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INTERNET I HAVE MISSED YOU--
See, I should be talking about the relatively kick-ass weekend I had, but the connection at home has been dead since Saturday and I'm still drowning under the backlog. orzzzzz
Good news is that the phone guys have apparently come around to fix the line. I'm not home to oversee their work, though, so I'm admittedly a little worried. If it doesn't work out, I'll be camping out at the office for a very long time.
Apologies to all the people that I unceremoniously dumped. I'VE CAUGHT UP NOW THOUGH, SO I'M OPEN FOR ABUSE AGAIN.
To be honest, though, the lack of a connection was a bit of a blessing. Managed to marathon a lot of stuff, and I've pretty much finished off all the subbed episodes of Gintama.
There are no words for the awesome.
Oh, I also managed to put in some stuff for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
khrminibang.
KHR: Fiore di Nuvola. (teaser)
Picturesque.
Imagine this.
You’re standing, standing tall in your well-pressed, perfectly tailored Italian suit, with the Vongola Cloud Guardian ring on the finger where the Gesso Cloud Guardian ring ought to be, staring at the faces of the people you’ve betrayed.
Only you’re not just standing anywhere. You’re right smack in the heart of what stopped being your headquarters some five minutes ago, at one end of the long corridor connecting two parts of the base together. That Sawada kid from the past is on the other end, surrounded by his friends, looking at you with those big, brown eyes and a mouth that’s asking why without ever really saying anything at all. His friends, they’ve got their weapons out, but maybe they don’t need weapons, not with the way they’re all trying to kill you with a look.
There’s a gap between that sushi chef’s whelp and the loud white-haired boxer brat – they probably didn’t mean for that to happen, but it’s there.
You’d fill that space in if you were someone else, picturing what it would be like if you were the bad guy looking at yourself ten years back, all pouty lips and flashing tonfa and heavy ring on a heavy chain hanging from your neck.
You feel lighter somehow, like something’s been lifted right off of your shoulders. It must be because the ring’s on your finger, and you’re not lying through your teeth anymore.
It’s not about what’s right. It’s about doing what you’ve been built to do.
For better or for worse.
Until death do you part.
“Hibari-san.”
Sawada, see, he’s got this amazing talent where he can say a million and one things with just one word. You’ve seen him do it before, you know, before you shoved a tonfa against his face and moved in close, to plug several bullets right into his belly.
You’re wearing the suit you used to kill his future self in, the one that his blood and a bit of his guts spilled all over and idly, you wonder what they’ll think if you told them that, right here, right now.
A heartbeat later and you decide that it’s better to not say anything at all.
“Please step back, Tenth! Let me handle him.”
Your amusement over Gokudera Hayato barking out more nonsense is enough to pierce through the noise in your head and shake you out of your lethargy.
If you were someone else, you’d thank him for that.
“I am not here to kill you.”
“Then what ARE you gonna do, huh?! Tenth, we should—”
“Wait.”
There it is again. Who said that pictures were the only things worth a thousand words?
“Hibari-san, please step aside. We don’t have much time.”
“Which is exactly why you should not be wasting it here.”
And it is only too easy, this quiet betrayal in the form of you reaching into your coat and pulling out two things. The first you toss in their direction. The second you hold in your hand as you press the big bright red button on it.
“I have just called security. Leave, and use that keycard on the elevator down the hall. It will take you right where you want to go. No detours. No traps.”
“What sick game are you playing with us—”
Apparently, Yamamoto Takeshi’s hand on Gokudera Hayato’s shoulder is enough to shut him up. You’re almost grateful, but that means looking into Sawada’s eyes. He’s smiling at you now, accepting it all so easily, without questioning a thing.
You still remember exactly how heavy his corpse was, lying between your hands.
“Hibari-san, come with us!”
The din of approaching footsteps saves you the trouble of answering him, and the security detail arrives, right on cue. When their commander asks for orders, you take his head off with a roundhouse kick. The rest fall like Dominos, and in the rain of falling bodies, bullets and screams, you see the Sawada Tsunayoshi of the past turning back just as his company’s moving off, turning back to meet your eyes.
He looks sad, and you want to tell him not to pity you but breaking another gunman’s spine is so much more interesting.
“I’m coming back for you.”
The door shuts in his face. You brandish your tonfa and deflect another barrage of bullets.
Now, imagine this.
Six hours later you’ve just heard Zakuro choke on his own blood and that’s a good thing, because you’re kind of tired of kicking his ribcage into his heart. You back off, spit out a tooth, try to wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and just end up smearing some brain bits across your cheek. Then you cough, and hell, there’s blood coming up into your mouth.
Fancy that. You’re twenty-five and you’re dying.
Idly, you wonder why it did not happen sooner.
When you stumble, you think, at first, that maybe they’re doing that weird shifting rooms thing with the base again (Byakuran had it installed everywhere, the crazy bastard), but then you realize that no, nothing’s moving, your legs are just giving out from under you. Either way, you’re on the floor, joining your tonfa and your boxes where you dropped them, sitting in a room with a pile of dead guys topped by three out of six Funeral Wreaths.
The fourth and fifth ones should be fighting off the Vongola by now, if they’re not already dead.
The sixth one is supposed to be you.
When you pull your pack out, you realize that there’s a stick left. Just one, measly, half-bent cig.
It could be worse: your lighter could be missing.
Maybe that’s poetic somehow, but you’ve never been a fan of fancy words.
You’re on your second drag when your mind starts to wander.
Two drags after that, you start remembering everything.
:D
See, I should be talking about the relatively kick-ass weekend I had, but the connection at home has been dead since Saturday and I'm still drowning under the backlog. orzzzzz
Good news is that the phone guys have apparently come around to fix the line. I'm not home to oversee their work, though, so I'm admittedly a little worried. If it doesn't work out, I'll be camping out at the office for a very long time.
Apologies to all the people that I unceremoniously dumped. I'VE CAUGHT UP NOW THOUGH, SO I'M OPEN FOR ABUSE AGAIN.
To be honest, though, the lack of a connection was a bit of a blessing. Managed to marathon a lot of stuff, and I've pretty much finished off all the subbed episodes of Gintama.
There are no words for the awesome.
Oh, I also managed to put in some stuff for
khrminibang.KHR: Fiore di Nuvola. (teaser)
Picturesque.
Imagine this.
You’re standing, standing tall in your well-pressed, perfectly tailored Italian suit, with the Vongola Cloud Guardian ring on the finger where the Gesso Cloud Guardian ring ought to be, staring at the faces of the people you’ve betrayed.
Only you’re not just standing anywhere. You’re right smack in the heart of what stopped being your headquarters some five minutes ago, at one end of the long corridor connecting two parts of the base together. That Sawada kid from the past is on the other end, surrounded by his friends, looking at you with those big, brown eyes and a mouth that’s asking why without ever really saying anything at all. His friends, they’ve got their weapons out, but maybe they don’t need weapons, not with the way they’re all trying to kill you with a look.
There’s a gap between that sushi chef’s whelp and the loud white-haired boxer brat – they probably didn’t mean for that to happen, but it’s there.
You’d fill that space in if you were someone else, picturing what it would be like if you were the bad guy looking at yourself ten years back, all pouty lips and flashing tonfa and heavy ring on a heavy chain hanging from your neck.
You feel lighter somehow, like something’s been lifted right off of your shoulders. It must be because the ring’s on your finger, and you’re not lying through your teeth anymore.
It’s not about what’s right. It’s about doing what you’ve been built to do.
For better or for worse.
Until death do you part.
“Hibari-san.”
Sawada, see, he’s got this amazing talent where he can say a million and one things with just one word. You’ve seen him do it before, you know, before you shoved a tonfa against his face and moved in close, to plug several bullets right into his belly.
You’re wearing the suit you used to kill his future self in, the one that his blood and a bit of his guts spilled all over and idly, you wonder what they’ll think if you told them that, right here, right now.
A heartbeat later and you decide that it’s better to not say anything at all.
“Please step back, Tenth! Let me handle him.”
Your amusement over Gokudera Hayato barking out more nonsense is enough to pierce through the noise in your head and shake you out of your lethargy.
If you were someone else, you’d thank him for that.
“I am not here to kill you.”
“Then what ARE you gonna do, huh?! Tenth, we should—”
“Wait.”
There it is again. Who said that pictures were the only things worth a thousand words?
“Hibari-san, please step aside. We don’t have much time.”
“Which is exactly why you should not be wasting it here.”
And it is only too easy, this quiet betrayal in the form of you reaching into your coat and pulling out two things. The first you toss in their direction. The second you hold in your hand as you press the big bright red button on it.
“I have just called security. Leave, and use that keycard on the elevator down the hall. It will take you right where you want to go. No detours. No traps.”
“What sick game are you playing with us—”
Apparently, Yamamoto Takeshi’s hand on Gokudera Hayato’s shoulder is enough to shut him up. You’re almost grateful, but that means looking into Sawada’s eyes. He’s smiling at you now, accepting it all so easily, without questioning a thing.
You still remember exactly how heavy his corpse was, lying between your hands.
“Hibari-san, come with us!”
The din of approaching footsteps saves you the trouble of answering him, and the security detail arrives, right on cue. When their commander asks for orders, you take his head off with a roundhouse kick. The rest fall like Dominos, and in the rain of falling bodies, bullets and screams, you see the Sawada Tsunayoshi of the past turning back just as his company’s moving off, turning back to meet your eyes.
He looks sad, and you want to tell him not to pity you but breaking another gunman’s spine is so much more interesting.
“I’m coming back for you.”
The door shuts in his face. You brandish your tonfa and deflect another barrage of bullets.
Now, imagine this.
Six hours later you’ve just heard Zakuro choke on his own blood and that’s a good thing, because you’re kind of tired of kicking his ribcage into his heart. You back off, spit out a tooth, try to wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and just end up smearing some brain bits across your cheek. Then you cough, and hell, there’s blood coming up into your mouth.
Fancy that. You’re twenty-five and you’re dying.
Idly, you wonder why it did not happen sooner.
When you stumble, you think, at first, that maybe they’re doing that weird shifting rooms thing with the base again (Byakuran had it installed everywhere, the crazy bastard), but then you realize that no, nothing’s moving, your legs are just giving out from under you. Either way, you’re on the floor, joining your tonfa and your boxes where you dropped them, sitting in a room with a pile of dead guys topped by three out of six Funeral Wreaths.
The fourth and fifth ones should be fighting off the Vongola by now, if they’re not already dead.
The sixth one is supposed to be you.
When you pull your pack out, you realize that there’s a stick left. Just one, measly, half-bent cig.
It could be worse: your lighter could be missing.
Maybe that’s poetic somehow, but you’ve never been a fan of fancy words.
You’re on your second drag when your mind starts to wander.
Two drags after that, you start remembering everything.
:D
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
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Our upgrades are late.But yay for Gintama! *w*
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YAY GINTAMA. God, I watched, like, four of the epic arcs all in one day. I'm surprised that I managed to go to bed at all.
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tease.
TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE.
/dies
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Now watch me never finish it.
:)
/shot
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HE'D BETTER BE ALIVE WHEN I GET BACK FROM CHINA, PAM. HE'D BETTER.
Otherwise I just might cry you a saline-river.
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THEN PREPARE TO CRY THREE SALINE-RIVERS--We'll see? :'D