[Though it didn't sound like he was wondering at all, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, head canted to the side as he used the chopsticks to pick up one of the rolls.]
[There's no point in wasting his energy on an answer they both know, so Chikusa doesn't bother. All he does is stare at the food, and everything it represents. In its own way, it's the answer to the question Mukuro asks right after.]
[If only getting it from his lips was as easy as getting it from that little restaurant.]
...Things I don't know.... maybe. [Finally, he reaches out to pick up a roll himself.] I don't expect you to understand that...
[While in most situations, Mukuro would be loathe to admit he had any familiarity with fear or that there was anything he didn't know, saying such a thing so arrogantly right now would only serve to drive a wedge between them. So, keeping his gaze carefully on his food, he gave a small shrug.]
You'd be surprised. [Then, to get to the heart of the matter, he glanced up at the priest, amused.] Try me.
[...So there's no running away from this. He stays quiet for a moment longer, preoccupying himself with the excuse of food in his mouth, before giving in even as he picks up another piece]
For years... How things have been for me, and how it looks it would turn out, has mostly been the same. That.... might have been repetitive... or... [Lonely.] isolated. But... I had the benefit of knowing that nothing would change much... and that I knew where I would end up.
[Sometimes it strikes him how cute and adorable the priest could be, despite being so feared in the afterlife. Like a little worker ant, with no outside desires, carefully following the path put before him. And yet with Mukuro's interference, he was beginning to see the world more for what it was. To find hope. To dream. To desire.
Disinterested in food now, Mukuro set his portion aside to cross the distance between them, stopping a few centimeters short, their knees so close they could brush together with the slightest breath. 'Most people,' he wanted to say, 'will stay miserable so long as it is something they know, too afraid to risk being happy'. But now wasn't the time for such things, was it? The priest knew his thoughts on the matter. Instead of force feeding them to him, he wanted to know what shape the seed he had planted in the priest would take.]
But now?
[His voice was soft, tender, though his eyes were burning as he looked down at the priest, itching to touch.]
[He can't make eye contact as he makes the quiet admittance, instead focused on food he bought as if he could purchase the past again.]
You've made... even my regular schedule change. I don't even know what will happen to my soul anymore. Maybe it's too late for me, no matter what I'll do... But even if I gave in, what will happen?
[Unable to deal with it anymore, he puts down the chopsticks, and his food by connection.]
[Mukuro had been doing this for so long that he had it down to an art. Souls close to damnation all but gave off a certain scent, like meat close to a roasting fire. The smell of it was enough to make Mukuro's mouth water, and he had always found those souls the most delicious. The ones right on the cusp of damnation, but still clinging with weary fingers to salvation. Pushing them off the edge required a delicate touch, and the priest would be more unwieldy than most. And yet...
Careful not to touch him, Mukuro leaned forward, a small smirk unfurling on his lips.]
[He wouldn't be alone.... No more nights passed in a barren living room as he tried desperately to fill it with things that would make him seem like a real human being instead of a ghost outliving its welcome. No more days where he was surrounded by so many people, yet kept completely detached from them, no bonds keeping him moored. No more would he be left kneeling at the altar, fingers clasped as he desperately tried to find solace in silence.]
[It's so tempting. He feels so weak.]
[Prayer echoes in his head, repetitive and practiced. Chikusa isn't sure if he wishes they were stronger or not. All he knows to do is to keep his head bowed, chopsticks limp inbetween his fingers.]
...I... [The words stick in his throat, barbed and thick, not wanting to leave his mouth.] I don't know that, either.... I don't know what it would be like....
[If he could trust so much at the same time that he would be giving up God.]
[Mukuro felt far too big for the mortal skin he was trapped in, feeling as if heat was escaping from every pore of his borrowed body, and he was surprised when his skin didn't sizzle when he rested a hand against the priest's knee, leaning in. It was tempting and would be easy enough to put the food he was trying to hide behind to the side, to press him down and show him exactly what it would be like to no longer be alone. But the priest already knew by now, didn't he? Pretending otherwise would just be playing at being coy.
Carefully, Mukuro reigned himself in, withdrew his hand and took a step back, and then a few more to put some distance between them. Otherwise it would be difficult to control himself, and it seemed like he didn't need to seduce Chikusa Kakimoto in that aspect.]
I won't ask you to choose now. Consider these missions as a trial run.
[A part of him wants to argue, to say that the demon's flickering visits are still too new, and that they're nothing like what life in Hell might be like. He wants to argue about the difference between dreams and life and condemnation.]
[A very petty part of him wants to point out that the first time they tried to have sex, the demon fell asleep on him.]
[All arguments fade away in his throat as that hand settles on his knee, hot enough to burn straight through, hotter than sin. Chikusa finds himself holding his breath, waiting for something, and the release leaves him slowly as Mukuro pulls back again. A trial run.... is it?]
Then.... afterwards... [He speaks softly, almost more directed at his dinner than the demon.] I'll let you know.
[It was said mildly enough, but the look that Mukuro shot the priest was anything but. Hellfire had nothing on his gaze, but blessedly, he headed back to his own bed to pick up where he had left off. Unfortunately his mortal vessel needed food despite what heart to hearts had been necessary.]
[Weren't those words he was supposed to say, as the one who was threatening to throw his entire life away for a scrap of comfort? Chikusa keeps such thoughts to himself. Instead, with food not tasting much like anything in his mouth, he gives a slight nod.]
[This isn't the first time food has held no appeal to him; he ignores it like all the other times before.]
Since you'll probably just be sleeping the trip away regardless...
One other demon being a problem for you is still one too many.
[It was said in a slightly sulky manner, Mukuro's mood hardly improving once he was finished with his food. Without bothering to change, he clambered underneath the covers, yawning widely.]
Good night, my cute little priest. Try not to stay up too late.
[There's no need to remind him. As the one driving, it's all the more important that he gets plenty o rest. That doesn't make it any easier, granted, especially with how slowly he picks through his food. Every bit is a reminder of the past... and every time he finds himself unable to taste anything, mind distant and lost, it's a reminder that he hardly has anything.]
[Traitorously, anxiously, a part of him wonders if he even still has God.]
[Thoughts like that he keeps locked up tight away in himself when they set out onto the road again, just like he has with so much else in his life. The food in the cooler and bags are all still good, so he shoves food at the demon to keep him distracted, not wanting any more repeats on what had happened the other day. Besides, he's not made of money. He should be a little more conscientious on how much he spends... at least for a while. At least for as long as his mortal vessel is still on earth. Unlike whatever nonsense the demon gets up to that can have him not worry about money, Chikusa isn't so lucky.]
[So he keeps things on a tight budget all until they finally arrive at the town he's first been called to. It's late in the evening when he finalizes the payment for their motel room, and he stays up late on his knees, hands clasped in prayer... and a squirt bottle right besides him for whenever the demon starts bothering him. Or talking to him in general.]
[It's not holy water, but regular water gets the point well enough, Chikusa figures.]
[Throughout most of the morning, after he's bathed and gotten himself presentable, he does more of the same for an hour before taking in a deep breath. All throughout his prayers, he's kept it simple, or perhaps the most he's ever really asked of God. He still doesn't doubt that He exists, considering what he's experiencing right now... But Chikusa needs to know. He needs to know if everything he's been doing with the demon, his longing thoughts, his lustful desires... he needs to know if that's the wrong thing. Because if it is.... he'd rather not be able to perform an exorcism at all, and have his abandonment be finalized instead of him always wondering.]
[With his tools in his bag, Chikusa pauses at the door.]
...Will you be able to keep yourself occupied decently enough?
[How strange time was. Perhaps it was an effect of being trapped in a mortal vessel, but it seemed like the time it took to get them to the town dragged on for an eternity. Mukuro made sure to kept his hands and his more suggestive words to himself, allowing the priest to have the distance he seemed to so desperately need. After all, when he had chosen to turn his back on God, hadn't it taken him a extraordinary amount of time as well? Hadn't he clung to the hope that She would see the error of her ways and bring him back into Her fold?
He could understand that precipice well, and knew that God's influence was vast enough that being heavy handed now might have the opposite effect of what he wanted.
So he let the priest prepare himself for the exorcism, content enough to watch terrible TV while sprawled out on the bed of the motel, raising an eyebrow only when the priest started to prepare himself to leave. He sat up when the priest made it to the door without signaling for him, mouth pulled downwards.]
[The question has him pause, blinking at the demon.]
....No? I've always done these on my own...
[Well, mostly on his own. Sometimes he's had his mentor nearby, in the early days, or a partner for when the Church was incredibly wary of a demon, but, usually not. He's always been capable of doing it on his own.... Perhaps it's because he's had to.]
[And.... Besides- ]
I'm not really sure of your.... bedside manner with exorcisms anyway...
I'm perfectly capable of behaving, as you've seen, and I'm invaluable at driving out other demons who could harm you or others.
[And it beat watching whatever reality program he had been gearing up to watch. Since it didn't seem like the priest was going to protest, or if he was, it was of little consequence to Mukuro, he slid off of the bed, going to get his shoes.]
If the demon is smart, it'll leave as soon as it sees me.
[More than anything, Mukuro hated to be told what to do, even by his cute little priest. Being told 'no' made him bristle, his eyes flashing, and he was ready to stuff his mortal feet into shoes and stand nose to nose to him to argue. However, the priest said something that made him pause, his hackles lowering slightly.]
'Other things'?
[Sorry did you think that his mind had left the gutter?]
[Rude. But Mukuro would let the priest go without further heckling, instead settling down to take care of business on his end. It was frustrating to be stuck in one place, but he made the best of it, keeping up with his contact and making sure that his information network remained in tact.
Once he was satisfied, he tried to wait up for the priest, even downing a few cups of coffee in order to do so and taking walks around the hotel ( and push a few souls gently into damnation, but only ever so gently ). Finally, his mortal coil's need for sleep won out, and he passed out cocooned in the covers, the television softly playing reruns of some strange old comedy show.]
[It's truly a strange thing, once he steps inside of his car and finds himself completely alone. How disgraceful, that he's adjusted to the demon's presence so quickly that his absence is so keenly noted. It's like the early stages of their relationship again, if it could even be called that- the way he was so much more aware of what lay behind the veil of sleep. The way he sometimes was almost eager for the strange ethereal place that mimicked his apartment, and yet wasn't anything like it at all. Now, he feels nostalgic pangs similar to such times with the passenger's seat besides him empty. Best he can, Chikusa tries to ignore it. Instead, he takes a breath and focuses on the drive ahead.]
[It's a more winding town beyond the freeway that cuts through it, with roads that curve and rise up. The further he goes into more residential districts, the tighter the streets seem to become, and it's a surprise in some ways that he can even park his car near the address on his list that has the dubious honor of being at the very top. Twisting his keys to quiet down the engine, Chikusa stares up at the house past his windshield. It's a house that's clearly seen its fair share of times, he thinks, judging by the make of it and the metal numbers which make out the address on its wooden walls. A fresh paint job can't hide such information. Still, it's no older or newer than any of its neighbors, and there are no signs outwardly that any sort of tragedy or horrors wait within it. That's normal, he's come to find. Sometimes, it's the house which carries the demonic with it, calls to such creatures whether on the will of someone else or simply by coincidence. Other times, well. Other times, most times, it's not so clear. Demons are tricky, and they can find the smallest crack to worm their way into.]
[Chikusa can say he knows that from experience, now.]
[Yet the 'why' and 'how' aren't really important. Those can be cleaned up in the aftermath, and only by the good faith of those who were once possessed, supported by those close to him. All he can do, all he's ever been able to do, is to be wielded as God's weapon and used to cleanse the body of its unholy host. Staring past his windshield at the battleground he is to stride onto today, Chikusa reminds himself of that. It's not him. It's never been him, no matter what the demon he's allowed into his bed might say. Whatever power that might go through him, it's not his. It's that of God's. And if God says that he's no longer worthy, if God gives that answer to all of Chikusa's fervent prayers...]
[Tightening his grip against the steering wheel, Chikusa lets out a slow, shuddering breath. If he's not worthy because of his weakness, today he'll truly know. Now, there's only one way to find out if he'll be brought up to the boat, or left to drown with sharks in the water. God's judgment can be harsh, can be seen as cruel... and he's prepared to face that if he needs to. For now, all he can do is take up his bag in one hand and finally exit his car to approach the front door.]
[In a way, it's almost funny in that way which is not funny at all. No matter what family it is, they all seem to wear the same look, that same fatigue that has worn them down and made them sickly. To deal with someone that has been possessed is never an easy thing. As a priest of the church, as an exorcist, he's expected to face the creature head on and be its first major opponent, and that is a danger all its own.... but it's just as dangerous, in his quiet opinion, to be the ones who have to deal with that quiet danger day after day, sometimes month after month. It's the same concept as water running against stone, wearing it down, causing fractures and eroding stability. Demons, he knows, thrive on that almost as much as they do the more overt suffering that they are so known for. It shows in the tired slump of the shoulders the mother has when she welcomes him at the door, and the heavy bags under bloodshot eyes when the father meets his gaze. If they've argued in all this time, well, Chikusa wouldn't be surprised. While he's no good at reading people, not like the demon haunting him personally, he's seen another parents snap at each other even as they were requesting the aid of the church. Taking a seat down in their living room, where the air seems dark and oppressive even with the lamps on, he patiently listens to them and the tale they give him.]
[Some families have tales of their children experimenting with all sorts of darkness, voodoo they don't actually have an understanding of, ouija boards at a friends house, trapezing through graveyards at night- all the kinds of things that one would see on the cheap horror movies which base themselves on such tales. This family has no such tale, only that one day their son changed so radically as if replaced by a changeling, and things only went worse from there. Honestly, it's also a perfectly common tale in Chikusa's experience. Everyone likes to think that it's only seeking out sin that causes demons to possess people.... but it's not. It's not voodoo, or ouija, or whatever other scapegoat they can think to find. Simply put... it's weakness, and bad luck. Sometimes, that's really all it is. Even as the parents profess to not know what it is that could have possibly put their child at risk for such horrors, whether it's true or not, Chikusa knows that a simple conversation could probably reveal the origin. Whatever weakness has caused the child to turn away from god's light, a demon was only the first to find it before it could be shored up.]
[For a brief, flickering moment... He thinks of his own weakness, and his own quite literal demon. Just as fast, he dismisses such thoughts. They have a time and place.... And now isn't it. Not when he has a duty to fulfill, a job to do, and an answer to await.]
[Meeting the child takes place in a small den separate from the living room, and thus away from any expensive electronics or valuable porcelain that might otherwise get destroyed in some demonic fit. Well, "child" isn't quite right. It's a teenager, which also isn't surprising to Chikusa in any way. Children are innocent enough to wander into demonic ploys all on their own... but teenagers are the ones going through the most change and turmoil, thus leaving them particularly vulnerable. (Adults, he's found, are sometimes just disasters who bring things down on themselves. It probably explains his own predicament quite well.) He's a dull eyed boy, still awkwardly growing in so much places, and there's the usual eerie deepness to the stare which tracks Chikusa's movements so carefully when he steps into the room. It's the first sign of something lurking, waiting to dig its feet into the ground and hold on while screaming profanities all the while. Chikusa knows it won't go any further until he does, however. Most demons, he's found, are actually wary of the law, which almost seems funny to him. If things are kept personal, supernatural instances to scare friends and family, then that's fine, that's what they thrive on... but not many will go too far o get the attention of actual mortal police. He can't be entirely sure why that is; it's not as if he's ever sat down with a demon to ask and get an honest answer. If Chikusa had to ever guess... He supposes his theory would be that it would be too troublesome. There's no good point in trying to start something in jail, where most people are already at low points as it is and there's not really any height to drag them down from. Besides, the times have greatly changed from older days where the church's influence was so powerful. Now, demons can get away with so much because "demonic possession" is treated as fiction instead of fact. Ruining such a good set of circumstances.... That'd just be foolish. And even the most dimwitted demons have enough predator's instinct to know better than to do that.]
[As he goes about blessing the house proper before moving onto the actual exorcism, the parents follow him helplessly with worried glances behind them as if afraid of what their child that is no longer theirs will do. Neither of them even seem to pause for a moment as if considering to stay. Chikusa can't blame them. To be with a creature that dangerous is foolhardy, after all, especially on their own with a chance for all sorts of words allowed to be passed while he's otherwise preoccupied. Cowardice is understandable. Still.... As he says his prayers and blessings, begging God to allow them to sink into the wood of his home, he wonders faintly if that's part of the problem with the boy. Was his weakness that he felt alone, without parents to turn to in his weakest times? Was that how the demon could convince him that not even God would care about him?]
[He thinks about his own childhood and adolescence, desperately finding shelter in God with no one else to turn to.]
[So busy in his prayers, so lost in his own thoughts.... He almost doesn't notice until the end how much lighter the house has become until he's going back down the stairs to meet the boy. It hits him as sharp as opening his eyes to the morning sun, leaving him quietly breathless. All the times before when he's blessed a house which withheld a demon in its walls, there's always been kickback from the creature who felt its stolen territory being reclaimed by God. Strange noises, disgusting smells, sometimes even objects rattling or being moved... Every trick in the book to show its displeasure, or to throw him off his guard. They've never worked on him before... but in this, he thinks, they were barely there at all. It makes him wonder if the demon is actually this weak, or....]
[He doesn't dare let the thought finish in his head. Until he's done, until his duty is either completed or he's been given the most heartbreaking answer, he can't let him entertain such thoughts. He can't let himself get too confident or careless. All he can do, all he needs to do, is put himself in God's hands.]
[No matter what he tells himself, of course, the demon is outraged in the room when he returns to it, and Chikusa finds himself stepping right into an oppressive air so thick that one could drown in it. Even without looking, he can tell how the parents flinch at the threshold behind his back. That's fine. They can stay out there if they want to; he'd even encourage it. It's dangerous work and, while he considers his body expendable in the service of God's will, no one else should be put into the same line of fire. Still stubbornly clinging to the body of the boy, the demon bares its teeth at him and hisses out profanities, taunts, whispers about how he's weak and worthless, powerless...]
[Well. It's not wrong. He is weak and powerless. If he's not deserving of God's love and mercy, of God's strength, then that simple fact will surely show through. Yet it's never been about him. He's nothing... which makes him the perfect vessel through which God can work through, if that is the decision that comes to pass. Feeling himself grow distant from his own body, mind retreating in on itself as he takes holy water in one hand and his bible in the other. Even with how smoothly the blessing of the house went with, he's expecting a difficult hour, at the very least, of determinedly casting the demon out judging by the way it digs its nail into the chair cushions... And no doubt longer, if he's been struck down like he half feels he must deserve from turning away from God's light even a little, and will only have his own weak body to try and do what little he himself can possibly do.]
[That... doesn't happen.]
[Chikusa can't explain it. At least, he can't explain it well. All he knows is that he's half gone from his body, speaking the words as if begging to God, and pressing his fingers, dipped in holy water, to infernally feverish skin... and he doesn't feel like himself. It's not the first time he's ever disassociated from his body, and certainly not while he's been performing an exorcism. Chikusa knows it's not a good habit for himself... but in that moment, it feels good. It feels as though his body isn't his own, as if he's warmer than anything in the best way possible against the feverish heat of the child's forehead, and he feels... he feels...]
[The words escape him. All he knows is that there's no struggle, no fight he has to force his way through and endure with quiet calm. It's over almost.. in the blink of an eye. When he finally comes to, his eyes aching and distantly wet, the boy is slumped in the embrace of his tearful parents, and all heaviness is gone from the room. Glancing at the clock only shows that few minutes have passed... Not even half an hour. Half that, maybe.]
[He feels dazed, strange and fuzzy with that warmth that seems to linger throughout him, and he sort of wants to sink down to the ground marveling at it... but there's no time for that. An exorcist's job isn't done with only the exorcism. Feeling rather like a machine, distant, he sits the family down and gives them the usual spiel about regular prayer and visits to church, advocates open and honest communication between all of them. It's nothing that he's ever come up with on his own, but rather the words that his mentor and other priests have advocate he give every time. He's never minded it before, with it being scripted on his end, because he's always been dreadful at it. Now, he's still thankful for it, just for an entirely different reason. With his mind so detached from the situation, the feeling so overwhelming, he's not sure he would have been able to give a good talk even if he was that kind of person.The family's thanks are so far away from him, he barely takes heed of them. Before he knows it, he's in his car again, driving down the twisting roads back to the main streets again.]
[All the meaning of what's just happened hits him when he's halfway through. His throat becomes suddenly tight, eyes aching, and he immediately pulls over to the side of the road, head bowed against his steering wheel. He doesn't cry, even with the fierce tugging that's behind his eyes and which is so strong that it nearly gives him a headache. Perhaps he's lost all ability to long ago, or in the face of the personal miracle he's seen. All he can do is stay there, curled up in on himself, his throat allowed barely any air and his gratitude twisting his heart. When his lungs find breath again and his tongue remembers words, he whispers his prayers of thanks again and again against the vinyl of his steering wheel. It's all he can offer, besides his entire self, and he's been offering that for almost all is life now.]
[He's not been abandoned. He's not been judged harshly for his weakness, his desire. He's still wanted. Against all odds, he's still wanted.]
[So lost in his own thoughts and emotions, Chikusa barely notices how much the time flies until he looks up with a crick in his neck and the sky is much darker. Feeling clumsy in his own body, he restart his car, and fumbles his way through the streets again until the familiar glow of the motel sign is in view once more. Feeling burned clean of his own feelings, Chikusa steps into his room a dazed man. Infomercials are playing on the television, a quiet drone, and the demon is curled up in the blankets as if he can cocoon himself away from mortal desires and needs. Quietly, Chikua walks over to him, sliding downwards to sit on the edge of the bed by Mukuro. With a delicate gentleness, he reaches over to begin to stroke the tips of his fingers along the sides of Mukuro's face.]
[He's allowed this. God hasn't judged or discarded him for his feelings. He's truly allowed to be there, touching the creature who's affected him so much.]
[Allowing his overactive and varied thoughts slow to a crawl in the form of 'sleep' was, now that he was getting used to it, an interesting experience. He had never thought of himself as tired, exactly, but flaming the fires of hell, dragging mortals into temptation, and fighting for territory with other demons was no easy task. Even someone fueled by rage needed a break, and these short hours of resting were pleasant enough indeed.
Especially when he was woken up by Chikusa Kakimoto touching his face, willingly, without Mukuro have to do anything. He let his eyes open slow, squinting against the light, willing his mind to kickstart back to full capacity instead of the slow sluggishness he had allowed it.]
Priest.
[It was a greeting, and almost a question. Chikusa Kakimoto's expression was an odd one, and it seemed like the exorcism had gone well if he was still sitting before him. Whatever turmoil he had subjecting himself to had finally reached its zenith and in its wake, the priest had made his decision.
Half out of laziness and half as some symbolic gesture of trust, Mukuro lifted the covers slightly, inviting the priest in.]
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badliifechoiice22016-01-08 10:36 am
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[Though it didn't sound like he was wondering at all, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, head canted to the side as he used the chopsticks to pick up one of the rolls.]
What is it you're so afraid of, priest?
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[If only getting it from his lips was as easy as getting it from that little restaurant.]
...Things I don't know.... maybe. [Finally, he reaches out to pick up a roll himself.] I don't expect you to understand that...
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You'd be surprised. [Then, to get to the heart of the matter, he glanced up at the priest, amused.] Try me.
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For years... How things have been for me, and how it looks it would turn out, has mostly been the same. That.... might have been repetitive... or... [Lonely.] isolated. But... I had the benefit of knowing that nothing would change much... and that I knew where I would end up.
[In an afterlife for virtuous people.]
That's... reassuring in its own way.
no subject
Disinterested in food now, Mukuro set his portion aside to cross the distance between them, stopping a few centimeters short, their knees so close they could brush together with the slightest breath. 'Most people,' he wanted to say, 'will stay miserable so long as it is something they know, too afraid to risk being happy'. But now wasn't the time for such things, was it? The priest knew his thoughts on the matter. Instead of force feeding them to him, he wanted to know what shape the seed he had planted in the priest would take.]
But now?
[His voice was soft, tender, though his eyes were burning as he looked down at the priest, itching to touch.]
no subject
I don't know.
[He can't make eye contact as he makes the quiet admittance, instead focused on food he bought as if he could purchase the past again.]
You've made... even my regular schedule change. I don't even know what will happen to my soul anymore. Maybe it's too late for me, no matter what I'll do... But even if I gave in, what will happen?
[Unable to deal with it anymore, he puts down the chopsticks, and his food by connection.]
It's nothing I know....
[...and he's scared.]
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Careful not to touch him, Mukuro leaned forward, a small smirk unfurling on his lips.]
You wouldn't be alone anymore, Chikusa Kakimoto.
[A promise and a curse, all rolled into one.]
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[It's so tempting. He feels so weak.]
[Prayer echoes in his head, repetitive and practiced. Chikusa isn't sure if he wishes they were stronger or not. All he knows to do is to keep his head bowed, chopsticks limp inbetween his fingers.]
...I... [The words stick in his throat, barbed and thick, not wanting to leave his mouth.] I don't know that, either.... I don't know what it would be like....
[If he could trust so much at the same time that he would be giving up God.]
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[Mukuro felt far too big for the mortal skin he was trapped in, feeling as if heat was escaping from every pore of his borrowed body, and he was surprised when his skin didn't sizzle when he rested a hand against the priest's knee, leaning in. It was tempting and would be easy enough to put the food he was trying to hide behind to the side, to press him down and show him exactly what it would be like to no longer be alone. But the priest already knew by now, didn't he? Pretending otherwise would just be playing at being coy.
Carefully, Mukuro reigned himself in, withdrew his hand and took a step back, and then a few more to put some distance between them. Otherwise it would be difficult to control himself, and it seemed like he didn't need to seduce Chikusa Kakimoto in that aspect.]
I won't ask you to choose now. Consider these missions as a trial run.
no subject
[A very petty part of him wants to point out that the first time they tried to have sex, the demon fell asleep on him.]
[All arguments fade away in his throat as that hand settles on his knee, hot enough to burn straight through, hotter than sin. Chikusa finds himself holding his breath, waiting for something, and the release leaves him slowly as Mukuro pulls back again. A trial run.... is it?]
Then.... afterwards... [He speaks softly, almost more directed at his dinner than the demon.] I'll let you know.
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[It was said mildly enough, but the look that Mukuro shot the priest was anything but. Hellfire had nothing on his gaze, but blessedly, he headed back to his own bed to pick up where he had left off. Unfortunately his mortal vessel needed food despite what heart to hearts had been necessary.]
Are we going to have an early morning tomorrow?
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[This isn't the first time food has held no appeal to him; he ignores it like all the other times before.]
Since you'll probably just be sleeping the trip away regardless...
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[It was almost a whine, Mukuro stuffing more food into his face so he could get to bed and continue with said maintenance.]
I have to readjust all over again.
[Listen Mukuro, no one made you go out and slaughter countless demons just because one got a little rough with your boy.]
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[From behind his hair, Chikusa glances over at him. There's none of that imposing pressure, now, only a spoiled man who can't stand a normal life.]
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[It was said in a slightly sulky manner, Mukuro's mood hardly improving once he was finished with his food. Without bothering to change, he clambered underneath the covers, yawning widely.]
Good night, my cute little priest. Try not to stay up too late.
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[Traitorously, anxiously, a part of him wonders if he even still has God.]
[Thoughts like that he keeps locked up tight away in himself when they set out onto the road again, just like he has with so much else in his life. The food in the cooler and bags are all still good, so he shoves food at the demon to keep him distracted, not wanting any more repeats on what had happened the other day. Besides, he's not made of money. He should be a little more conscientious on how much he spends... at least for a while. At least for as long as his mortal vessel is still on earth. Unlike whatever nonsense the demon gets up to that can have him not worry about money, Chikusa isn't so lucky.]
[So he keeps things on a tight budget all until they finally arrive at the town he's first been called to. It's late in the evening when he finalizes the payment for their motel room, and he stays up late on his knees, hands clasped in prayer... and a squirt bottle right besides him for whenever the demon starts bothering him. Or talking to him in general.]
[It's not holy water, but regular water gets the point well enough, Chikusa figures.]
[Throughout most of the morning, after he's bathed and gotten himself presentable, he does more of the same for an hour before taking in a deep breath. All throughout his prayers, he's kept it simple, or perhaps the most he's ever really asked of God. He still doesn't doubt that He exists, considering what he's experiencing right now... But Chikusa needs to know. He needs to know if everything he's been doing with the demon, his longing thoughts, his lustful desires... he needs to know if that's the wrong thing. Because if it is.... he'd rather not be able to perform an exorcism at all, and have his abandonment be finalized instead of him always wondering.]
[With his tools in his bag, Chikusa pauses at the door.]
...Will you be able to keep yourself occupied decently enough?
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He could understand that precipice well, and knew that God's influence was vast enough that being heavy handed now might have the opposite effect of what he wanted.
So he let the priest prepare himself for the exorcism, content enough to watch terrible TV while sprawled out on the bed of the motel, raising an eyebrow only when the priest started to prepare himself to leave. He sat up when the priest made it to the door without signaling for him, mouth pulled downwards.]
I'm not going with you?
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....No? I've always done these on my own...
[Well, mostly on his own. Sometimes he's had his mentor nearby, in the early days, or a partner for when the Church was incredibly wary of a demon, but, usually not. He's always been capable of doing it on his own.... Perhaps it's because he's had to.]
[And.... Besides- ]
I'm not really sure of your.... bedside manner with exorcisms anyway...
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[And it beat watching whatever reality program he had been gearing up to watch. Since it didn't seem like the priest was going to protest, or if he was, it was of little consequence to Mukuro, he slid off of the bed, going to get his shoes.]
If the demon is smart, it'll leave as soon as it sees me.
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No.
[Shifting a bit, Chikusa actually frowns and bars the door with his own body, even if he's not particularly imposing.]
This... has to be done the proper way. Letting you handle other things.... Maybe you're right and I should let you do that.
....But not this.
[Not this time.]
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'Other things'?
[Sorry did you think that his mind had left the gutter?]
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I'm leaving.
[byeeee]
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Once he was satisfied, he tried to wait up for the priest, even downing a few cups of coffee in order to do so and taking walks around the hotel ( and push a few souls gently into damnation, but only ever so gently ). Finally, his mortal coil's need for sleep won out, and he passed out cocooned in the covers, the television softly playing reruns of some strange old comedy show.]
xoxo
[It's a more winding town beyond the freeway that cuts through it, with roads that curve and rise up. The further he goes into more residential districts, the tighter the streets seem to become, and it's a surprise in some ways that he can even park his car near the address on his list that has the dubious honor of being at the very top. Twisting his keys to quiet down the engine, Chikusa stares up at the house past his windshield. It's a house that's clearly seen its fair share of times, he thinks, judging by the make of it and the metal numbers which make out the address on its wooden walls. A fresh paint job can't hide such information. Still, it's no older or newer than any of its neighbors, and there are no signs outwardly that any sort of tragedy or horrors wait within it. That's normal, he's come to find. Sometimes, it's the house which carries the demonic with it, calls to such creatures whether on the will of someone else or simply by coincidence. Other times, well. Other times, most times, it's not so clear. Demons are tricky, and they can find the smallest crack to worm their way into.]
[Chikusa can say he knows that from experience, now.]
[Yet the 'why' and 'how' aren't really important. Those can be cleaned up in the aftermath, and only by the good faith of those who were once possessed, supported by those close to him. All he can do, all he's ever been able to do, is to be wielded as God's weapon and used to cleanse the body of its unholy host. Staring past his windshield at the battleground he is to stride onto today, Chikusa reminds himself of that. It's not him. It's never been him, no matter what the demon he's allowed into his bed might say. Whatever power that might go through him, it's not his. It's that of God's. And if God says that he's no longer worthy, if God gives that answer to all of Chikusa's fervent prayers...]
[Tightening his grip against the steering wheel, Chikusa lets out a slow, shuddering breath. If he's not worthy because of his weakness, today he'll truly know. Now, there's only one way to find out if he'll be brought up to the boat, or left to drown with sharks in the water. God's judgment can be harsh, can be seen as cruel... and he's prepared to face that if he needs to. For now, all he can do is take up his bag in one hand and finally exit his car to approach the front door.]
[In a way, it's almost funny in that way which is not funny at all. No matter what family it is, they all seem to wear the same look, that same fatigue that has worn them down and made them sickly. To deal with someone that has been possessed is never an easy thing. As a priest of the church, as an exorcist, he's expected to face the creature head on and be its first major opponent, and that is a danger all its own.... but it's just as dangerous, in his quiet opinion, to be the ones who have to deal with that quiet danger day after day, sometimes month after month. It's the same concept as water running against stone, wearing it down, causing fractures and eroding stability. Demons, he knows, thrive on that almost as much as they do the more overt suffering that they are so known for. It shows in the tired slump of the shoulders the mother has when she welcomes him at the door, and the heavy bags under bloodshot eyes when the father meets his gaze. If they've argued in all this time, well, Chikusa wouldn't be surprised. While he's no good at reading people, not like the demon haunting him personally, he's seen another parents snap at each other even as they were requesting the aid of the church. Taking a seat down in their living room, where the air seems dark and oppressive even with the lamps on, he patiently listens to them and the tale they give him.]
[Some families have tales of their children experimenting with all sorts of darkness, voodoo they don't actually have an understanding of, ouija boards at a friends house, trapezing through graveyards at night- all the kinds of things that one would see on the cheap horror movies which base themselves on such tales. This family has no such tale, only that one day their son changed so radically as if replaced by a changeling, and things only went worse from there. Honestly, it's also a perfectly common tale in Chikusa's experience. Everyone likes to think that it's only seeking out sin that causes demons to possess people.... but it's not. It's not voodoo, or ouija, or whatever other scapegoat they can think to find. Simply put... it's weakness, and bad luck. Sometimes, that's really all it is. Even as the parents profess to not know what it is that could have possibly put their child at risk for such horrors, whether it's true or not, Chikusa knows that a simple conversation could probably reveal the origin. Whatever weakness has caused the child to turn away from god's light, a demon was only the first to find it before it could be shored up.]
[For a brief, flickering moment... He thinks of his own weakness, and his own quite literal demon. Just as fast, he dismisses such thoughts. They have a time and place.... And now isn't it. Not when he has a duty to fulfill, a job to do, and an answer to await.]
[Meeting the child takes place in a small den separate from the living room, and thus away from any expensive electronics or valuable porcelain that might otherwise get destroyed in some demonic fit. Well, "child" isn't quite right. It's a teenager, which also isn't surprising to Chikusa in any way. Children are innocent enough to wander into demonic ploys all on their own... but teenagers are the ones going through the most change and turmoil, thus leaving them particularly vulnerable. (Adults, he's found, are sometimes just disasters who bring things down on themselves. It probably explains his own predicament quite well.) He's a dull eyed boy, still awkwardly growing in so much places, and there's the usual eerie deepness to the stare which tracks Chikusa's movements so carefully when he steps into the room. It's the first sign of something lurking, waiting to dig its feet into the ground and hold on while screaming profanities all the while. Chikusa knows it won't go any further until he does, however. Most demons, he's found, are actually wary of the law, which almost seems funny to him. If things are kept personal, supernatural instances to scare friends and family, then that's fine, that's what they thrive on... but not many will go too far o get the attention of actual mortal police. He can't be entirely sure why that is; it's not as if he's ever sat down with a demon to ask and get an honest answer. If Chikusa had to ever guess... He supposes his theory would be that it would be too troublesome. There's no good point in trying to start something in jail, where most people are already at low points as it is and there's not really any height to drag them down from. Besides, the times have greatly changed from older days where the church's influence was so powerful. Now, demons can get away with so much because "demonic possession" is treated as fiction instead of fact. Ruining such a good set of circumstances.... That'd just be foolish. And even the most dimwitted demons have enough predator's instinct to know better than to do that.]
[As he goes about blessing the house proper before moving onto the actual exorcism, the parents follow him helplessly with worried glances behind them as if afraid of what their child that is no longer theirs will do. Neither of them even seem to pause for a moment as if considering to stay. Chikusa can't blame them. To be with a creature that dangerous is foolhardy, after all, especially on their own with a chance for all sorts of words allowed to be passed while he's otherwise preoccupied. Cowardice is understandable. Still.... As he says his prayers and blessings, begging God to allow them to sink into the wood of his home, he wonders faintly if that's part of the problem with the boy. Was his weakness that he felt alone, without parents to turn to in his weakest times? Was that how the demon could convince him that not even God would care about him?]
[He thinks about his own childhood and adolescence, desperately finding shelter in God with no one else to turn to.]
[So busy in his prayers, so lost in his own thoughts.... He almost doesn't notice until the end how much lighter the house has become until he's going back down the stairs to meet the boy. It hits him as sharp as opening his eyes to the morning sun, leaving him quietly breathless. All the times before when he's blessed a house which withheld a demon in its walls, there's always been kickback from the creature who felt its stolen territory being reclaimed by God. Strange noises, disgusting smells, sometimes even objects rattling or being moved... Every trick in the book to show its displeasure, or to throw him off his guard. They've never worked on him before... but in this, he thinks, they were barely there at all. It makes him wonder if the demon is actually this weak, or....]
[He doesn't dare let the thought finish in his head. Until he's done, until his duty is either completed or he's been given the most heartbreaking answer, he can't let him entertain such thoughts. He can't let himself get too confident or careless. All he can do, all he needs to do, is put himself in God's hands.]
[No matter what he tells himself, of course, the demon is outraged in the room when he returns to it, and Chikusa finds himself stepping right into an oppressive air so thick that one could drown in it. Even without looking, he can tell how the parents flinch at the threshold behind his back. That's fine. They can stay out there if they want to; he'd even encourage it. It's dangerous work and, while he considers his body expendable in the service of God's will, no one else should be put into the same line of fire. Still stubbornly clinging to the body of the boy, the demon bares its teeth at him and hisses out profanities, taunts, whispers about how he's weak and worthless, powerless...]
[Well. It's not wrong. He is weak and powerless. If he's not deserving of God's love and mercy, of God's strength, then that simple fact will surely show through. Yet it's never been about him. He's nothing... which makes him the perfect vessel through which God can work through, if that is the decision that comes to pass. Feeling himself grow distant from his own body, mind retreating in on itself as he takes holy water in one hand and his bible in the other. Even with how smoothly the blessing of the house went with, he's expecting a difficult hour, at the very least, of determinedly casting the demon out judging by the way it digs its nail into the chair cushions... And no doubt longer, if he's been struck down like he half feels he must deserve from turning away from God's light even a little, and will only have his own weak body to try and do what little he himself can possibly do.]
[That... doesn't happen.]
[Chikusa can't explain it. At least, he can't explain it well. All he knows is that he's half gone from his body, speaking the words as if begging to God, and pressing his fingers, dipped in holy water, to infernally feverish skin... and he doesn't feel like himself. It's not the first time he's ever disassociated from his body, and certainly not while he's been performing an exorcism. Chikusa knows it's not a good habit for himself... but in that moment, it feels good. It feels as though his body isn't his own, as if he's warmer than anything in the best way possible against the feverish heat of the child's forehead, and he feels... he feels...]
[The words escape him. All he knows is that there's no struggle, no fight he has to force his way through and endure with quiet calm. It's over almost.. in the blink of an eye. When he finally comes to, his eyes aching and distantly wet, the boy is slumped in the embrace of his tearful parents, and all heaviness is gone from the room. Glancing at the clock only shows that few minutes have passed... Not even half an hour. Half that, maybe.]
[He feels dazed, strange and fuzzy with that warmth that seems to linger throughout him, and he sort of wants to sink down to the ground marveling at it... but there's no time for that. An exorcist's job isn't done with only the exorcism. Feeling rather like a machine, distant, he sits the family down and gives them the usual spiel about regular prayer and visits to church, advocates open and honest communication between all of them. It's nothing that he's ever come up with on his own, but rather the words that his mentor and other priests have advocate he give every time. He's never minded it before, with it being scripted on his end, because he's always been dreadful at it. Now, he's still thankful for it, just for an entirely different reason. With his mind so detached from the situation, the feeling so overwhelming, he's not sure he would have been able to give a good talk even if he was that kind of person.The family's thanks are so far away from him, he barely takes heed of them. Before he knows it, he's in his car again, driving down the twisting roads back to the main streets again.]
[All the meaning of what's just happened hits him when he's halfway through. His throat becomes suddenly tight, eyes aching, and he immediately pulls over to the side of the road, head bowed against his steering wheel. He doesn't cry, even with the fierce tugging that's behind his eyes and which is so strong that it nearly gives him a headache. Perhaps he's lost all ability to long ago, or in the face of the personal miracle he's seen. All he can do is stay there, curled up in on himself, his throat allowed barely any air and his gratitude twisting his heart. When his lungs find breath again and his tongue remembers words, he whispers his prayers of thanks again and again against the vinyl of his steering wheel. It's all he can offer, besides his entire self, and he's been offering that for almost all is life now.]
[He's not been abandoned. He's not been judged harshly for his weakness, his desire. He's still wanted. Against all odds, he's still wanted.]
[So lost in his own thoughts and emotions, Chikusa barely notices how much the time flies until he looks up with a crick in his neck and the sky is much darker. Feeling clumsy in his own body, he restart his car, and fumbles his way through the streets again until the familiar glow of the motel sign is in view once more. Feeling burned clean of his own feelings, Chikusa steps into his room a dazed man. Infomercials are playing on the television, a quiet drone, and the demon is curled up in the blankets as if he can cocoon himself away from mortal desires and needs. Quietly, Chikua walks over to him, sliding downwards to sit on the edge of the bed by Mukuro. With a delicate gentleness, he reaches over to begin to stroke the tips of his fingers along the sides of Mukuro's face.]
[He's allowed this. God hasn't judged or discarded him for his feelings. He's truly allowed to be there, touching the creature who's affected him so much.]
k
Especially when he was woken up by Chikusa Kakimoto touching his face, willingly, without Mukuro have to do anything. He let his eyes open slow, squinting against the light, willing his mind to kickstart back to full capacity instead of the slow sluggishness he had allowed it.]
Priest.
[It was a greeting, and almost a question. Chikusa Kakimoto's expression was an odd one, and it seemed like the exorcism had gone well if he was still sitting before him. Whatever turmoil he had subjecting himself to had finally reached its zenith and in its wake, the priest had made his decision.
Half out of laziness and half as some symbolic gesture of trust, Mukuro lifted the covers slightly, inviting the priest in.]
why do you spurn my love like this, mimi
because this isn't love it's bullying
but i give you so much attention!!
is this a good thing
don't you appreciate the things i make for you
ig but lbr they're for you too
because you do things that haunt me, mimi, and i must purge them from my brain via release
i don't know what you're talking about
mermaid au mimi!!!!!
are you really complaining about mermaid au in mermay james
weh
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