So detached, so ready for that promise to be upheld, it takes Chikusa a second to realize what it means when there’s suddenly blood and the sound of bone cracking. His glasses have been missing for a while now, but he doesn’t need 20/20 to see Ken tear the other apart. Impassively, he watches the whole show. It’s only when Ken whirls on him- a mess of gore and fangs- does he stir.
“...I can’t beat dozens of people on my own, Ken.” He’s not an illusionist in any compacity, like Fran or Chrome, and he doesn’t have Ken’s own brutal efficiency and adaptibility. He’s… human, completely and utterly. As if a suspended puppet, he slumps forward as the ropes go slack and his hand spasms outside of his control. Transfixed, he watches as it twitches. He’s still not entirely ‘there’, not yet back in his own body. At least, it doesn’t feel that way.
Maybe it’s for that reason which has him press his palms down against the chair arms, ignoring the way blood burbles out slow and sluggish from his wounded hand. The rain flames in his body were forced out for this purpose when he was younger, keeping him from bleeding out to death or even feeling the pain. “I’ll be fine,” he mutters, even as he tries to push himself up on broken legs. They really shouldn’t be having any pressure on him, shaking wildly, but they don’t immediately crumble when anyone else’s would. They’d be done in by the horrific pain. “I don’t need to see them.”
no subject
“...I can’t beat dozens of people on my own, Ken.” He’s not an illusionist in any compacity, like Fran or Chrome, and he doesn’t have Ken’s own brutal efficiency and adaptibility. He’s… human, completely and utterly. As if a suspended puppet, he slumps forward as the ropes go slack and his hand spasms outside of his control. Transfixed, he watches as it twitches. He’s still not entirely ‘there’, not yet back in his own body. At least, it doesn’t feel that way.
Maybe it’s for that reason which has him press his palms down against the chair arms, ignoring the way blood burbles out slow and sluggish from his wounded hand. The rain flames in his body were forced out for this purpose when he was younger, keeping him from bleeding out to death or even feeling the pain. “I’ll be fine,” he mutters, even as he tries to push himself up on broken legs. They really shouldn’t be having any pressure on him, shaking wildly, but they don’t immediately crumble when anyone else’s would. They’d be done in by the horrific pain. “I don’t need to see them.”
...He might be acting a little stubborn.