreled away behind the same bush as the woman. Instead of offering kind condolences he reached down and wrenched her to her feet by her arm until she was fully facing him. She was taller but definitely weaker so he had no problem holding her in place as he scrutinized her tear streaked face.

He breathed a cloud of smoke into her face before pulling her down to his level and practically growling; "Who, are you?"

Vaan · Jan 31, 2017

When Gemini awakes, his legs are putty and he can practically feel his body merging with the carpet. He had really done it this time, he thought, left alone with the reprimandation of flurried purple and pink bruises. Truthfully, in the spur of the moment, he had thought that killing him was the right decision. He thought it was something that Vyacheslav would have done, while maybe executing it more effectively, and that it would have been in some sense: good news. Clearly, he was wrong, but he wondered what all of this said about him and Vyachez. He wanted to be friends, he thought that they were, even if the sex only lasted as long as the incense.

He pulled himself up on wobbly knees, dragging himself to the closet, and propping himself languidly against the vacant doorframe. The space was empty, there was no clean water, and that meant no way of washing their clothes. Electricity only stretched so far, into so many applications, and while Gemini was more than sure that Vyachez could fasten something; that was low-priority on their list of things to do. At Gemini’s feet was a small unorderly cardboard box, full of papers, sketches and photos. Amongst the vacancy of his closet, it had been brought into a shining light, Gemini kneeling before it and beginning to scavenge through it.

There was a few sketches of himself mixed into the disorder, drawn by Vyachez himself, and while he was not depicted as the rose to jack, he looked nice upon a charcoal medium. A photo required minimal effort to snap, but a drawing was a much more sculpted and intensive process; it was something that was tedious by design, but done anyway. At the top of one of the portraits was lettering, but no amount of intense staring would make it comprehensible: Gemini couldn’t read. He continued to shuffle through the pile, before finally coming to a stop, having unburied the picture he was looking for.

A dark-skinned girl, with equally dark hair, seated before a backdrop of white. She looked fierce in her leather jacket, and tackily sported sunglasses; Gemini could recall that the photo was, however, taken at night. It was at a time that there was still life in this continent, and they the three wolves traveled in secrecy among sheep. —He plucks the memory from the bin, and stuffs into his pocket, shooting back up with the rejuvenation that he needed to once again function. Upon returning to Russia, the three of them would be reunited again and Gemini would rightfully receive the acclaimed accreditation he deserved.

“Gemini,” he plays out in a nasally tone, “You are a great asset to this country. You are the… epitome of success. Everyone wants to be like you.” Those were the words that awaited him, all he had to do was finish his work in this boulevard of broken dreams. That was easier said than done, but… there was no reason that he couldn’t attempt to speed the process up. Escorting himself to the back of their current abode, he sauntered through the containment which once held their prisoner: Willow. He wondered how she was doing, she surely hadn’t found Vyachez yet, or else she probably would have returned.

She was probably exhausted, she was starving for two after all. He wondered what she would name the child that they so tenderly crafted together. He thought Pisces sounded good, but never was able to interpret a definitive response from her sobbing. However, that was irrelevant, because she would probably abandon their family, it was instead the Kumo, who were guest of honor: A female stalker adaptation, unique to Jukai, that bared the additional set of four limbs and a larger stature. Vyachez and Gemini had only collected two so far, but Gemini couldn’t think of a better time to release them than in light of the recent bloodshed. With a caressing hand, he opened their containment hatch, a grassy patch on the outside surface being lifted amongst the cranks of metal.

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