( open ) being fooled, being abandoned

[bloodmetries]

who: akira kijima and you!
what: he's "awake" and angry
when: june 27th
where: all over
warnings: mentions of blood and death. possible violence.

I. GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE

[ His world realigns itself slowly; head underwater, breathing slow and even. Akira is standing in the hallway with no memories of coming here -- at least not immediately, but when it comes together in pieces he feels as if his body was being controlled by an entirely different person. That was his first concern and primary catalyst of his anger that begins to spread from the back of his head and down his neck.

The sound of glass shattering has him instinctively flexing his fingers. Ensuring he can move, tensing up the muscles of his arms, and sighing out a breath akin to relief when he looks behind his shoulder and sees no immediate danger.

Then again, when expecting a ghost, how knows if they're there or not. Akira has learned by now to be cautious even in his own house. ]

... Dammit. [ He looks at his hands, notices there's no blood. That memory wasn't his own... so was it something that had to deal with his bloodmetry?

Akira takes an unconscious step forward, hearing the sound of glass beginning to crack underneath his weight before he lifts his foot. He pauses, canting his head slightly once he notices the broken test tube on the floor and clicks his tongue. ] Who the fuck is throwing this shit around?

[ Because obviously HE didn't drop it -- which means you, unlucky passerby, are the prime subject. ]

You?

II. UN: A.KIJIMA

wh

e r

e?

.

ka ,, ,,, ,
k

kkk

k u
y

Amen

III. FUCK IDK

[ Later into the evening Akira can be found by the vending machine. At this point he's probably overheard the talk of a murder, and assumes that this place is some sick place in hell that Kakuya has dragged him into, so he's just... mad. As per usual.

He's trying to get a drink and realizes that he must have been sleeping every day since he's been here during class cause he has virtually no merit points. He kicks the glass, getting annoyed, and just as he's about to turn and go away he pushes a random button and this drops.

He holds the drink his hand, a look of absolute disgust evident in his face as he hears someone approaching. His expression doesn't change, but he's quick to extend his arm out and hand the beverage off to the next person: ] Here.

IV. WILDCARD

( "but ryza i want akira to punch my character in the face right NOW" line up then. )

Comments

[bloodmetries]

[ Immediately, Akira quirks a brow -- he doesn't hesitate, doesn't seem at all offended or angered by the comment as he does confused. ]

That's not what I'm talking about. [ He can hear Seiji somewhere in the back of his head; a bad influence, a powerful voice. It's a reminder of how he should carefully toe around a person to get exactly what he wants: information.

But that was never how Akira learned how to survive. He got through every day with his fists, destroying everything in his path, leaving all that got between him and tomorrow on the ground bleeding and battered. He's never killed another person, he's unsure if Seiji even has, but there's the difficult truth he has needed to swallow that pursuing a life where he's included in the yakuza knowing that he'll have to. ]

What's the point of even actin' like this is all a game?

[ He hates people like this -- there are exceptions saved with the veil of childhood friends, but otherwise Akira's brain can't wrap around their complicated answers. Too wishy-washy, too unpredictable; better to just swat the fly while it's annoying you now rather than later.

He lifts his foot, bringing it up to Komaeda's shoulder and kicking him to the floor. Stepping over him, he stands over him with clenched fists. Dark eyes that were initially distant blinking in that survival instinct; a predator cornering prey. ] You want me to fuck you up that bad, bitch?

[commences]

Isn't that your choice... asking me for what's going on, taking your anger out on my body... you can really have one or the other.

( the pain he's suffering through is a reminder that if he does here, so meaningless, so... worthless, that it'd be some sort of hopeless death. that sort of end doesn't fit him, not with his constant need to help hope in a way that the people around him are led down a path where their own strengths are revered by those who bask in their light. at this age, komaeda enjoys all sorts of hope, he even gives the untalented a chance, and it'd be wrong if he didn't at least attempt for this person here. he's having too much fun with being hurt in this manner though, it's not ever day, especially with chiaki gone... where will he get his daily dose?

ah, though she died as a stepping stone, komaeda shouldn't be too upset about that — at least she served purpose at the very end, she deserved that.

laying on his back, he dares not to get up, and instead, he lifts his prosthetic arm up to place over his chest to gauge how fast his heart is beating. not as quick as he wants, so maybe he should ask him to do his worth, maybe there's a chance to really feel through the torture — or so he thinks until he notices something out the corner of his vision, the vending machine wobbling, and then leaning forward like it's going to crush them both — there's no stopping it as speed picks up during its descent towards akira and komaeda.

yeah, maybe they should move, and by move, komaeda's pointing a finger so akira has a heads up.

whoops! )