luckless | [RYSLIG] IC Inbox

[Lucius presses in on him and it takes concentrated effort not to trip on his own tail that worriedly sways behind him. He knew Luc to be sort of touchy and the avid enjoyer of other people's personal space—something Nathan was used to—but not him, and certainly not with a stranger like Lucius. Komaeda has to remind himself that they are strangers, because how much of Luc is Lucius? If it's anything like his own experience, then, not a whole lot.

The book that had been tucked beneath his arm comes up though, held in front of him as if its small, hardcover could be used like some sort of shield. Lucius circles him like he's prey, and like prey, Komaeda's head swivels to keep those aureate eyes in careful view—but then... Lucius starts laughing.

Like the dissonance of melodious bells just slightly out of sync, he can hear Luc in that laugh, but also... someone else. Those teeth, too, look so familiar. Needle points and a serpent's tongue within, scars, and harsh laughter that makes him wince. Then it hits him, and his realization is worn plainly on his face. If his scales were capable of paling, they would, as his blood runs colder than it normally is. He swallows, dryly, and suddenly his wide blue eyes once holding subtle confusion grow to the size of saucer plates with panicking mania.]

Ha... [he exhales, voice wavering in his throat,] I just remembered...! My friend, he, he's coming over to calibrate my arm! You have to leave now—

[Komaeda's words cut with a burst of breathless, awkward laughter. As if it's so funny that there's a schedule conflict. As if the tinny of it will abate whatever horror Lucius could dish out to him this time. There's a certain boldness, too, as he shoves that book against Lucius chest and also him, back towards the door.]

What's wrong, little worm? [ Komaeda shoves, and Lucius digs his heels in. One of his hands snaps up, and behind the pathetic shield of that hardcover, it seizes around Komaeda's wrist, the surety of its martial grip at odds with the velvety feel of paw pads decorating the underside of his palm. ] You and I are friends, too!

[ Not really, and any other time, Lucius would deny that "Luc" had been him at all. Now, though, the pressure of his hand bends Komaeda's wrist back at an uncomfortable angle, and he shoves forward to retake any ground he had lost before. Behind him, his dangerously barbed tail swings back and forth—a cat with a mouse under its paw. ]

Though, [ he hums, thought exaggerated, ] you look like you've outgrown that nickname. [ Lucius sidesteps from the press of the book against his chest, and when his hand comes up this time, it's to tug at one of the fleshy fronds that has replaced his unruly hair. ] Perhaps I should call you a tadpole instead? Ah, but that implies you might metamorphose into something greater yet!

[As that grip seizes his wrist, Komaeda isn't thinking about the way those velvety pads feel against his cool scales. He hardly thinks about the pain, either, even when he winces against it. His arm is bent back awkwardly, pulling his book with it in a grip that's gone white-knuckled. And in that moment, Komaeda remembers something: he's a monster too.

Rather than the awkward, albeit fearful, politeness he'd worn before, his expression drops into a mask of apathy. His gaze goes deadened, his brows arching over his eyes as his smile slips away. Beneath that martial grip, tendons relax, no longer straining against a force that tries to bend it.]

Can you let go of my hand?

[He asks, but his tone is serious despite it's carefree lull. His robotic arm, neither seized nor holding the book anymore, falls to his side—behind him, his own fanned tail sways as if it's nothing so much as seaweed caught in an ocean's undercurrent.]

[ The first response those apathetic words receive is the perking of ears, their tufted tips resembling nothing so much as curious antenna as they straight upwards. Perhaps he's learned from their last encounter, after all? Or, perhaps this is something of his old friend peeking through— ]

Is that a request, [ Lucius asks, his smile tightening until the teeth that peer through form a knife's edge, ] or do you intend to make me?

[ Either one is fine. He has, as ever, worn a pair of matching blades at his hips. ]

[As passing as a gentle breeze, Komaeda's apathetic expression splits with a gentle smile.]

If we're discussing a matter of physical skill, I would lose every time. I'm not strong and my reflexes are bad, [the words are a lazy lull, as that deadened gaze remains transfixed, unblinking on Lucius,] really, I try to stay out of fights as much as possible — but I've rigged bombs in this apartment, and I'm not afraid to die — it wouldn't be the first time.

[Whether he's lying or not, it's hard to tell. His voice, his heartbeat, his entire demeanor remains relaxed as it would be as if he were discussing the weather.]

So, to answer your question: it's a request.

[ As quickly as that smile's edge had turned taut, its sharp corners recede. Lucius laughs again, and the noise is uproarious once more. ]

What do you know — you and I have something in common! [ As if such a thing could impress Lucius the Eternal! He drops the hand, just as Komaeda has requested—but all that means is that Lucius resumes his predatory circuit in turn, his venomous tail dancing with the urge to snap forward and see how well he can do as he's threatened when his veins are filled with paralytic toxins.

Instead, he asks, ] How many times for you?

[The second Komaeda's wrist is released, his arm drops to his side, tucking the book held within its hand against his hip. Lucius has begun to circle him once more, and as his mirrored blue gaze follows those predator cat-eyes, he wonders just what it is the man finds so fascinating about it.]

Just once, but death has always followed me, so I'm not afraid of it.

[He isn't afraid to die—the end comes for everyone, eventually—and yet, he hears the echoes of his own words at the back of his mind. I don't want to die alone, they taunt him, as if his one selfish want in his previous life was nothing so much as the wishful thinking of a fool.]

Why do you care all of a sudden?

[That's what matters to him. More than the threat, Komaeda feels the back of his neck prickling at what morbid truth lies in the answer to that question.]

Once! [ Laughter booms from him, again, as though that were the punchline to the funniest joke he has ever been told. It stops his feet in their fluid tracks, his shoulders shaking and hitching against the spasming of his lungs.

When his cackling finally begins to quiet, he rasps, ] Dear little worm, you speak to Lucius the Eternal — a man who has been awash in death for eleven-thousand years. Speak to me of your comfort with death when you've died ten or a hundred times more!

[ Really, now—he was expecting at least twice. ]

[That harsh bark of laughter winces Komaeda, briefly, but then his expression returns to that of serenity. He's not really the gloating type, or so he would claim, so turning the act of dying into a competition isn't really one he's interested in.]

Okay— [comes his one-worded reply, because he's not really sure what to say to that!

Lucius either couldn't die permanently before, or he's died enough times in Ryslig that maybe he has acquired a weird taste for it. Either way, Komaeda isn't really sure why this is something Lucius has decided to fixate on, but he figures it's better than having his wrist broken trying to fight him off.]

Were you wondering if I've died as many times as you? [He can't help himself from asking, as he turns to fully face Lucius where he stopped in his circling stride,] what would you do if I said I had?

No. [ He doesn't laugh, this time; instead, his grin draws wider, vicious as it stretches from one of his ears to the other. ] I wanted to know how ironic it is that you would claim such a thing to me with a straight face.

But, [ he goes on, tapping a claw against his chin and rolling his eyes upward, ] if you had... Well, I'd start by asking what force wanted to keep you alive.

You don't know me, so of course you wouldn't understand why I'm not concerned.

[He said it, didn't he? That death follows wherever he goes. It's not something Komaeda boasts about, but when one lives their life near the precipice, they aren't afraid of falling in.]

You say you've died a lot, so you're not really worried about it, right? I know that I can die at any moment, in millions of different ways that are out of my control, so I'm also not worried about it.

[That's, at least, the simplest way of putting it in his mind.]

Wrong. The reason it doesn't concern me is that I know it will never stick.

[ Which still doesn't clarify where, exactly, Lucius has died so many times. He rocks back on his heel, chin tilted up almost as if in challenge. ]

Even so, I make sure that every time counts. [ There was the occasional landmine or freak accident, sure, but those are outliers, and besides the point. ] On the other hand, I suppose you intend to quietly accept your death, whatever the form it comes for you in?

[Whether Lucius prostrates in challenge or whether it's just the way he addresses him, Komaeda tilts his head all the same as if he were a dog who's hearing were better with the motion.]

Who said I died for no reason?

[The thought of sacrificing himself for nothing sets the muscles in his jaw tight, because at the end of the day, wasn't that exactly what had happened? It was a gamble that didn't pay off in the end, but regardless, he can't change what's already been done.]

If someone wants to kill me, I won't stop them. [He pauses, and then his gaze goes upwards, somewhere else, as if searching for his thoughts as he thumbs his chin.] But I'm not really interested in dying for the sake of dying. I always knew, one day, my luck would kill me, it's just a matter of how. So, I prefer to make that choice myself — and if it's for hope, then I don't mind dying.

[ That isn't what Lucius had said, because he hadn't been speaking of Komaeda's prior death at all. Still, the fact that he understood it as such is revealing in its own way, so Lucius doesn't bother to correct the misunderstanding. ]

For hope, is it.

[ Hope is a broad concept, and he doesn't typically hear noble sacrifice couched in those terms. Even so, he feels like he understands the intent; after all, a hope is something not yet come into fruition, and were he and his kin not ordered to fight and die for a utopian future humanity is still yet to achieve? ]

Still, I can't help but notice a little contradiction in your words. [ Lucius sways closer, and if Komaeda's mannerisms resemble that of a dog, then Lucius' are every bit as feline as his tufted ears. He pinches his fingers close, the pads of his index finger and thumb separated by only a thin margin. ] Either you wouldn't stop them, or you would struggle if the death weren't to your liking. Which is it?

I wonder...

[Komaeda's voice quiets, and this time, when Lucius strides closer, he doesn't back up. He doesn't do anything. He simply stands there, with an unflinching placid smile, and eyes that look better fit to a doll than the expressive orbs he'd shown the other before. It was as if something overcame him and reminded him of the empty husk he is meant to be.

His gaze follows the movement of Lucius' fingers, before slowly meeting those aureate cat-eyes again.]

I already said it, didn't I? For hope, I would gladly sacrifice myself. If my death is to become a stepping stone for someone's hope, then I won't stop them.

[He tilts his head again.]

Is that concept too complex to wrap your head around?

[ Lucius is quick—quick enough that the words have barely left Komaeda's mouth when the sabre at his hip cuts through the air. He has drawn close enough that a strike with its blade would make an unwieldy attack; instead, the pommel of the Sungazer Blade cracks right against that passively smiling mouth.

It's only in the space created by that blow that Lucius turns the sword in his hand, and with blood from teeth knocked free decorating its hilt like delicate veins in a block of marble, he points the edge of the blade at Komaeda's throat. ]

In that case, will you be resisting now?

[It all happens fast, and though his enhanced eyesight can see the motion, his impotent reflexes couldn't even get him out of the way of it if he tried. The crack to the side of his mouth loosenes teeth, sends them flying through the air like bloody shrapnel that scatter wetly at his feet. The force stumbles him a few steps back, and as iron floods his mouth, he thinks to himself—]

Ah... how nostalgic...

[Komaeda laughs, though it isn't the tittering hysteria Lucius has heard of him before. It's heady like the taste of blood and the scent of gunpowder. It's breathless and wanton, like he's gotten some masochistic thrill over it. He rights himself even as he trembles in giddy anticipation of the tip of the sword that threatens death upon him.

He smiles still and though there are gaps in it now, needles frothed pink at his gums, it still holds the same serenity.]

I have no doubts that if you wanted to kill me, you would've done it already. So why did you stop?

[ The truth is that, like Komaeda, Lucius had meant just as he said: that he wanted to put the truthfulness of Komaeda's words to the test, and that he wanted to see how he answered when his life was truly hanging from the edge of a blade. But that masochistic giggle is nostalgic to Lucius as well—enough to draw his lips in another smile, colored by intermingling amusement and disgust.

He has heard the sound before: from his own mouth, and from the mouths of his brothers, or the insane devotees all too eager to die at the uncaring whims of Slaanesh's greatest Champion. He lowers his blade; in its place, his hand lifts, and where its martial grasp had seized Komaeda by the wrist before, now it latches around his throat in a suffocating grip. ]

The honor of dying on the Eternal's blade isn't fit for a crawling worm like you. [ As he speaks, he draws Komaeda's face forward by his crushing hold around his neck. ] Besides, [ he shoves Komaeda away from himself, fingers loosening to drop the boy from his grasp, ] you look like you'd enjoy it far too much.

[Masochistic laughter dies with the fist that grips the column of his slender neck, crushing gills and windpipe both beneath martial strength. Komaeda can hardly gasp, animal instinct flinging his own hands up to claw blunt fingertips at the back of Lucius' hand. His mirrored blue eyes bulge slightly, strained wide open and wet with tears at the corners. Though his face is painted pale yellow by scales, their luster seems to dull with the growing lack of oxygen.

And then he's tossed, as if he were nothing so much as refuse.

This time when he stumbles backwards, he loses his balance and crumples to the ground with arms thrown wide to soften the fall. He feels pain shriek through his wrist, and the blunt force of his prosthetic shoving back against his stump—the combination winding him further. With tears clinging to his long lashes, Komaeda pulls his good arm to his chest and flexes it, unconsciously testing it for damage and wincing at the aches.]

Do you like it better with a struggle? [He asks, though the playful tone he takes is lost to the rasping of a sprained throat.] Sorry, I've never been very good at doing exactly what people want.

[It made her furious, he remembers, because she could never figure him out. She dug her claws in, pulled his flesh from his bones and cracked his ribcage open. She searched, desperately, for a way to make him dance the way she wanted to; and yet, Komaeda has only ever moved to the beat of his own drum.]

[ It isn't a question Lucius expects—not because it's something he's never been asked, but because of how plainly Komaeda does so. Lucius cocks his head; his eyes lift toward the ceiling, and his ears perk, as though the answer to it might come whispered in the still air of this apartment. ]

Not always, [ Lucius says, finally, and his pose drops back to neutral just as quickly as it had shifted in the first place. ] You said yourself that there would be no contest between us. If you cannot challenge me, I'd rather you be silent and simply die.

The trouble is, [ he purrs, grinning as he leans over Komaeda's prone form below him, ] there are some who would consider death by my hand to be a great honor. [ His sword comes up again, and this time, the flat of his blade taps a playful rhythm beneath Komaeda's chin. ] I can't go giving it out to just anyone. It'd drive the value down.

[ Not that the people who care are here, or that Lucius particularly cares himself. He straightens again, and with that motion, he slips his sabre back into its sheath. ]

[Komaeda's chin tilts upwards, easily coaxed with the influence of that sword, not for fear but because he simply doesn't see a point in resisting Lucius. At the heart of this moment, it's true that he isn't afraid to die, even if he weren't able to come right back. So perhaps that's why he's able to keep his serenity as the taste of blood floods his mouth and pours from the corners of his lips.

Fresh, bright crimson stands out brilliantly against his soft yellow scales, the sight of it completely at odds with the reflecting pools of his blue eyes.]

That's your only reason to not kill someone? How extremely boring. [Komaeda gives a soft huff of laughter; and then he clears his throat, coughs up a clot, swallows it back down and savors the taste of iron on his tongue. It hurts but the pain is distant, an ache felt in another life.] I already told you I can't fight you, swords are a bit scary, and my punches are weaker than a child's.

[But that doesn't mean he isn't capable of opposition. Fighting to win isn't something that occurs to Komaeda—rather, if he's going to tangle with someone, well... he plans to take them down with him.]

Still, now that I know your true nature, I can't let you leave this apartment so easily.

[ His grin widens across his face, baring a thin sliver of teeth, and his shoulders roll in a shrug. Maybe it is, or maybe it isn't—but his reason will never be anything more or less than his whims in the moment, and he isn't in the business of justifying himself to any random wretch who asks.

Rather, his hands unfold at his sides. Rather, his arms lift. It's a beckoning motion, as if inviting Komaeda to take whatever shot he thinks he can manage—except, when he opens his mouth again, it isn't a taunt that rests upon his tongue. Instead, the question that leaves him— ]

And what exactly is my true nature, worm?

[ If there is a challenge there, it is only to the presumption that he is known. ]

[In the slim space afforded to him, Komaeda finally makes the push to stand. He wobbles, every bit the reed in the wind that his fragile form makes him out to be, and wipes at his bloodied mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. Whether Lucius is ignorant to how he presents himself, or if he's simply questioning out of sheer boredom, Komaeda doesn't care.]

You're aimless, [when he sees Lucius, he sees her and not the parts that made her worth chasing after,] killing people or not killing them, the decision weighed only by your whim? Making threats you don't even cash in... indulging in the suffering of others simply for entertainment... Your existence is despair, and not even the kind that could be made into a strong foundation of hope.

[He tucks his left hand into his pocket, though it isn't the idle repose of someone simply settling into a comfortable stance. He's digging for something, and when he finds it, he pulls his hand free from his sweatpants.]

I'm used to doing pest control, though. Maybe when you come back, you'll be a little more interesting.

[Clutched between his fingers is a slim device—the remote for a charge—his thumb resting on the button affixed to its head.]

Aimless?

[ The word warbles from him, less a laugh than it is a wheeze. Again, some unseen hilarity in Komaeda's words wracks him, and not even the threat of that detonator in his hand is enough to keep Lucius from quaking from it, loud with laughter in the stagnant air of this room. ]

Oh, how little you know! [ He practically doubles over, and as a hand comes to his face, his claws dig into its scarified flesh. Incarnadine lines peel down the flushed pink of his skin, and his other hand lifts in a wordless gesture for Komaeda to hold still.

And then, suddenly, he rights himself. Suddenly, the laughter stops. Suddenly, he takes a bounding step forward, clearing the gap that has formed between them—not to strike the charge from Komaeda's hand, but to throw his own wide, as though he could encompass the whole of the universe in that single gesture. His eyes stretch wide in his face, manic and gleaming. ]

No, no, no, you stupid boy — you speak of things you can't possibly hope to understand. How long have you lived? A decade or two?

[ He laughs again. His feet carry him with dancing steps as he begins to circle around Komaeda—not with the fluid, stalking steps of a predator, but in the tight spiral of a fanatic. ]

You're right about all that, but those things — they're nothing more than a way to pass time. A hobby, if you will. No, if I have been made aimless... [ He inhales, deeply, and then he's looking up, toward a sky that isn't there. ] You may blame the creature that has brought me here, every bit against my will.

[ He drops his eyes back to Komaeda. His too-long licks across his grinning teeth, and then his voice drops to a poisonous hiss. ]

But I am not without purpose, and I never have been. I am not my shallow and simple-minded brothers. Were I nothing more than an empty vessel seeking to be filled with petty entertainments, I would have died more than ten-millennia ago. Instead, here I stand, Champion twice over and crowned with a name feared from one arm of the galaxy to the next.

[ Lost to the heady flavor of his own obsession, he leans close, until his golden eyes hover mere inches from those deep, pelagic pools. ]

Do you know why that is, little one?

[Lucius laughs—the sound of it harsh, barking—it consumes the air within his space, and even the whole of the apartment like an inferno gulps down oxygen. It swaths him and vibrates in his ears, painfully. It reminds him of explosives and gun shells waterfalling to the pavement beneath his feet. It reminds him of too many tanks, their artillery shrieking through the air—and despite Lucius never once telling him of a battlefield he walked, just the sound of his laughter transports Komaeda to his own.

He stands there, unflinching, unwavering in the face of that sound; and the wildly grand gestures the man before him sweeps his limbs into makes it seem as if they weren't stuck within a cloistered hallway together, but a grand stage. Theatrics, more or less, aren't Komaeda's cup of tea. Not unless he has a point to demonstrate. He can appreciate them, though. After all, theatrics make him wistful, nostalgic. It makes him miss the taste of blood in his mouth not from the punch of a pommel to his face but from the slap of a red-clawed hand across his cheek.

She laughed like that too, he remembers.]

No, but you're going to tell me anyways.

[He responds flatly, passively. A marionette doll stuck standing there because his puppeteer won't pull his strings somewhere else. To say he's not curious would be a lie, though his sanitary smile and dull eyes don't betray that.

His thumb doesn't move from the button atop the charge, either.]

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cw: uhhh belated violence warning

cw: vague death...? loss of conscious? it is a mystery

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NAGITO KOMAEDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 004.28.777.00 * MrBrightside has joined 004.28.777.00 <MrBrightside> Hello there! This is Komaeda. <MrBrightside>** I'm grateful that you want to talk to me.