[ and if nothing comes out, then it follows that there's nothing for fuuma koutarou to sense-- shirasu, after all, has always been the more talented of the two of them. the hapless civilian is but a prop in the grand scheme of things, one that he quickly discards when he irritatedly yanks his kunai from the wall and quickly dispatches the rest of the bots.
what odd things, made of metal and flashing lights. hell, it seems, is stranger of a place than he had anticipated. but whatever, he hadn't expected anything after death, so this in itself might be enough to stave away an eternity of boredom. did he believe one moment that his world has been destroyed? not really, because that would have meant that 'fuuma koutarou', his other half, is dead, and that is a reality that he will perhaps never accept--
never accept, that is, until he whirls around and spots a face that he knows better than his own.
for the first time in a decade, he feels a sharp, terrified fear.
if this is hell--
if this is hell---
then why is fuuma koutarou here.
if a silence could convey terror, confusion and anger all at once, this silence would. within three strides, he's crossed over to where what appears to be his twin is-- dressed in strange clothes, why is he dressed like that, why is he here, when he finally, finally notices half a fox mask clipped to his belt.
the silence now is flat, like a held breath or the calm after a storm without the storm having actually happened. because there was no storm to begin with. the words that come out of koutarou's mouth is quiet, like a mantra more than a greeting. a call. ]
no subject
what odd things, made of metal and flashing lights. hell, it seems, is stranger of a place than he had anticipated. but whatever, he hadn't expected anything after death, so this in itself might be enough to stave away an eternity of boredom. did he believe one moment that his world has been destroyed? not really, because that would have meant that 'fuuma koutarou', his other half, is dead, and that is a reality that he will perhaps never accept--
never accept, that is, until he whirls around and spots a face that he knows better than his own.
for the first time in a decade, he feels a sharp, terrified fear.
if this is hell--
if this is hell---
then why is fuuma koutarou here.
if a silence could convey terror, confusion and anger all at once, this silence would. within three strides, he's crossed over to where what appears to be his twin is-- dressed in strange clothes, why is he dressed like that, why is he here, when he finally, finally notices half a fox mask clipped to his belt.
the silence now is flat, like a held breath or the calm after a storm without the storm having actually happened. because there was no storm to begin with. the words that come out of koutarou's mouth is quiet, like a mantra more than a greeting. a call. ]
Are you me?