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Jul. 7th, 2020 12:00 am mailbox Leave all mail for Yukio here. |
i'd watch them through the curtain's crack
Apr. 4th, 2014 11:48 amBy the time that both Dean and Yukio step outside of Rin's apartment, any trace of the panic and tantrum he threw in the room has completely vanished from his expression. Outside, the assumption is always that there are eyes on him, watching and waiting for his next move. Only the sloppiest of hunters would take Rin without realizing that he has a brother in town — a brother even listed in the public directory, with a surname that isn't often found in the space of Darrow.
He has to assume that they'd keep a watch on him, even if the way that they took Rin makes it possible that they overlooked the thought. Or that they're operating with more of a goal to eliminate quickly, rather than cover their tracks.
The chill trickles constantly down his spine with every nervous thought, and Yukio's grip tightens on his gun as they approach the source of the call.
"Salt. And holy oil," Yukio points out quietly, his eyes quickly darting over the ground. Hastily drawn, and liberally applied. It's tentatively a good sign.
Means they're more prepared for demons than they are more of their own kind.
"You ever been in this building before?" Yukio asks, stepping quietly around the perimeter of the seemingly abandoned factory, looking for a less obvious entrance than the first floor doors.
He has to assume that they'd keep a watch on him, even if the way that they took Rin makes it possible that they overlooked the thought. Or that they're operating with more of a goal to eliminate quickly, rather than cover their tracks.
The chill trickles constantly down his spine with every nervous thought, and Yukio's grip tightens on his gun as they approach the source of the call.
"Salt. And holy oil," Yukio points out quietly, his eyes quickly darting over the ground. Hastily drawn, and liberally applied. It's tentatively a good sign.
Means they're more prepared for demons than they are more of their own kind.
"You ever been in this building before?" Yukio asks, stepping quietly around the perimeter of the seemingly abandoned factory, looking for a less obvious entrance than the first floor doors.
Tackling the city of Darrow would be one thing if Yukio had his team around. If there were multiple Exorcists with varying meisters working together as a team. He's used to keeping a sharp eye out for threats in the distance and putting them down in short order, used to assessing the source of a demon's strength and throwing it at its weakness. He's used to patching up people's injuries on the run, building them up enough to keep fighting.
But within a certain range, Yukio is all but helpless.
Asking Rin for help isn't always an option. Rin, whose goal should be caring for himself rather than adding yet another weight to the responsibilities he carries on his shoulders. But there are precious few that Yukio trusts in the city — Dean shouldn't be the one that he constantly turns to in times of need, and Clementine's his student. Alex is still something of an enigma.
Which means that Yukio is left wondering if he can train himself to proficiency in the other disciplines. Every evening, he spends a couple of hours trying to memorize verses from the Bible. He's taken to training with a bokken for mid-range combat. Straightforward and manageable.
Summoning, on the other hand.
The surrounding area is wet from a recent rain, the scent of earth heavy in the air. The Naiads stand tall around Yukio in a circle with their arms raised towards the air. Between them, a large sphere of water spins, but as the seconds pass, its momentum slows. Water starts to drip down from the ball, rushing over the toes of Yukio's shoes, until the Naiads turn towards him simultaneously.
One by one, they flip back into the puddles speckled around the forest, until Yukio's left only with the sound of rain and his uneven breath.
"Damn it."
But within a certain range, Yukio is all but helpless.
Asking Rin for help isn't always an option. Rin, whose goal should be caring for himself rather than adding yet another weight to the responsibilities he carries on his shoulders. But there are precious few that Yukio trusts in the city — Dean shouldn't be the one that he constantly turns to in times of need, and Clementine's his student. Alex is still something of an enigma.
Which means that Yukio is left wondering if he can train himself to proficiency in the other disciplines. Every evening, he spends a couple of hours trying to memorize verses from the Bible. He's taken to training with a bokken for mid-range combat. Straightforward and manageable.
Summoning, on the other hand.
The surrounding area is wet from a recent rain, the scent of earth heavy in the air. The Naiads stand tall around Yukio in a circle with their arms raised towards the air. Between them, a large sphere of water spins, but as the seconds pass, its momentum slows. Water starts to drip down from the ball, rushing over the toes of Yukio's shoes, until the Naiads turn towards him simultaneously.
One by one, they flip back into the puddles speckled around the forest, until Yukio's left only with the sound of rain and his uneven breath.
"Damn it."
By the time that Yukio thinks to pick up his phone, his fingers are shaking. He can't find the right numbers. He can't scroll through his contacts. His hands keep flexing and releasing the hard block of plastic, searching for some measure of comfort, or at least some sense of direction, but for the first several minutes, it's all that Yukio can manage to keep breathing. He sits, with his eyes roving around the apartment.
It's not like it's a clean job. Hasty and amateur, in fact, with plenty of evidence left behind to examine. But his brother is gone, completely gone, for the first time in Yukio's life. No team by Rin's side to keep tabs on him. No Vatican to fall back on for reinforcements.
No Father to tell him what to do.
Failed, failed, he's failed, he doesn't know where to start, barely knows which places to start looking, doesn't have all the resources he needs, doesn't have the credentials, a dog locked in a cage and nothing more.
His breath is short, passing through his throat in little more than a wheeze as Yukio reaches down to grip tightly at a knee.
Calm down. Calm down, you worthless piece of — why can't you move? Why can't you do anything? Do something.
With a sniff, Yukio slides his fingers across the screen of his phone, heading straight for his address book and tapping in the first three letters of a name before calling the number, leaning back against the chilly surface of Rin's bedroom wall as he presses the phone desperately against his ear. Waiting for the other side to pick up.
"Dean, it's Yukio. I need you to meet me at my brother's apartment."
It's not like it's a clean job. Hasty and amateur, in fact, with plenty of evidence left behind to examine. But his brother is gone, completely gone, for the first time in Yukio's life. No team by Rin's side to keep tabs on him. No Vatican to fall back on for reinforcements.
No Father to tell him what to do.
Failed, failed, he's failed, he doesn't know where to start, barely knows which places to start looking, doesn't have all the resources he needs, doesn't have the credentials, a dog locked in a cage and nothing more.
His breath is short, passing through his throat in little more than a wheeze as Yukio reaches down to grip tightly at a knee.
Calm down. Calm down, you worthless piece of — why can't you move? Why can't you do anything? Do something.
With a sniff, Yukio slides his fingers across the screen of his phone, heading straight for his address book and tapping in the first three letters of a name before calling the number, leaning back against the chilly surface of Rin's bedroom wall as he presses the phone desperately against his ear. Waiting for the other side to pick up.
"Dean, it's Yukio. I need you to meet me at my brother's apartment."
When Rin doesn't show up for training, Yukio isn't surprised. It wouldn't be the first time that Rin managed to be distracted away from his work; it wouldn't even be the first time that Rin decided wholly to avoid it. The empty hours that Yukio is left with are put to good use by going to the range and practicing. The targets that approach on even lines are in no way a match for sparring against his brother, but Yukio takes the time to focus on other aspects of sharpshooting. The weight of the gun in his hand, controlling the kick-back, firing multiple bullets in succession without shocking his wrist in the process.
He also spends it thinking about the city, and how precious little he's managed to learn about it so far. He spends it thinking about the demons in the alleys, faster and more powerful than what he's accustomed to. Thinks about the flicker of colored irises into a spread of black. The familiar bleeding into the unfamiliar.
A shot veers away from the target, and Yukio's bullet only just grazes the curve of its ear. He can't afford mistakes.
Memories are only ever etched into Rin's mind in brief stretches of time. There's too much to observe, too much to remember for Yukio to bother with the little things. He counts on being able to process his surroundings in the moment, from the faces of passerby to the conversations in the background. Tonight, he passes by a group of girls talking about a few musicians visiting from outside of Darrow.
The information passes through his mind like a sieve, lingering only for a moment before Yukio lets it go. If he's learned anything consistent about the people from Darrow, it's that many of them are simply there as filler.
The blurred colors painting an impression of a normally functioning city. Not worth engaging with.
He climbs up the stairs to Rin's apartment, hearing his steps echo through the stairwell. Only his. In the distance, he picks up on the slight drip of water, faint and steady. It's a comforting detail more than not, making him trust in the solitude of the stairs. No one takes them. It's a story common in the modern world, of people sacrificing safety for convenience. Trusting boxes that would sooner trap them in an instant, should any single detail go awry.
Yukio would rather put in the effort. It's how he's been taught.
His steps soften as soon as he makes his way over to the carpeted hallway, fishing in his pocket for the extra key to Rin's apartment that he's had made, his opposite hand tightening around the shoulder strap of his messenger bag.
Reaching for the lock, Yukio pauses, suddenly noticing the slight angle of Rin's door held ajar. Blue eyes flash upward immediately as Yukio shoves the door inward.
The bag falls to the floor by his feet as Yukio reaches into his jacket for his gun, clicking free the safety and aiming it carefully in front of him.
In Rin's kitchen, a steady drip of water taps against the sink. Never. Rin would never leave the faucet on.
Yukio's face blanches and his breath staggers as his eyes rove over the room, never needing to go far to notice the details out of place. A drag of nails along a wall, chipping the paint. Chairs knocked onto their sides. Papers fluttering against the heating vent of the living room. And singe marks streaked all over the carpet.
He shoves into room after room, never calling out his brother's name once, because he already knows. His throat tightens with the dawning knowledge, and only when he's searched the last closet does Yukio fall to his knees, legs too weak to bear his weight.
The apartment is secure. But Rin... nii-san...
Yukio lets out a yell, tearing through his throat as he drops his head into his hands, the hard metal of his weapon knocking sharply against his temple.
He's failed.
He also spends it thinking about the city, and how precious little he's managed to learn about it so far. He spends it thinking about the demons in the alleys, faster and more powerful than what he's accustomed to. Thinks about the flicker of colored irises into a spread of black. The familiar bleeding into the unfamiliar.
A shot veers away from the target, and Yukio's bullet only just grazes the curve of its ear. He can't afford mistakes.
Memories are only ever etched into Rin's mind in brief stretches of time. There's too much to observe, too much to remember for Yukio to bother with the little things. He counts on being able to process his surroundings in the moment, from the faces of passerby to the conversations in the background. Tonight, he passes by a group of girls talking about a few musicians visiting from outside of Darrow.
The information passes through his mind like a sieve, lingering only for a moment before Yukio lets it go. If he's learned anything consistent about the people from Darrow, it's that many of them are simply there as filler.
The blurred colors painting an impression of a normally functioning city. Not worth engaging with.
He climbs up the stairs to Rin's apartment, hearing his steps echo through the stairwell. Only his. In the distance, he picks up on the slight drip of water, faint and steady. It's a comforting detail more than not, making him trust in the solitude of the stairs. No one takes them. It's a story common in the modern world, of people sacrificing safety for convenience. Trusting boxes that would sooner trap them in an instant, should any single detail go awry.
Yukio would rather put in the effort. It's how he's been taught.
His steps soften as soon as he makes his way over to the carpeted hallway, fishing in his pocket for the extra key to Rin's apartment that he's had made, his opposite hand tightening around the shoulder strap of his messenger bag.
Reaching for the lock, Yukio pauses, suddenly noticing the slight angle of Rin's door held ajar. Blue eyes flash upward immediately as Yukio shoves the door inward.
The bag falls to the floor by his feet as Yukio reaches into his jacket for his gun, clicking free the safety and aiming it carefully in front of him.
In Rin's kitchen, a steady drip of water taps against the sink. Never. Rin would never leave the faucet on.
Yukio's face blanches and his breath staggers as his eyes rove over the room, never needing to go far to notice the details out of place. A drag of nails along a wall, chipping the paint. Chairs knocked onto their sides. Papers fluttering against the heating vent of the living room. And singe marks streaked all over the carpet.
He shoves into room after room, never calling out his brother's name once, because he already knows. His throat tightens with the dawning knowledge, and only when he's searched the last closet does Yukio fall to his knees, legs too weak to bear his weight.
The apartment is secure. But Rin... nii-san...
Yukio lets out a yell, tearing through his throat as he drops his head into his hands, the hard metal of his weapon knocking sharply against his temple.
He's failed.
It had been inching up the wall for a while. A demon, spreading itself thinly across concrete, crumbling the bricks as it went. No one paid attention to that particular alley, nestled away in the shadier part of town, housing fewer residents than it did schemes, and the idea that it might someday climb back up to the wealth enjoyed by the rest of the city. Buildings that had been waiting to be renovated for far too long, alongside flickering lights casting their inconstant gaze upon cracked asphalt.
A nice place to grow and consume as it reached out for its next victim, leaning it against the alley like he was no more than passerby. Only noticeable from a close distance were the boils which spread all across his body, rendering it inhuman, a constant shift over his limbs like snakes under skin.
By the time Yukio arrives, the difference in the movement is clear. The demon can't even begin to hold still, slithering over the walls as it decides to emerge, everything in its wake crumbling with the dark smoke of rot. But Yukio watches, a pair of bright blue eyes in the distance, raising his hand to point a gun with incendiary rounds in the direction of the demon.
Its body slumps towards him, what remains of its arms reaching, and a line parts where the man's mouth had been, breathing miasma in Yukio's direction.
He lets it come close. More than he should. More than he needs to, with his aim. By the time the gun fires, setting alight the fumes emitted in the demon's wake, everything billows out in Yukio's direction, sending him stumbling back until he collides with a dumpster, his back tensing with a shock of pain.
Close range helped with the damage of the shot, but it's not enough, one shoulder of the man blown off as he continues to stumble closer, angrier, faster than before, and Yukio can only just manage to get to his feet in time to run further out, attempting his best to aim over his shoulder.
Too close.
[ Notes for ultimate grossness: 1) the man looks sort of like this, only more human-like in shape. 2) the alley has a bunch of rot and stickiness over it of this sort. 3) and Yukio is using fire because it is strong against rot/decay in his world's demonology. ]
A nice place to grow and consume as it reached out for its next victim, leaning it against the alley like he was no more than passerby. Only noticeable from a close distance were the boils which spread all across his body, rendering it inhuman, a constant shift over his limbs like snakes under skin.
By the time Yukio arrives, the difference in the movement is clear. The demon can't even begin to hold still, slithering over the walls as it decides to emerge, everything in its wake crumbling with the dark smoke of rot. But Yukio watches, a pair of bright blue eyes in the distance, raising his hand to point a gun with incendiary rounds in the direction of the demon.
Its body slumps towards him, what remains of its arms reaching, and a line parts where the man's mouth had been, breathing miasma in Yukio's direction.
He lets it come close. More than he should. More than he needs to, with his aim. By the time the gun fires, setting alight the fumes emitted in the demon's wake, everything billows out in Yukio's direction, sending him stumbling back until he collides with a dumpster, his back tensing with a shock of pain.
Close range helped with the damage of the shot, but it's not enough, one shoulder of the man blown off as he continues to stumble closer, angrier, faster than before, and Yukio can only just manage to get to his feet in time to run further out, attempting his best to aim over his shoulder.
Too close.
[ Notes for ultimate grossness: 1) the man looks sort of like this, only more human-like in shape. 2) the alley has a bunch of rot and stickiness over it of this sort. 3) and Yukio is using fire because it is strong against rot/decay in his world's demonology. ]
After carefully wandering by the darkest allies and scouring all of the popular hangouts of the city, it quickly becomes apparent that most people's haunt of choice for information is Semele's. A restaurant that purports itself to be open to all in a far more literal way than most other businesses. Inside its walls, it's not a question of faith, not a question of ethnic background — instead, the lines of humanity itself are blurred and broken past.
He can feel it as soon as it steps into the place, singling out demons of different kinds. Here, affecting a quiet and unassuming personality doesn't seem to matter. He's not fooling most of them.
They look, they assess, and some turn away without a second thought. Others watch him closely, only relaxing back into conversation after he's passed.
Every group, on face, looks like a regular crowd out to dinner. No one mutters anything along the lines of exorcist or hunter. It's the attention that stands out. Nothing about Yukio is meant to call attention to himself, not while he's playing the civilian.
After speaking briefly with the too tall, too blond bartender, Yukio gets permission to step to the back of the restaurant, where the blinds of the manager's office seem to be open and a pair of bright green eyes peeks out. Though he's already caught the attention of the man, Yukio frowns and raises a hand to knock anyway. It seems polite.
"I'm sorry," he says, ducking his head inside. "I was told that you are the owner of this establishment. Do you have a minute to spare?"
He can feel it as soon as it steps into the place, singling out demons of different kinds. Here, affecting a quiet and unassuming personality doesn't seem to matter. He's not fooling most of them.
They look, they assess, and some turn away without a second thought. Others watch him closely, only relaxing back into conversation after he's passed.
Every group, on face, looks like a regular crowd out to dinner. No one mutters anything along the lines of exorcist or hunter. It's the attention that stands out. Nothing about Yukio is meant to call attention to himself, not while he's playing the civilian.
After speaking briefly with the too tall, too blond bartender, Yukio gets permission to step to the back of the restaurant, where the blinds of the manager's office seem to be open and a pair of bright green eyes peeks out. Though he's already caught the attention of the man, Yukio frowns and raises a hand to knock anyway. It seems polite.
"I'm sorry," he says, ducking his head inside. "I was told that you are the owner of this establishment. Do you have a minute to spare?"