streetwalkers | (no subject)

[Now that's startling. Even in this situation, he didn't expect Mikado to just pull a gun on him. He can't quite hide the surprise on his face (or the look of betrayal that goes with it), but he clamps down on it and replaces it with raw frustration as fast as he can.]

I was just going to break your leg, but fine! I guess I'm just another "bad person" now, huh?

The same thing could be said to you, Masaomi. I never implied that I was going to shoot anywhere vital. It's out of self-defence.

Yeah. Like you have the kind of accuracy to guarantee you won't hit an artery with a flimsy gun like that.

[He takes a step closer, almost daring Mikado to shoot. He's had a gun pointed at him a lot of times. He's shot a gun a few times, too. There have been timelines where all sorts of things have happened. But he's never faced a gun in Mikado's hands, and that's the sickest feeling he's ever felt.]

Just call it off. You can't make a happy world this way, I guarantee it.

You wouldn't say that you're "choosing to stop for me", if you were only putting me out of commission. You and I both know that breaking my leg wouldn't do anything.

[ again, no comment on his words. he's not going to argue his views - especially with the person he's doing this for. ]

No. But it's a stupid villain who spells all his plans out, isn't it? And you're going to make a villain out of me, if you think you're in the right.

[He'll break his leg first. Then, he'll kidnap him if he has to. He'll do whatever's necessary to make him delete Dollars. Even if it makes him a real, true bad person... he's desperate. He's tired of this cycle. He might just be willing to go that far.

And even as he thinks it, he knows that means he's going a little crazy. What kind of Masaomi could even begin to entertain the thought of hurting Mikado like that? He's cracking under pressure, isn't he? Could he even do it, if he won here? Could he get through even an hour of that kind of life without his heart crumbling into a million pieces? He tells himself he could. He'd have to. But he knows he couldn't, and that's why this whole situation is already a loss.]

You've made this decision for yourself, Masaomi. I don't know how you knew it was me doing this, but I won't... No, I can't stop. The people may have stories, but their story should have never crossed tainting the Utopia that I'm going to create. It's to make a place where you can safely return to, where Sonohara-san can as well...

...But, if you're looking at me with eyes like that, holding a weapon... You've made up your mind. You see my actions as "unideal", and came to "purge" me.

This is the same situation, but in reverse.

[ he doesn't move. his hands aren't shaking with fear, or with excitement. eyes are cold, almost unseeing. he knew that this time would come, that someone would find his actions as "bad" and "imperfect" as he sees those who shouldn't be anywhere near dollars.

he just didn't know it would be the person he least wanted to have to deal with ridding of, for the sake of ikebukuro. ]

There's no such thing as a utopia!

[He snaps, angry and hurt and frustrated and faltering under the pressure of this timeline, every timeline, and the cracks he can feel forming in his own psyche. He doesn't want to hurt Mikado. Most of him just wants to find a way to convince him to stop, to hug him and somehow make all of these repeated mistakes go away. But there's a small part of him that's telling him it'd work out, if he hurt him enough. That's a solution. He should just pick up the crowbar and swing, and swing, and swing.

The conflict's never been this sharp. It makes him feel sick. It's terrifying. He wants to run away. He wants to hit Mikado til he can't argue anymore. He wants to cling to Mikado and beg him to understand. But there's no point in doing either. One of both or them is about to die. Knowing that, in this moment, he hates and loves the person in front of him with equal intensity, and both are enough alone to blame for the way his voice strains and cracks and his eyes well up with tears.]

I just want everything to stop....

[But it's not going to. Not this time. So he takes a deep breath, swallowing his tears, and starts to advance.]

[ with that, he knows that the conversation is over. as of right now, this can't be argued about anymore. it wasn't supposed to turn out this way, wasn't supposed to end like this. everything that mikado was doing was for him. to give him a place masaomi could stay safely and not need to run away from. it was for him when it was first scaring unideals out dollars, and it was him when they began to erase their very existence.

but, he doesn't understand, and he's refusing to try to understand. he wants to make him - to keep him at an arms length and make him watch the dawning of a new era of dollars and of ikebukuro, to see how things will change for the better. but, he can't. he can't if masaomi is so set on using the crowbar in his hand, on ending this. is he truly so set on becoming an enemy?

he's gotten much better at aim and precision, since masaomi had last seen him - much of the offtime spent with blue square to give their group feigning innocence is spent at arcades, playing games to boost hand-eye coordination. it's still out of defence when he aims to shoot the shoulder of the arm holding a weapon - maybe, unarmed, he'll fold. ]

[No amount of practice and muscle memory can help a normal 17 year old dodge a bullet at that range. Even knowing it's coming, he can only move enough to make it a slightly less debilitating wound.

It's still enough to knock his shoulder back and make him drop his weapon. It still hurts. It never stops hurting -- the movies lie about that. Time and repeated injury haven't trained his mind to tune out that kind of pain, and he still pauses for a second to clap his good hand against it and swallow the curses that want to spill out of his mouth. But what time has given him is the ability to only stop for that single second. Even before this all started he could move through a lot of injury, and now he's even better -- he can do what he has to.

Kida Masaomi is a coward who runs away from his problems. But he's never been someone who folds when he's cornered. On the contrary, he's his most dangerous when he has no options left but desperate lashing out. When he looks up at Mikado, it's not the expression of someone who's going to give up. It's the glare of someone with nothing left to lose -- there's despair there, in spades, but he's angry, and more resentful than the Masaomi this Mikado knows has any right to be, and his killing intent is that of someone for whom "murder" is a tool he can hold as easily as he'd held that crowbar.

And then he rushes him, with full intent to tackle.]

[ he feels hollow. there should some kind of emotion there, he knows it - he's just shot his best friend in the shoulder, but still... there's nothing. he should be angry at masaomi for not understanding him, regretful for what he'd just done, fearful after seeing the other boy's face. ...but no. there's nothing.

he can't react in time to do anything but fire the gun again, as he's rushed at. there's no aim - he doesn't have the time to try to aim for somewhere else non-vital in hopes to incapacitate him. ]

[By then Mikado's firing almost at point blank. He's pretty much guaranteed to hit. And maybe a normal person would stop, when a bullet slams into his side. Kida does stumble, for just an instant, and gasp. But that's it -- he doesn't want to lose his velocity. If he's going to fall, he's going to do it on top of Mikado. And that he does, throwing his whole weight into his friend to take them both to the ground.

It hurts. His body and his heart both hurt so much he wants to die -- he is going to die, thanks to Mikado. And really, he could just let himself go and end the timeline like that. But the thing is, he's not sure it'll actually end. He doesn't know if they all start over, or if his consciousness will just jump to the next in a series of parallel worlds. And in the event that this world would go on without him, he can't let it go on the way it's going. So he tries to get the gun, even though it's hard to think straight through the pain and all the conflicting voices in his head.]

[ even if it's a weakened masaomi who's been shot twice, he still wins out in sheer strength over mikado. the gun is broken from his grip, torn from his hands with a whispered swear.

things... weren't supposed to turn out, this way. this isn't how he'd planned - not at all. he was saving dollars, sucking the poison out of ikebukuro. he'd been doing a good job at stamping out all of the badness in this city and drowning himself in it instead. a good job, but not a complete one, so he reaches back up for the gun, trying to push kida off. ]

[He can't let Mikado have the gun back yet. Not until he's done what he needs to. So he's not really taking a careful aim. It's frantic, the gun clumsy in his shaking hands and his vision swimming with tears and simple dizziness. But he presses the gun against a random spot on Mikado's chest and fires -- it's probably not the heart, but a lung's fatal enough.]

[ in an instant, everything stops. his chest erupts into so much pain that it almost circles around to no pain at all, and when he tries to take a shaky breath in, the only thing he finds is his mouth quickly filling with the thick taste of copper.

he knew, from the second that he saw the crowbar in masaomi's hand, that this is where it was going to end. he'd always known that someone was going to show up to "stop" him, just as he'd been the one to show up and "stop" all the other non-ideal people in dollars and in ikebukuro. by becoming some vigilante of twisted justice, to others... he'd fallen right into the darkness that he was chasing away.

no... it was more like... he'd succumbed to the poisonous darkness of both "ikebukuro" and "ryuugamine mikado" and had been swallowed whole.

he can't push his broken and dying body to make any sounds other than wet, choked out syllables that don't have the chance to form words. his eyes are unfocused and hands have no strength, but he manages to put all the strength in his body into clasping weak fingers around the barrel of the gun and making eye-contact ]

[He really, really doesn't want to look into Mikado's eyes. He has a hard enough time doing that when they're happy -- right now, it's torture. But somehow, once their gazes are locked, it feels like he's trapped. He's stuck, staring down at the same blue-grey that he swear he could get lost in forever if he just had the courage, on good days. In happier timelines. Faced with that, he can't muster the strength to be angry. What shows on his face is guilt, heartbreak, sorrow, and the overwhelming love that makes the rest of it a hundred times worse.]

I'm sorry...

[He barely chokes it past the tightness in his throat, and once it's out the stopper on the rest comes up with it. He goes from barely held in check to sobbing in an instant, repeating that apology in a hysterical whimper as he tries to break Mikado's grip and move the gun up between his eyes. Only he knows he's apologizing for so, so much more than what's happening right now.]

[ each second is an hour, each beat of his heart feels as if it's pushing concrete through his body and out the wound in his chest and filling his mouth. his mind is fuzzy and there's nothing around them - it's almost as if they've been pulled from the alley and placed into a plane of existence that's only them. ...somewhere that mikado would have preferred living. somewhere that's close to what he was trying to create.

...there's part of him that's glad this happened. somewhere deep inside him, choked into silence and inaction by dark, inky tendrils is the idealistic young boy, the filling for the boring, normal, innocent shell that everyone else sees. someone who knew that in order for this to end right, he needed to be ended.

it's not hard to break the grip of a dying person, and as the warm metal of the gun is pressed against his face, the corners of mikado's mouth turn up as he slides his eyes closed. ]

[His own breaths are sharp and shallow, sliding into hyperventilating as the crying and the hole in his insides keep him from breathing deep or steady. He has to brace himself with his injured arm, palm scraping on the pavement next to Mikado's neck, but he's hardly feeling the pain now. He grits his teeth as he pulls the trigger--

-- for a moment, his ears ring, and it seems like the world has paused --

-- and then he drops the gun, hit with the familiar sense of failure and a wall of self-loathing and grief that leaves him feeling like he's been violently, forcibly gutted and hollowed out, in a way that nothing could possibly ever fill back up. He doubles over til his face is pressed into Mikado's neck, ignoring their mixed blood all over both of them, and it's only the fact that's he's completely breathless that keeps him from screaming until he whites out.

Just like he always does.]